There was a bright sun and a high gale as Nos. 2 and 3 went out early to inspect some of the curiosities of Bonifacio.
One glance at the foaming, boiling sea, told us that it would be impossible to visit the beautiful marine caverns for which the chalk cliffs are famous, and which lie within a short rowing distance of the town. So we repaired to the celebrated Aragon staircase.
For this purpose we had to seek the barracks, from whence presently issued a guide with a key. Entering through a doorway upon a part of the cliff walled off, we followed to the very edge of the precipice. Not till then did we see, overhanging the angry waves, the rough narrow staircase, cut almost vertically down the face of the rock.
On one side over-arched the chalk cliff, and on the other was a rough wall two or three feet high. If it had not been for this protective wall, we should infallibly have been blown over into the sea, as, frantically clutching our hats in the roaring wind, and leaving our umbrellas at the top, weighted down by stones, we prepared to descend the exceedingly steep and broken one hundred and ninety-four steps.
This staircase, cut out by order of the then King of Aragon (for a long time ally and feudal lord of Bonifacio), between three and four hundred years ago, was intended, it is said, for the approach to his private landing stage; but, at all times, this rocky bay must have been a most unsuitable, difficult place of embarkation for pleasure seekers, and it seems more probable that it was first hastily excavated by the inhabitants for the stealthy receipt of succours by sea.
Anyhow, it is reported to have been useful on many occasions to smugglers; and this seems more than probable from its appearance.
What with wind and steepness, it took us some time to descend, and No. 3 was greatly incensed by the guide's offers of assistance, and his final remark, "Mademoiselle a peur?"
"Do you think," she asked, wrathfully, "that there are no rocks in England? We live in an island, too!"
The little platform of rock at the bottom was raised two or three feet above the level of the waves, and protected in front by a low stone wall, over which surf dashed. Loose rocks of chalk lay all about, and round and over them played the swift water, turning its shallow rapids into richest, clearest green, brown, and orange hues.
Sardinia was pale with the mist of the sirrocco; and the "bouches" between us raged in a storm of white breakers.