I think most of us had a feeling that the end was very
near. Just after 6 p.m., in the dark, as the boat was in the yeasty
backwash from the seas flung from this iron-bound coast, then, just
when things looked their worst, they changed for the best. I have
marvelled often at the thin line that divides success from failure and
the sudden turn that leads from apparently certain disaster to
comparative safety. The wind suddenly shifted, and we were free once
more to make an offing. Almost as soon as the gale eased, the pin that
locked the mast to the thwart fell out. It must have been on the point
of doing this throughout the hurricane, and if it had gone nothing
could have saved us; the mast would have snapped like a carrot. Our
backstays had carried away once before when iced up and were not too
strongly fastened now. We were thankful indeed for the mercy that had
held that pin in its place throughout the hurricane.
We stood off shore again, tired almost to the point of apathy. Our
water had long been finished. The last was about a pint of hairy
liquid, which we strained through a bit of gauze from the medicine-
chest. The pangs of thirst attacked us with redoubled intensity, and I
felt that we must make a landing on the following day at almost any
hazard. The night wore on.
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