My brother and I laid down our paddles, and with tin kettles applied ourselves vigorously to bailing out the water. Many times the great tumbling billows seemed as if they would surely roll over us, but our light cedars, though sometimes half-filled with water, were borne up on the crest of the waves. At length we neared the rocky shore toward which for several hours we had been struggling, but, to our dismay, only to find it skirted by a long line of rocks and shoals, upon which the full fury of the wild sea was breaking. What were we to do? Without a harbor we would be dashed to pieces upon the rocks—and it was impossible to retreat against the storm. On we were borne by the force of the gale, but, thanks to a kind Providence, just as the crisis appeared to have come, a way of escape was discerned. One rock could be seen standing out in advance of the others, and behind this we managed with a supreme effort to guide the canoes. Then in shallow water, with the force of the seas broken, we all sprang out, and with great exertion succeeded in landing the boats in safety.
The country here was entirely barren and rocky, comparatively level, and of a most dreary aspect, without a sign of vegetation. The storm continued for two days longer, during which time we were obliged to remain on shore. As our provisions were now about exhausted, attention was chiefly devoted to hunting, but all that could be found was a small duck and two gulls. The broken remains of an Eskimo kyack were found upon the shore, and these were carefully gathered up so that a kettle of water might be boiled and our gulls cooked for supper.
On the morning of the 20th, the wind having fallen, camp was called at four o'clock and without breakfast
