When I reached the top and stood on Beleme cliff, the sight of Sercq as I had never seen it before filled me with a very great delight.

From Bec du Nez at one end to Moie de Bretagne at the other, every cleft and chasm in the long line of cliffs was bared to my sight.

Some stood naked, shoulder high; and some were clothed with softest green to their knees.

Here were long green slides almost to the water's edge; and here grim heaps of black rock flung together and awry in wildest confusion.
Up above was the work of man, the greenery of fields and trees, soft and beautiful in the sunshine, but these reached only to the cliff edge.
Wherever the land had fallen away, the wind and the sea had worked their will, and the scarred and bitten rocks bore witness to it.

The black tumbled masses of the Gouliot were right before me, and in the gloomy channel between, the tide, through which I had come, writhed and rolled like a wounded snake, even at the slack.
I had seen Sercq from the outside many times before, but only from water level, which limits one's view, though the towering cliffs are always wondrous fine, and more striking perhaps from below than from above.