0ther rocks less prominent, but no less treacherous, flanked it--the NoirSabloniere and the Grande Galere. To the right of the main island were agroup of others, all reef and shingle, intersected by treacherouschannels; in calm lapped by water with the colours of a prism of crystal,in storm by a leaden surf and flying foam. These were known as theColombiere, the Grosse Tete, Tas de Pois, and the Marmotiers; each withits retinue of sunken reefs and needles of granitic gneiss lying low inmenace. Happy the sailor caught in a storm and making for the shelterthe little curves in the island afford, who escapes a twist of thecurrent, a sweep of the tide, and the impaling fingers of the submarinepalisades.

Beyond these rocks lay Maitre Ile, all gneiss and shingle, a desert inthe sea. The holy men of the early Church, beholding it from the shoreof Normandy, had marked it for a refuge from the storms of war and thefollies of the world. So it came to pass, for the honour of God and theVirgin Mary, the Abbe of Val Richer builded a priory there: and there nowlie in peace the bones of the monks of Val Richer beside the skeletons ofunfortunate gentlemen of the sea of later centuries--pirates from France,buccaneers from England, and smugglers from Jersey, who kept their trystsin the precincts of the ancient chapel.