Still
their sufferings from hunger and thirst were great; but there was a
Sandwich Islander on board, an expert swimmer, who found his way into
the cabin, and occasionally brought up a few bottles of wine and porter,
and at length got into the rum, and secured a quarter cask of wine.
A little raw pork was likewise procured, and dealt out with a sparing
hand. The horrors of their situation were increased by the sight of
numerous sharks prowling about the wreck, as if waiting for their prey.
On the 24th, the cook, a black man, died, and was cast into the sea,
when he was instantly seized on by these ravenous monsters.
They had been several days making slow headway under their scanty sail,
when, on the 25th, they came in sight of land. It was about fifteen
leagues distant, and they remained two or three days drifting along in
sight of it. On the 28th, they descried, to their great transport, a
canoe approaching, managed by natives. They came alongside, and brought
a most welcome supply of potatoes. They informed them that the land they
had made was one of the Sandwich Islands. The second mate and one of
the seamen went on shore in the canoe for water and provisions, and to
procure aid from the islanders, in towing the wreck into a harbor.
Neither of the men returned, nor was any assistance sent from shore.
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