All who were living of our number had reached the shore. Those that were saved had become greatly chilled, and some were nearly perishing. Notwithstanding it was storming at the time, one of the first efforts of a part of our men was to make a fire over a cliff some little distance from the shore, affording a partial protection from the wind and rain.
In searching for articles as they came ashore, we discovered a small keg of spirits, which, in our condition of cold and destitution, was somewhat reviving to all our minds. Five casks of bread, also, were cast upon the beach; but neither beef nor pork was found. The latter probably sunk where the ship left her bottom.
The whole company was soon gathered round the fire, in order to dry our clothes, and, if possible, to obtain some additional warmth. All, however, of our former number were not there; it was a solemn gathering, and the appearance of all of us indicated that we had a narrow escape. Alas! some of our comrades and fellow-seamen were left behind in the surges of the deep, or mingled with the floating wreck, or cast with it upon the shore. The roll was called by the captain, and thirty-three answered to their names; five were numbered with the dead.
The few hours of the past had been full of painful and distressing interest. The majority of our number had been mercifully rescued; but we were cast shelterless, with a small supply of provisions, with no clothing, only what was upon our backs, upon the most barren and desolate region of the earth.
What were our present prospects? They were dark and ominous indeed. A new voyage, in effect, was just opening before us, with diminished numbers, of the progress and termination of which we could not even entertain a reasonable conjecture; yet one thing was certain—its commencement was inauspicious. And, though hope might measurably sustain our minds, still the prospective view before this company of castaway seamen—the rigors of the arctic winter before us, wholly unprepared with clothing to withstand the merciless and long-continued cold of the north, uncertain whether there would be any deliverance for us by any friendly sail, or what would be our reception among the natives,—indeed, the prospect before us was any thing but cheering and encouraging.
But here we were, in the providence of God, vessel and boats gone, at an unknown distance from civilized life and from the settlements of the natives; this was our present lot. Self-preservation, therefore, prompted us to make immediate efforts, in anticipation of what we might need in the future. A common misfortune united all our interests and exertions.
The captain ordered that every thing of value to them in their present circumstances found among the wreck—such as provisions, casks of sails, pieces of canvas, ropes, broken spars, tools, whale gearing, &c.—should be selected, and brought out of the reach of the surf and the accumulation of ice upon the shore. More than a thousand barrels of oil had drifted ashore, and could have been saved had some vessel arrived about that time. A temporary tent was erected as soon as possible, in which various articles could be stored, as well as afford some protection to us from the inclemency of the weather.
There were two circumstances exceedingly favorable in our disaster. It might have been much worse, and no one might have lived to relate the sad event. We realized, upon the review, that this would have been our certain fate, had the ship gone ashore in the night time. It was, however, daylight, and thus we had a clear view of our condition, danger, and prospects. Had it been otherwise, and the same general features of the wreck been transferred to the darkness of night, we do not believe that one soul of us would have been saved.
The other favorable circumstance was, we were not cast upon a rocky part of the coast, or against some high and precipitous cliffs, which lift their bold and defiant fronts against the surges of the ocean far into deep water; to strike against such as we saw, would, at the first concussion, have been the last of the ship and of all on board.
In the good providence of God, however, we drifted upon a part of the coast which presented, for half of a mile or more, quite a plain, sandy beach. We were, therefore, wrecked in the most fortunate spot. On both sides of us, to the west and south-east, cliffs began to rise, and broken and abrupt ledges extended some distance into the sea. Though five of our number found a watery grave, yet the fact that so many of us reached the shore was a matter of profound gratitude to that God who controls the elements, and before whom the sparrow does not fall to the ground without his notice.