The rocky coast appeared to descend sheer to the sea. Our need
of water and rest was well-nigh desperate, but to have attempted a
landing at that time would have been suicidal. Night was drawing near,
and the weather indications were not favourable. There was nothing for
it but to haul off till the following morning, so we stood away on the
starboard tack until we had made what appeared to be a safe offing.
Then we hove to in the high westerly swell. The hours passed slowly as
we waited the dawn, which would herald, we fondly hoped, the last stage
of our journey. Our thirst was a torment and we could scarcely touch
our food; the cold seemed to strike right through our weakened bodies.
At 5 a.m. the wind shifted to the north-west and quickly increased to
one of the worst hurricanes any of us had ever experienced. A great
cross-sea was running and the wind simply shrieked as it tore the tops
off the waves and converted the whole seascape into a haze of driving
spray. Down into valleys, up to tossing heights, straining until her
seams opened, swung our little boat, brave still but labouring heavily.
We knew that the wind and set of the sea was driving us ashore, but we
could do nothing. The dawn showed us a storm-torn ocean, and the
morning passed without bringing us a sight of the land; but at 1 p.
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