I never in my life passed such an unpleasant time, rolling our gunnels under, knowing that we were drifting, our anchor having dragged, but in what direction it was difficult to judge; unable to cook, through the sea we had shipped having put our galley-fire out; and, worse than all, burning quantities of coal, as we had to keep steam always well up, ready for anything that might happen.
One day it cleared up for half an hour about noon, and we managed to get meridian observations, which showed us that we had drifted thirty miles of latitude, but we still remained in ignorance of our longitude.

On the fourth day the gale moderated, the weather cleared up, and we ascertained our position correctly by observations.
When it was dark we steered for the light-vessel off Port Royal, meaning, as before, to make her our point of departure for the entrance of the river.

But we went on and on, and we could not see the glimmer of a light or even anything of a vessel (we found out afterwards that the light-ship had been blown from her moorings in the gale).

This was a nice mess.

The pilot told us that to attempt to run for the entrance without having the bearings of the light to guide us would have been perfect madness.