Eleven o'clock! Always the same picture. Nothing but wild, raging sea. But it almost looked as if the troughs of the waves were deeper, the breakers fiercer, like the seas over a shallow bottom. Were we already?... No one dared to say it; only the constant use of the binoculars showed that every one shared the same thought. But neither rock, nor surf, nor birds were to be seen. Twelve o'clock was already past. Soon, we _must_ be there. 'No bottom!' comes, with monotonous iteration, the shouted report from aft, where, under the direction of the first-officer, the sounding machine is in constant use. More than once the men were caught by a sea and flung against the rail. I shouted to them to hang on, and gave the order for more oil to be poured from the bow. All orders had to be given, or rather yelled, through the megaphone. The wind seemed to bite off the words as they came out of one's mouth. Then, just in the midst of a fierce squall came a wild shout from aft, 'Bottom! sixty-three fathoms.' 'Reduce speed!' 'Sharp look-out!' Every one knew what was now at stake. Fifty fathoms!--fifty-six--sixty-two--seventy--twenty-eight.' Damnation! what is one to make of such a series? In the special chart, which lay under a glass cover on the bridge, depths of seventy, sixty, fifty fathoms were marked promiscuously, with the comforting annotation that they were unreliable. Alter course? But, which way? It was too late now to lie to, unless I wanted to risk being driven slowly but with inexorable certainty on the reefs. Every course was as good, or bad, as every other, until we had once sighted the rock. The visibility was now from 800 to 1000 yards, and at need that might serve. After a momentary hesitation I pulled myself together and determined to hold on. 'Breakers to starboard!' came a shout from the lower bridge, where some of the men were keeping a look-out. 'Hard a-port! Hard over!' Slowly and sluggishly the ship answered to her helm. The seconds grew to minutes. Shielding our faces against wind and water with our hands, we tried to discover where the breakers lay. But all that could be seen was one continuous welter of foam. The waves all round us, high as the side of a house, were breaking with a roar of thunder and shooting their spray high into the air. It was impossible to tell whether it was surf breaking on a reef, or only breaking seas. Through this hell's brew the little _Aud_ held gallantly on. We were now on an easterly course, and the seas, taking us on the port quarter, swept furiously over the after part of the ship. I tried the effect of increasing speed. It was no use. The only result was that the stern created so much suction that the seas poured over it more violently than before.