These Rockalls are a veritable wonder of nature. Far out in the Atlantic, more than two hundred nautical miles west of the Scottish coast, there lies a far-stretching reef, a sandbank with innumerable little points of rock sticking up through it. The bank has a diameter of about three nautical miles, and runs roughly east and west. At its western end there rises out of the water a single rock, neither higher nor wider than an ordinary two-story house. This rock is the only visible portion of the reef, all the other ridges are covered, though many of them are only just below the surface of the water. Where the bank ends, the floor of the Atlantic goes suddenly down to a depth of several thousand yards. Even on the big English charts the Rockalls are only marked with a point about as big as the head of a pin. The sailing-directions mention that in the course of a year dozens of ships are wrecked upon these rocks and perish with all hands. It is a veritable ocean graveyard. The soundings which the charts give on the banks are few, and, as all the books state, very uncertain, because no one has taken the trouble to survey this inhospitable island. The thing to do is to avoid it. I knew, therefore, that I was taking a considerable risk in making for it, even though I should approach it from the west, and with the greatest caution. It would suffice, however, if I sighted it from a distance; that would give me a sufficiently exact position. So I hardened my heart and laid my course for the western extremity of the bank. By now the storm was howling like hell let loose, the squalls slung volleys of hailstones down on us. The seas raged against our little ship, which still shouldered them from her gallantly. Darkness at length descended upon the furious raging of the elements. 'Wind-force 10 to 11,'[9] reads the entry in the log, made by the officer of the watch at 8 p.m. 'Force 12' is the maximum. The scale provides for nothing beyond that. The constant showers of rain and hail added to the blackness of the night. It was almost impossible to see at all. Suddenly, through a rift in the clouds, the moon shone out. And just in time. Ahead, about four points on the starboard bow, a dark shadow was visible. No need to guess what it was, for already we could see, though vaguely, a long, lean hull with several promenade decks, two high, thin funnels, and two masts. Passenger liner or auxiliary cruiser? It was too dark to tell. All we could see--and we noted it with some satisfaction--was that, for all her 12,000 tons, she was making just as heavy weather of it as we were. In spite of the breaking seas that swept over the after part of the ship, I reduced speed immediately. It was the only possible chance. As luck would have it, a sudden hail-shower hid us for the moment. The steamer carried no lights, and was going slow. Probably, therefore, an auxiliary cruiser on patrol.