“They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths; their soul is melted because of trouble.”

“Joy cometh in the morning;” but it was not so with our forlorn company. Daylight of the 30th December dawned only to reveal our mutual wretchedness, and to aggravate our distress. Our hapless vessel vanished in the distance as daylight appeared, and our hearts fainted to discover that no friendly sail was visible within the range of the horizon, for our rescue. Left alone in that vast solitude of sea and sky, it only now remained for us to seek our safety by making for the nearest land, or to die in the endeavour. We were but “in the beginning of sorrows,” and our first business was to commit ourselves to God. Gathering our boats as closely as possible together, we joined in singing the 38th Psalm, 1–5th verses, and by prayer “poured out our complaint before God, and showed before him our trouble.” Being comforted by this exercise, we immediately thereafter commenced active preparations for our melancholy voyage. Our first object was to rig a mast and sail in each boat. We had only oars to form our masts, and a top-gallant studding sail and royal fore sails. With some small lines, shrouds and stays were made; and by six o’clock in the morning all the three boats were under sail for our destination. I then commenced to overhaul our stock of supplies, and found that we had two small cheeses, two hams, only about twenty-four gallons of water, and seventy or eighty pounds of bread, which was damaged by salt water, with a half gallon of rum, a half gallon of brandy, and a few bottles of wine. This supply was by no means adequate to sustain life among such a company for many days. I therefore called the boats together, and told the people that we could not expect to make the land in less than ten or twelve days, and it might take a day or two more; that our stock of water and provisions was far short, and that therefore we must come at once on short allowance. I am happy to say that all acquiesced with the proposition, and, indeed, showed throughout the happiest spirit of subordination and harmony. Our small allowance was then distributed, which gave a little bread, which was repeated in the evening, and only three table spoonfuls of water to each per day. At noon I got an observation for the latitude, and found it 35 deg. 37 sec. south, and longitude 9 deg. 15 sec. east of Greenwich. We again engaged in the worship of God, and sought to keep the boats in close company. But as day declined the weather looked wild; and the men in the small boat, being afraid of her capsizing during the night, I had to divide her company between the long-boat and skiff, and cast her adrift. Nine persons were thus in the skiff, and nineteen in the longboat, which sank us very deep in the water, and uncomfortably overcrowded us. The long-boat was particularly uncomfortable, being lumbered with our small stock of provisions; and, having been used as a stall for cattle, we were not only soaked with seawater, but smeared with filth. Our distressing situation may easily be supposed, with a promiscuous company of ladies and children crowded together without the means of separation, and exposed night and day to the action of all the rudest elements. We however washed our boat, which served somewhat to improve our condition. At the close of day we again sang praise to God, and implored his protection and blessing. The regular performance of this duty was a great comfort to us in our misery, and I was well assisted in its discharge by Mr. Wallace the mate, my brother William, and nephew John, as well as by some of the passengers, all of whom occasionally conducted the devotions. We made it our endeavour to unite both boats in one exercise of daily praise and prayer, and when this was impracticable, service was separately conducted in the skiff by George Davidson and Thomas Souter, seamen. In no case, to the best of my knowledge, was this duty omitted from being performed three times a day, so that we could say, with the Psalmist, “Evening, and morning, and at noon, we pray and cry aloud, and he shall hear our voice.”

During the night the wind blew freshly from the south, and the sea was so heavy, that I was obliged to deviate to the north of my course a little, in the hope of regaining my leeway by a future and more favourable wind and sea. But although it would have been hard work to fetch the Cape of Good Hope even with a fairer wind, we could not help ourselves, as our little boats could not breast the billows, and yet we hauled them as close to the wind as we dared. The moon shone on us during a part of that night, and enabled us to keep the boats together; but when she set, we were greatly distressed by the danger of separating. At length day light came to the relief of our sleepless and anxious watching, but only to the increase of our other sorrows. This day the people pleaded with tears for an increase to the allowance of water, and my soul yearned for the petitioners; but although I felt the strength of their craving in my own fevered frame, I dared not accede to their request. I knew that our distance from land rendered it certain destruction for us to increase our expenditure, unless, indeed, some friendly bark should cross our path, which we could not certify, and which certainly never occurred. I therefore earnestly exhorted them to make the best use of the small quantity allowed, by dividing it into three daily distributions. This was done in the long-boat, and we felt the benefit of it, in the more frequent moistening of our palate, and the easier mastication of our bread. At noon I obtained an observation, and found the latitude 34 deg. 49 min. south, and calculated our longitude at 11 deg. 40 min. east. A little wine was distributed this day along with the usual allowance of water, which was greedily swallowed. Towards evening another earnest appeal came from the people in the skiff for an additional allowance of water, which I was compelled to refuse. Contrary to my injunctions, they had swallowed their allowance at one draught, and were therefore in agony till the time for next day’s supply. I learned, also, that some of them had begun to drink salt water, which I sought in vain to prevent. I told them that if they persisted they would become delirious, which, alas! was soon too painfully realized.

The wind lulled a little about midnight, but the darkness greatly distressed us, and about four o’clock we lost sight of the skiff. We immediately lowered our sail, and with difficulty got a light in the lantern, awaiting the result with intense anxiety. For half an hour this distressing suspense continued, when, to our great relief, the boat re-appeared. Night ere long again departed, but with each returning day we found the sufferings of our company on the increase; cold and thirst were making shocking inroads among us. Up to this time we had never been able to stretch our stiffened limbs, and we had all the while been thoroughly drenched by the constant action of the sea. This day, however, being more favourable, we got our clothes partially dried, and managed to erect a temporary bulwark of blankets on the weather-side, which afforded some additional shelter from the elements. This enabled us to perform our worship “with a little reviving,” and we partook of our scanty allowance with increasing appetite. My observation for this day was latitude 34 deg. 30 min. south, and longitude 12 deg. 49 min. east. Towards evening the wind and sea increased from the south-west, and as I could not make my course good, I allowed the boats to run, so as to make all the easting possible. At midnight the moon went down, and as the sea ran very high, we had difficulty to preserve the boats in company during the darkness. Our candles were scanty, so that we could not burn constant light, and we longed exceedingly for the coming of day. By this time our distresses were very grievous; the midnight sea had thoroughly soaked every one of us, and several of our people gave decisive symptoms of insanity, especially two of the passengers in the skiff, who had persisted in drinking the salt water. In the morning the weather became more moderate; at noon we were in latitude 34 deg. 34 min. south, and longitude 14 deg. 37 min. east, so that I concluded, if the weather should keep favourable, that in three days’ sail we might make the land. The wretched condition of our company towards evening constrained me to administer a little wine, and an additional half of a wine glassful of water to each; I exhorted them to use it sparingly, as I dreaded a stormy night; but the people in the skiff consumed it on the instant. Milder weather succeeded in the morning, which enabled us to dry our clothes. In the afternoon we rigged a temporary jib, with a sheet for a studding-sail, and the crew of the skiff did the same. I tried for an observation, and found the latitude 34 deg. 12 min, but my chronometer by this time was nearly useless for the calculation of longitude, and I guessed it to be 15 deg. 47 min. east. The cry for water at this time became heart-rending, especially from the children in the skiff; their piercing screams went to my inmost soul, and yet I durst not be subdued by them; therefore, with a feigned sternness, which my heart disallowed, I was compelled to order the skiff to shear off, so that I might at least be released from listening to their anguish, which I could neither bear nor brave.

Again evening and morning came, and still as our course lengthened our woes increased. The night and morning were intensely cold, and a hollow sea again had drenched us to the skin. The people seemed to have reached a state of utter exhaustion, not unmingled with the indifference of despair. They appeared to have lost all relish for food, and water was the only cry; several of them had persisted in taking salt water, which it was impossible to prevent, as there were but eight or nine inches of free side from the sea, so that they put out their hand through the night and took it. The consequence was, that two in our boat, and the same number in the skiff, were quite delirious, while several others in both boats gave symptoms of the same distressing state. The ladies throughout behaved with magnanimity, and even the endurance of the children was admirable. The best arrangements were indeed made for them which we could command. We appropriated the stern sheets to the ladies, as the most comfortable; and for their accommodation I had to sit upon the gunwale, while steering the boat. This post was only filled by the mate and myself, as there was no other to whom I could confide it; but he, being very unwell, from having been crushed by the water-cask, the heaviest share of the duty devolved upon me. The skiff was managed by Thomas Souter and George Davidson, whose excellent seamanship was beyond all praise. The people seemed to be so depressed and inclined to sleep, that in the evening I mixed a little rum with their allowance of water, which partially revived them. The night was setting in very gloomily, and as our evening song mingled with the rising tempest, I am sure that our hearts sympathized with its plea. It was Psalm vi.

Our chapter this evening was Acts xxvii., and we prayed that the God who stood by Paul, in his perils and shipwreck, would preserve the lives of all who sailed with us. The night was very dark and stormy, with a heavy sea; every wave was broken on the top, and we were nearly smothered by the spray. It required all our skill to keep the sea from breaking on board of us. I gave orders to the men to stand ready with our three buckets, in case, amid the darkness, any wave should make a breach on us. At length, about midnight, one frightful billow rose close to the boat, and broke right over us. A slight scream rose from our company at the instant, and I thought our fate was sealed, as the boat was nearly filled with water, and staggered under the stroke, as if settling in the trough of the sea. I, however, got her right before the wind, and during a short smooth which providentially succeeded, she was bailed with all despatch, and righted. The skiff had been in no better condition, and nothing but the most masterly seamanship could have preserved her afloat. Frequently we lost sight of each other during the darkness, and our matches being wet, we could no longer hold out a signal-light as formerly. “By the good hand of our God upon us,” however, we were mutually preserved, and kept together during that dismal night.

A frowning morning succeeded, and found our companions worse than ever. I immediately served a small allowance, which revived us all; indeed I was at this time myself greatly exhausted, having kept the helm without stirring for thirty-six hours, on account of the illness of the mate. My sextant having been spoiled by the loss of its top, I was now no longer able to keep our reckoning, except by guess. I was in hopes that the gale would subside at noon, and permit us to take a more southerly course, so as to fetch the Cape, but I was unhappily disappointed. The storm only increased in severity, and the sea broke around us with redoubled fury, driving in the temporary bulwarks, which we had re-erected after the night’s disaster. I calculated that at this time we were about seventy miles from land, but the brackish colour of the water led me to suppose that we might be nearer, and, being afraid to make the coast in the night, I resolved to stand to the north till midnight, it being impossible to ride the boats by bridle or otherwise in such a sea. To this all parties gave consent, and I issued orders accordingly. I confess that I had almost no hope of seeing morning, and therefore told the skiff’s crew that if anything happened to us through the night, they must stand in for the land, and do the best they could. My gloomy forebodings were shared by all, except those—to the number of six or seven—who were by this time insensible to everything around them. After partaking of our allowance with thanksgiving, we committed ourselves to the Lord of life and death, and took leave of each other without the hope of meeting again in this world. In the early part of the night our little boats behaved admirably in their conflict with the tremendous sea, and at eleven o’clock we shifted our small sail, and stood directly in for the land. The skiff followed, but at midnight the wind and waves increased in fury, and a tremendous billow broke close astern of us, which seemed to swallow up our dear companions. We strained our aching vision to catch the re-appearance of their little mast, but in vain; with trembling anxiety we then lowered down our sail, and, after great difficulty, got a light in the lantern, but it was soon extinguished, and, after long and anxious waiting, no trace of the skiff was visible, and we gave them up as lost, believing “that the deep had covered them.” The sea was breaking so heavily over the stern, while there was no way on our boat, that we were in danger of foundering, so that we were compelled, with deep distress, again to make sail, and pursue our course. Life was now faint within me, and I felt as if “the bitterness of death was past.” A cold shiver had seized my frame, and I was inclined to resign all further effort. By the administration of a tea-spoonful of wine, however, I rallied a little, and maintained my post at the helm throughout the night.

Morning at length broke, but there was no appearance of our companions, and all hope of their restoration departed. Our morning meal was consumed in melancholy silence, and our “grief was heavier than our groaning” in our morning prayers. Four persons in our boat were in extreme exhaustion, and one of them—a passenger—named George Peat, was evidently in a dying state. The weather looked more mild, and I sought to rally their spirits: with three of them I partially succeeded, but Peat took no notice of anything, save to suck greedily his allowance of water. In the forenoon the sun broke through the clouds, and shed an agreeable warmth to which we had long been strangers, so that we took off our wet clothes, and hung them up to dry. The hope of seeing land revived the love of life within us, and, with the former exceptions, our company, in spite of the absence of our other boat, were in better spirits. At eleven o’clock >A.M. the mate relieved me from the helm, and all were intent in looking out for the land. In this we were disappointed; but the mate thought he descried something ahead like a mast or a sail. All eyes were turned in the direction with eagerness, but for a considerable time we could see nothing. At last another person saw something on the top of a heavy wave, and, as we drew nearer, a mast without a sail became distinctly visible. Could it be our brethren? was anxiously inquired by every one; and indeed it was. Poor fellows! they had tasted nothing for more than twenty-four hours. At the time when they disappeared they were overwhelmed in the belly of a tremendous broken sea, and their boat was nearly filled. Their little mast was carried away, and one of them was washed overboard, but catching hold of the boat, they had hauled him in again. By extraordinary exertions they then bailed their boat, got their mast replaced, and, pursuing our course, in their anxiety to overtake us, had actually passed us before daylight. How we ever met again was a mystery to all; but “it was the Lord’s doing, and it was marvelous in our eyes.” I shall not attempt to describe the scene of our remarkable greeting. It was not joyous, for alas, we had now become strangers to every emotion of gladness; but we grasped each other’s hands, and our full hearts found vent in silent tears. Our souls had become knit together in the fellowship of suffering, and in the midst of deaths, we celebrated their restoration as a deliverance from the grave. Of course they received immediate refreshment and a little wine was distributed to the whole company on the occasion. Our noontide worship, which was mutually conducted, arose from overflowing hearts; and although our common woes were nothing abated, we caught something of the spirit of our hymn while we sung,