The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



for I remember that as I hung on to the lee 

 rigging, the seas, after hitting the boat, rose high 

 in the air, nearly knocking me down, and the 

 water that fell on my bare head parted my hair. 

 I had no intention of remaining where I was, as 

 a pounding such as we were experiencing would 

 soon break up any craft, and therefore let my- 

 self down over the side nearest the land, hanging 

 on like grim death to the rail. I could touch 

 the beach, but the under-tow took me off my 

 feet every time the waves receded. I then 

 climbed on board again and got hold of a long 

 sweep or oar, which at the first favourable op- 

 portunity I used as a vaulting pole, landing in 

 quite shallow water. I was in a pitiable state, 

 wet through to the skin, and the night as dark 

 as pitch. I had no idea how far it was back 

 to Tyonak, but I scrambled along that rocky 

 beach until I came to an opening in the cliff. 

 Here I found an Indian shack, the inhabitants 

 of which I knocked up, and persuaded an old 

 squaw to make me a cup of tea, which she kindly 

 did, but of which I had to partake without milk 

 or sugar. This warmed me up, and I then set 

 out to walk the twelve miles, as it turned out, 

 to Tyonak. What a night, and how I blessed 

 those two men ! That was the cruellest walk I 

 ever undertook, for I had to wade streams, 

 stumble over rocks, fall down and get up so 

 often that I somehow did these things auto- 



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