"Cormorant," with her Blue Peter flying, was ready for a start northward
to dear old England. The Guernseaise had departed amid give and take
cheering directly after breakfast, so that only the crew of the vessel
remained. My father bade me an affectionate farewell on the deck of the
vessel, but at the last embrace I felt too full of emotion to speak, for
a lump was in my throat, and a tear started from my father's eye and
rolled down his bronzed cheek, so that I knew that he, too, was greatly
moved at losing me for such a long period. A firm grip of the hand told
without words how we, father and son, loved each other, and to hide my
emotion I tumbled over the bulwarks into the dingy, and was pulled
ashore by a couple of hands, amid the hearty cheers of the men who stood
on deck. They gave me a salute of twelve _guns_ (fired from two
revolvers).

I stood on the rocky shore and waved a tablecloth tied to a boat-hook
till the vessel was hull down on the horizon, and then turned my face to
my island home, not feeling nearly so happy as I had anticipated a month
before. Alone! I felt as if the whole world had departed from me, and
that I was the sole survivor of the human race.

[Illustration: Decorative chapter heading]




CHAPTER III.

FIRST THOUGHTS AND IMPRESSIONS--A TOUR OF THE ISLAND AND
DESCRIPTION.