The yacht was then a cannon's shot distant from the shore we were sailing past; the pilot-boat was a little way behind us.
"Are we almost to the harbour of Marsa-Siroco?" said Williams, who knew the different anchorages of the island.
"We will very soon be there; but, as we have to pass between the Black Rocks and the Point de la Wardi, and as the passage is very dangerous on account of the breakers, I will, if you please, monsieur, take the rudder," said the pilot to Williams. On a sign from the latter, the helmsman left the bar.
I remember all this as though it happened yesterday.
I was seated on the bulwarks.
Before me stood Williams, very near the pilot who had taken the helm, looking attentively at the compass, the shore, and the sails of the yacht.
The doctor, leaning over the stern, watched the sea in our wake. At some distance we could see the pilot-boat; she did not appear to be following us any more, but was going in another direction. This was very singular, I thought.
In front of us, and very close at hand, rose an enormous mass of perpendicular rocks.
Though the sea had become much more calm, it was still raised by a tremendous swell whose waves crashed against the shore with a formidable noise.
The pilot had ordered another sail to be put up, no doubt to augment the speed of the yacht. This was scarcely done when a frightful cry was heard from the bow, "Helm aport! We are on the breakers!"