"About 1 P.M. on the 6th of October, 1835, a vessel was observed at sea from this station with a signal flying for a pilot, bearing east distant about twelve miles: in a space of time incredible to those who have not witnessed the launching of a large boat on a like occasion, the yawl, 'Increase,' eighteen tons burden, belonging to Laytons' gang, with ten men and a London Branch pilot, was under weigh, steering for the object of their enterprise. About 4 o'clock she came up with the vessel, which proved to be a Spanish brig, Paquette de Bilboa, laden with a general cargo, and bound from Hamburg to Cadiz, leaky, and both pumps at work. After a great deal of chaffering in regard to the amount of salvage, and some little altercation with part of the boat's crew as to which of them should stay with the vessel, J. Layton, J. Woolsey, and George Darling, boatmen, were finally chosen to assist in pumping and piloting her into Yarmouth harbor: the remainder of the crew of the yawl were then sent away. The brig at this time was about five miles to the eastward of the Newarp Floating Light, off Winterton on the Norfolk coast, the weather looking squally. On passing the light in their homeward course, a signal was made for them to go alongside, and they were requested to take on shore a sick man; and the poor fellow being comfortably placed upon some jackets and spare coats, they again shoved off, and set all sail: they had a fresh breeze from the W.S.W. 'There was little better,' said Brock, 'than a pint of liquor in the boat, which the Spaniard had given us, and the bottle had passed once round, each man taking a mouthful, till about half of it was consumed: we all had a bit of biscuit each, and while we were making our light meal, we talked of our earnings, and calculated that by 10 o'clock we should be at Yarmouth.
"'Without the slightest notice of its approach a terrific squall from the northward took the yawl's sails flat aback, and the ballast which we had trained to windward, being thus suddenly changed to leeward, she was upset in an instant.
"'Our crew and passenger were nine men—'twas terrible to listen to the cries of the poor fellows, some of whom could swim, and others who could not. Mixed with the hissing of the water and the howlings of the storm, I heard shrieks for mercy, and some that had no meaning but what arose from fear. I struck out to get clear of the crowd, and in a few minutes there was no noise, for most of the men had sunk; and, on turning round, I saw the boat still kept from going down by the wind having got under the sails. I then swam back to her, and assisted an old man to get hold of one of her spars. The boat's side was about three feet under water, and for a few minutes I stood upon her, but I found she was gradually settling down, and when up to my chest I again left her and swam away; and now, for the first time, began to think of my own awful condition. My companions were all drowned, at least I supposed so. How long it was up to this period from the boat's capsizing I cannot exactly say; in such cases, there is no time; but now I reflected that it was half-past six P.M. just before the accident occurred; that the nearest land at the time was six miles distant; and that it was dead low water, and the flood tide setting off the shore, making to the southward; therefore, should I ever reach the land, it would take me at least fifteen miles setting up with the flood, before the ebb would assist me.'
"While Brock was making these calculations, a rush horse collar covered with old netting floated close to him; he laid hold of it, and getting his knife out, he stripped off the net-work, and putting his left arm through, was supported until he had cut the waist band of his petticoat trousers which then fell off: his striped frock, waistcoat and neckcloth, were also similarly got rid of, but he dared not try to free himself of his oiled trousers, drawers, or shirt, fearing that his legs might become entangled in the attempt; he therefore returned his knife into the pocket of his trousers, and put the collar over his head, which, although it assisted in keeping him above water, retarded his swimming; and after a few moments' thinking what was best to be done, he determined to abandon it. He now, to his great surprise, perceived one of his messmates swimming ahead of him; but he did not hail him. The roaring of the hurricane was past; the cries of drowning men were no longer heard; the moonbeams were casting their silvery light over the smooth surface of the deep, calm and silent as the grave over which he floated, and into which he saw this last of his companions descend without a struggle or a cry, as he approached within twenty yards of him. Yes, he beheld the last of his brave crew die beside him; and now he was alone in the cold silence of night, more awful than the strife of the elements which had preceded. Perhaps at this time something might warn him that he too would soon be mingled with the dead; but if such thoughts did intrude, they were but for a moment; and again his mental energies, joined with his lion heart and bodily prowess, cast away all fear, and he reckoned the remotest possible chances of deliverance, applying the means,
"'Courage and Hope both teaching him the practice.'
"Up to this time, Winterton Light had served instead of a land-mark to direct his course; but the tide had now carried him out of sight of it, and in its stead 'a bright star stood over where' his hopes of safety rested. With his eyes steadfastly fixed upon it, he continued swimming on, calculating the time when the tide would turn. But his trials were not yet past. As if to prove the strength of human fortitude, the sky became suddenly overclouded, and 'darkness was upon the face of the deep.' He no longer knew his course, and he confessed, that for a moment he was afraid; yet he felt, that 'fear is but the betraying of the succors which reason offereth,' and that which roused him to further exertion, would have sealed the fate of almost any other human being. A sudden short cracking peal of thunder burst in stunning loudness just over his head, and the forked and flashing lightning at brief intervals threw its vivid fires around him. This, too, in its turn passed away, and left the sea once more calm and unruffled: the moon (nearly full) again threw a more brilliant light upon the waters, which the storm had gone over without waking from their slumbers. His next effort was to free himself from his heavy laced boots, which greatly encumbered him, and in which he succeeded by the aid of his knife. He now saw Lowestoft's high Lighthouse, and could occasionally discern the tops of the cliffs beyond Garlestone on the Suffolk coast. The swell of the sea drove him over the Cross Sand Ridge, and he then got sight of a buoy, which, although it told him his exact position, 'took him rather aback,' as he had hoped he was nearer the shore. It proved to be the chequered buoy, St. Nicholas' Gate, off Yarmouth, and opposite his own door, but distant from the land four miles. And now again he held counsel with himself, and the energies of his mind seem almost superhuman; he had been five hours in the water, and here was something to hold on by; he could have even got upon the buoy, and some vessel might come near to pick him up, and the question was, could he yet hold out four miles? 'But,' said he, 'I knew the night air would soon finish me, and had I stayed but a few minutes upon it, and then altered my mind, how did I know that my limbs would again resume their office?' He found the tide was broke; it did not run so strong; so he abandoned the buoy, and steered for the land, towards which, with the wind from the eastward, he found he was now fast approaching. The last trial of his fortitude was now at hand, for which he was totally unprepared, and which he considered (having the superstition of a sailor) the most difficult of any he had to combat. Soon after he left the buoy, he heard just above his head a sort of whiffing sound, which his imagination conjured into the prelude to the 'rushing of a mighty wind,' and close to his ear there followed a smart splash in the water, and a sudden shriek that went through him,—such as is heard
"'When the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry.'
"The fact was, a large gray gull, mistaking him for a corpse, had made a dash at him, and its loud discordant scream in a moment brought a countless number of these formidable birds together, all prepared to contest for a share of the spoil. These large and powerful foes he had now to scare from their intended prey, and, by shouting and splashing with his hands and feet, in a few minutes they disappeared.
"He now caught sight of a vessel at anchor, but a great way off, and to get within hail of her he must swim over Carton Sands (the grave of thousands), the breakers at this time showing their angry white crests. As he approached, the wind suddenly changed; the consequence of which was that the swell of the sea met him. Here is his own description:—'I got a great deal of water down my throat, which greatly weakened me, and I felt certain, that, should this continue, it would soon be all over, and I prayed that the wind might change, or that God would take away my senses before I felt what it was to drown. In less time than I am telling you, I had driven over the sands into smooth water; the wind and swell came again from the eastward, and my strength returned to me as fresh as in the beginning.'
"He now felt certain that he could reach the shore; but he considered it would be better to get within hail of the brig, some distance to the southward of him, and the most difficult task of the two, as the ebb tide was now running, which, although it carried him towards the land, set to the northward; and to gain the object of his choice would require much greater exertion. Here, again, are Brock's reflections:—'If I gained the shore, could I get out of the surf, which at this time was heavy on the beach? And, supposing I succeeded in this point, should I be able to walk, climb the cliffs, and get to a house? if not, there was little chance of life remaining long in me: but if I could make myself heard on board the brig, then I should secure immediate assistance. I got within two hundred yards of her, the nearest possible approach, and, summoning all my strength, I sung out as bravely as if I had been on shore.'