The shock was so severe that it knocked us into the thwarts, but
the push had changed the direction of the boat, which, by a
miraculous piece of good fortune, shot through under the arch. The
boatmen then recovered a little from their terror and resumed some
sort of control of their boat; but the Mistral continued, and the two
coaches offering a resistance to the wind made any manoeuvre almost
impossible.
At last, six leagues above Avignon, we went aground on a very
large island, where the bow of the boat dug into the sand in such a
way that it would not be possible to get it out without a gang of
labourers, and we were listing over so far that we feared being
swamped at any moment. We put some planks between the boat and the
shore and, with the help of some rope, we all got ashore without
accident, though with some difficulty.

There could be no thought of re-embarking in the very high
wind,(although without rain), and so we pushed on into the interior
of the island, which we thought at first was uninhabited; but
eventually we came across a sort of farm, where we found some good
folk who made us very welcome. We were dying of hunger, but it was
impossible to go back to the boat for food, and all we had was a
little bread.

We were told that the island was full of poultry, which was
allowed to run wild, and which the peasants shot, when they wanted
some. My father was very fond of shooting, and he needed some
relaxation from his problems, so we borrowed guns from the peasants,
some pitch-forks and sticks, and we set off on a hen shoot. We shot
several, though it was not easy to hit them as they flew like
pheasants. We also picked up many of their eggs in the woods.