our hands and knees, and, pausing in the lee of the granite ledge
to gain breath, returned to the camp, where we found that the gale
had snapped all the fastenings of the tent but one. Held by this,
the puffed-out canvas swayed in the wind like a balloon. It was a
task of some difficulty to secure it, which we did by beating down
the canvas with the oars.

After several trials, we succeeded in setting up the tent on the
leeward side of the ledge. Blinded by the vivid flashes of
lightning, and drenched by the rain, which fell in torrents, we
crept, half dead with fear and anguish, under our flimsy shelter.
Neither the anguish nor the fear was on our own account, for we
were comparatively safe, but for poor little Binny Wallace, driven
out to sea in the merciless gale. We shuddered to think of him in
that frail shell, drifting on and on to his grave, the sky rent
with lightning over his head, and the green abysses yawning beneath
him. We suddenly fell to crying, and cried I know not how long.

Meanwhile the storm raged with augmented fury. We were obliged to
hold on to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing away. The
spray from the river leaped several yards up the rocks and clutched
at us malignantly. The very island trembled with the concussions of
the sea beating upon it, and at times I fancied that it had broken
loose from its foundation and was floating off with us. The
breakers, streaked with angry phosphorus, were fearful to look at.

The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent,
through which the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum of
our miseries, the night was at hand. It came down abruptly, at
last, like a curtain, shutting in Sandpeep Island from all the