Having recovered completely from the effects of being cramped up so long in the boat, and the unwholesome food we had lived on, we were anxious to prosecute our voyage.
The chief looked very sorrowful when the mate told him we must be going, and that we should be thankful to him for provisions and water for the voyage. When he told his people, they brought us down fowl and vegetables enough to fill the boat. We showed them our hen-coop, in which we could keep a number of the fowl alive, but that we wanted food for them. Off they ran, and quickly came back with a good supply.
By this time we could understand each other wonderfully well, helping out what we said by signs. The chief gave us all a grand feast the last night of our stay, and the next morning, having shaken hands with all round, we went aboard, and once more put to sea. The natives at the same time came off in their canoes, and accompanied us some way outside the reef; then, with shouts and waving of hands, they wished us good-bye.
We had a long passage before us, but we were in good health and spirits, and we hoped to perform it in safety. We had to keep a sharp look-out at night, for, as the mate told us, there were some small islands between the Pellew and the Philippines, and that, he not being certain of their exact position, we might run upon them.
For a whole week we had fine weather, though, as the wind was light, we didn’t make much way. At the end of that time clouds began to gather in the horizon, and soon covered the whole sky, while the wind shifted to the north-west, and in a short time was blowing a heavy gale. The sea got up, and the water every now and then, notwithstanding our high sides, broke aboard, and we had to take to baling. Night came on, and matters grew worse.
We all had confidence in Mr Griffiths’s skill; and as he had, by his good seamanship, preserved our lives before, we hoped that we should again escape. At length he determined to try his former plan, and, heaving the boat to, we cast out a raft, formed by the oars, and rode to it. The gale, however, increased, and seemed likely to turn into a regular typhoon.
There was no sleep for any of us that night; all hands had to keep baling, while a heavier sea than we had yet encountered broke aboard and carried away a large portion of our provisions, besides drowning all the fowl in the hen-coop. Most of us, I suspect, began to think that we should never see another sunrise. It seemed a wonder, indeed, that the boat escaped being knocked to pieces. Had it continued long, we must have gone down. Towards morning, however, the wind moderated, and before noon we were able to haul the raft aboard and once more make sail. But there we were on the wide ocean, with but scanty provisions and a sorely battered boat.
The weather still looked unsettled, and we feared that we should have another bad night of it. The greater part of the day had gone by, when Brown, who was at the helm while the mate was taking some rest, suddenly exclaimed—
“A sail! A sail! She’s standing this way.”
We all looked out to the northward, and there made out a large vessel steering directly for us.