By this time the tide had swept them beyond the breakers, and Weekes
called on his companions to row for land. They were so chilled and
benumbed by the cold, however, that they lost all heart, and absolutely
refused. Weekes was equally chilled, but had superior sagacity and
self-command. He counteracted the tendency to drowsiness and stupor
which cold produces by keeping himself in constant exercise; and
seeing that the vessel was advancing, and that everything depended upon
himself, he set to work to scull the boat clear of the bar, and into
quiet water.
Toward midnight one of the poor islanders expired; his companion threw
himself on his corpse and could not be persuaded to leave him. The
dismal night wore away amidst these horrors: as the day dawned, Weekes
found himself near the land. He steered directly for it, and at length,
with the aid of the surf, ran his boat high upon a sandy beach.
Finding that one of the Sandwich Islanders yet gave signs of life, he
aided him to leave the boat, and set out with him towards the adjacent
woods. The poor fellow, however, was too feeble to follow him, and
Weekes was soon obliged to abandon him to his fate and provide for his
own safety. Falling upon a beaten path, he pursued it, and after a few
hours came to a part of the coast, where, to his surprise and joy, he
beheld the ship at anchor and was met by the captain and his party.
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