During the confusion that existed, one of the quarter-boats was lowered, but immediately swamped, by which one man, named Price, was drowned. Soon afterwards, three of the crew, namely G. Pigott, the third mate; L. Constantine, the carpenter; and W. Gumble, one of the seamen, put sails, provisions, and water, and arms, and all the carpenter's tools, into the other quarter-boat, and lowered her down; and kept near the wreck during the day and following night. The next day R. Quin and J. Wright, two seamen, joined them, after which they refused to take any more; although six of the crew made their way over the reef the next morning, and wished to be taken on board. The boat, however, bore away, and was seen no more.
The master then, assisted by those who remained, attempted to make a raft, which was not completed before the expiration of seven days. During this interval they had managed to distil the contents of a cask and some bottles of water from the sea, by the aid of the ship's coppers, and a leaden pipe from the quarter gallery cistern, the whole of which they placed on the raft with a basket containing beer, and a cask of pork. Whilst they were on the wreck they were upon a daily allowance of two wine glasses of distilled water, and a few pieces of damaged biscuit.
As soon as the raft was completed, they got upon it, but finding that it was not buoyant enough to hold them, they threw over the water the pork and beer. Still it did not support their weight, so the greater number returned on board; leaving Mr. Moore the master, Mr. Grant the surgeon, Captain and Mrs. D'Oyly, and their two children, their nurse, a native of India, and Mr. Armstrong, passengers; also two seamen, named Lounce and Berry, who determined to remain upon it all night. In the morning, however, it was found that the rope by which the raft had been made fast to the stern of the wreck had been cut, and nothing was seen of their companions. It is probable that the uncomfortable situation in which they found themselves, up to their waists in water, and the sea constantly breaching over them, induced the master to cut the rope and trust to Providence to guide himself and the passengers to some place of safety.
Those that remained then made another raft of the vessel's topmasts lashed together with coir rope, and made a sail out of some cloth which formed a part of her cargo. It took seven days before it was completed, when they launched off and bid adieu to the ill-fated vessel, which was probably soon broken up, for at high-water the sea breached over her.
The vessel that was seen with her masts standing, was too far to windward for them to reach, for even the boat could not make way against the wind and current. Upon casting off, they set their sail and steered before the wind, but the raft was so heavy and deep that very little progress was made. She drifted rather than sailed, and probably did not go more than a mile or one mile and a half an hour. After some time they came to a reef upon which they remained for the night, and the next morning proceeded before the wind, but saw no more reefs.
After being two days and nights upon the raft, up to their waists in water, and partaken of very little food, they passed an island, and then saw several more ahead. Soon afterwards a canoe was perceived paddling towards them, containing ten or twelve Indians, who as they approached stood up and extended their arms to show they had no weapons and were inclined to be friendly. On reaching the raft the Indians got upon it, and conducted themselves very peaceably; and after a short time proposed that they should leave the raft and go into the canoe, which they at first hesitated to do, until Thomas Ching, a midshipman, said he would go, as he should then have a better chance of getting to England, upon which they all consented, and embarked in the canoe. Before they left, the Indians searched the raft very narrowly for iron implements, but only found a few hoops which they collected and took with them. They left the raft about four o'clock in the afternoon, and in less than an hour were landed on an island which they subsequently found was called Boydan, and which is probably that on the chart called Number 1, to the eastward of Hannibal Island.*
(*Footnote. On their way to it the canoe passed, first, three islands on the right (northward) and one on the left (southward). The mainland was also distinguished from Boydan Island, and appeared to be about twelve or fourteen miles off, which agrees very well with the island it is supposed to be.)
Upon disembarking, the natives accompanied them round the island in search of food and water, but they were so exhausted by fatigue and hunger, that they could scarcely crawl. Upon their return to the place where they landed, they threw themselves on the ground in despair; as it was evident from the ferocious bearing and conduct of the savages, who stood around their party grinning and laughing in the most hideous manner, that they were exulting in the anticipation of their murderous intentions. In this dreadful state of suspense, Mr. Clare, the first officer, addressing his companions, recommended them to be resigned to their fate; and read to them, in a most impressive manner, several prayers from a book which he had brought with him from the wreck; after which, commending themselves to the protection of the Almighty, they laid down, and worn out by severe exhaustion, were soon asleep; but it was to them the sleep of death; for no sooner had they composed themselves than, as Ireland describes, he was roused by a shout and noise, and upon looking up saw the Indians murdering his companions by dashing their brains out with clubs. The first that was killed was poor Ching, and after him his companion Perry, and then Mr. Mayer, the second officer: after which the confusion became so great, that Ireland could not distinguish what passed. The last however, that met his fate was Mr. Clare, who in the attempt to make his escape to the canoe, was overtaken by his pursuers, and immediately despatched by a blow on the head.
Ireland and another boy named Sexton, were now left awaiting their fate: the former, the narrator of this melancholy tale, thus describes his deliverance:
An Indian came to me with a carving knife to cut my throat, but as he was about to do it, having seized hold of me, I grasped the blade of the knife in my right hand and held it fast, struggling for my life. The Indian then threw me down, and placing his knee on my breast tried to wrench the knife out of my hand, but I still retained it, although one of my fingers was cut through to the bone. At last I succeeded in getting uppermost, when I let him go and ran into the sea, and swam out; but being much exhausted, and the only chance of my life was to return to the shore, I landed again fully expecting to be knocked on the head. The same Indian then came up with an infuriated gesture, and shot me in the right breast with an arrow; and then in a most unaccountable manner suddenly became quite calm, and led or dragged me to a little distance, and offered me some fish and water, which I was unable to partake of.