National Geographic : 1967 Sep
12 miles from Newfoundland (map, page 396). Our charts, supposedly updated a few months before, had come direct from Paris. Had we overshot our mark? Could this be the sea wall at Pointe aux Canons on the port's far shore? There, I knew, the schooner Har mony had come to grief in a storm in 1914. Or had our compass gone astray? Our At lantic Coast Pilot warned that iron ore on the nearby island of Grand Colombier did strange things to magnetic compasses. In the gathering darkness we steered south westerly away from the sea wall, thinking this would lead us into harbor. But no! The water shoaled quickly, and we saw rocks and houses dead ahead. We turned back and followed along the wall, poking in now and again like a blind 380 man trying to find a door with his cane. Half a mile farther the wall ended, and we stopped. A voice came out of the gloom. "A gauche! A gauche!-Okay!" We slowly swung left around the mole as directed by our unseen Frenchman. Then the channel lights opened up, and we motored right into St. Pierre (pages 384-5). Fair Wind Speeds Yawl From Bermuda No sooner was our anchor down off the brightly lighted quay than a small boat approached and a young man called, "Wel come to St. Pierre. What boat is that? Can I be of any help?" "White Mist from Bermuda!" we answered. "But you're not due for three days-and how did you get through those new break waters in the fog and darkness? I am Jean Pierre Andrieux."