We were too low down to see the house, which lay in a hollow.  The white waves were ripping like comets along the fringe of ragged rocks under the great granite cliffs, and our boat reeled and plunged under the strong west wind, and sent the foam flying in sheets as we tacked against the cross seas.

We were running a short slant past Moie Batarde, before taking a long one for the Grands Bouillons, when a flutter of white among the wild black rocks of the point by the Creux a Vaches caught my eye, and surely it was Carette herself, though whether she had known of our passage, or was in the habit of frequenting that place, I could not tell.  I took it to myself, however, and waved a hearty greeting, and the last sight I had of her, and could not possibly have had a better, was her hand waving farewells in a way that held much comfort for me for many a day to come.  I had told my grandfather about Torode’s fine schooner, and had enlarged so upon it that he had a wish to see her for himself, and so we were making for the passage between Herm and Jethou, which I had travelled two days before.  He knew the way and the traps and pitfalls better even than I did, and ran us in up the wind with a steady hand till the roadstead opened before us.  But it was empty.  Torode was off after plunder, and we turned and ran for Peter Port.  We found John Ozanne as busy as a big bumble-bee, but he made time to greet my grandfather very jovially, and showed him all over his little ship with much pride.  He was in high spirits and anxious to be off, especially since he had heard of Torode’s going.

“He’s about as clever as men are made,” he said, “and when he goes he goes on business, so it’s time for us to be on the move too.  We’ll make a man of your boy, Philip.”

“A privateer!” said my grandfather with a smile.

“Ay, well!  I can believe it’s not all to your liking, but it’s natural after all.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I never heard you.  But you’d have been better pleased if he hadn’t wanted so much.”

“Maybe,” said my grandfather with his quiet smile.  “But, as Jeanne Falla says, ’Young calves’—­”

“I know, I know,” laughed John Ozanne.  “She’s a famous wise woman is Jeanne Falla, and many a licking she gave me when I was a boy for stealing her apples round there at Cobo.”

When my grandfather waved his hand, as they ran out past Castle Cornet, the last link broke between Sercq and myself for many a day.  Before I saw any of them again—­except the distant sight of the Island lying like a great blue whale nuzzling its young, as we passed up Little Russel next morning—­many things had happened for the changing of many lives.  I had seen much, suffered much, and learned much, and it is of these things I have to tell you.