Instinctively I swam forward, and got upon another part of the boat. Down it went again; and as the water dashed against my face, I saw the stern now rising up, whilst the stem plunged down into the depths below. I scrambled amidships; the sea and the wind struck her, and she rolled heavily over, righting herself for a moment, with her mast and sail erect; but soon she lay on her larboard side, deep in the water. I had been washed off her, but clung to the main-sheet, and so got back again. I now held on to the side with one hand, whilst I managed to strip off all my clothes except my shirt and flannel waistcoat, first taking my knife out of my pocket. With this I tried to cut away the stays which held the mast in its place, hoping that it would then fall out, and relieve the boat of the sails which weighed her down so low in the water. Most fortunately I had not sand-ballast, in tarred bags, as most of our pleasure-boats had, but water-ballast in breakers, which now proved no additional burthen to the boat. It was also fortunate that she was built partly of deal, and had only her lower streaks of jarra wood, which does not float.
The blade of the knife, which was only a pen-knife, soon broke, and I was obliged to give up the attempt to remove the sails. Still the hurricane blew on, wild and terrible as ever; the spray washed over me like rain; the waves dashed me repeatedly from the boat, which was whirled and tossed about in a strange manner; sometimes rolling completely over, sometimes going down head, and sometimes stern foremost, I had to scramble from part to part, and exercise a good deal of agility in saving myself from being struck by the gunwale, or by the boom and sail, as they rose from the water and fell back again.
And now I could see but small prospect of being eventually saved. The only chance was that the boat would drift, in the course of time, across the estuary, here nearly four miles broad. Then I tried, and for a long time vainly, to ascertain whether she drifted at all. The anchor, with about five-and-twenty feet of cable, had doubtless fallen out, and the boat was probably stationary. Night had set in, and it was too dark to distinguish even the shore with its forest of trees. These gales sometimes continue three days, and I knew it would be impossible to exist many hours immersed in water. I dreaded lest I should become benumbed and unable to hold on to the boat.
In order to keep up circulation as much as possible, I shouted aloud, and rubbed my breast and thighs with my disengaged hand.
Some dark object was on the water near me. It moved; it came quickly towards me. I could just discern that it was a whale-boat containing several men. It had no sails or oars, yet it flew before the blast. I shouted and screamed as it went by, not twenty yards from me; and the men turned their heads and waved their arms, and doubtless answered, but the gale roared with unabated fury, the waves intercepted them from my sight, and I could not hear their voices.*
[footnote] *These men were about a mile and a half astern of me, when the hurricane began, and tried to pull in shore; but just as they thought to have reached it, one of their oars broke, and being now helpless, they were obliged to scud before the wind. By good fortune they were carried up the Canning, where they remained all night.
The moon had now risen, and the clouds were partially dispersed, so that I could at length distinguish the woods on the weather-shore; and I could see the weary waste of waters over which I must drift before I could possibly be saved.
Sometimes the wind blew with lessened violence, and I could sit upon the submerged bilge of the boat, and consider my state and prospects. After long observation, I felt assured that the boat did really drift, but it was very slowly; and I feared that as we approached the other shore, her anchor must inevitably bring her up in twenty-five feet water, and that nothing could save me from perishing of cold. It never occurred to me during this memorable night, that when I set sail in the afternoon I had shortened the cable to about five feet in length, in order the more easily to trip the anchor. This was one of the circumstances, providentially ordered, that tended to save my life.
Some miles down the estuary I could distinguish a light in the house at Point Walter, high placed on a steep bank; there two of my friends were at that moment carousing, whilst I was being buffetted by waves and tempest, and fearing that the saturated sails and heavy wood at length would sink the unfortunate boat to the bottom. I yet could scarcely hope to escape; my mind was still made up to die, and I tranquilly awaited the event.
The moon had now made half of her journey across the heavens; the wind had moderated, and I redoubled my exertions to keep off the cold by shouting and rubbing myself. My flannel-shirt was another instrument of safety to me. It felt warm to my body though the waves poured continually over it.