pinnace was then manned, and two of the
partners, Mr. David Stuart and Mr. M'Kay, set off in the hope of
learning something of the fate of the whaleboat. The surf, however,
broke with such violence along the shore that they could find no landing
place. Several of the natives appeared on the beach and made signs to
them to row round the cape, but they thought it most prudent to return
to the ship.

The wind now springing up, the Tonquin got under way, and stood in to
seek the channel; but was again deterred by the frightful aspect of
the breakers, from venturing within a league. Here she hove to; and
Mr. Mumford, the second mate, was despatched with four hands, in the
pinnace, to sound across the channel until he should find four fathoms
depth. The pinnace entered among the breakers, but was near being lost,
and with difficulty got back to the ship. The captain insisted that
Mr. Mumford had steered too much to the southward. He now turned to Mr.
Aiken, an able mariner, destined to command the schooner intended
for the coasting trade, and ordered him, together with John Coles,
sail-maker, Stephen Weekes, armorer, and two Sandwich Islanders, to
proceed ahead and take soundings, while the ship should follow under
easy sail. In this way they proceeded until Aiken had ascertained the
channel, when signal was given from the ship for him to return on board.
He was then within pistol shot, but so furious was the current, and
tumultuous the breakers, that the boat became unmanageable, and was
hurried away, the crew crying out piteously for assistance. In a
few moments she could not be seen from the ship's deck. Some of the
passengers climbed to the mizzen top, and beheld her still struggling to
reach the ship; but shortly after she broached broadside to the waves,
and her case seemed desperate. The attention of those on board of the
ship was now called to their own safety. They were in shallow water; the
vessel struck repeatedly, the waves broke over her, and there was danger
of her foundering. At length she got into seven fathoms water, and the
wind lulling, and the night coming on, cast anchor. With the darkness
their anxieties increased. The wind whistled, the sea roared, the gloom
was only broken by the ghastly glare of the foaming breakers, the
minds of the seamen were full of dreary apprehensions, and some of them
fancied they heard the cries of their lost comrades mingling with
the uproar of the elements. For a time, too,