As it turned out afterwards, the rock proved to be only 9 feet under water. It was shaped like a sugar loaf, and the top was so small that a boat’s anchor could not lie on it. For about an hour we were doing fairly well with the pumping, and there was every hope that if the wind lasted we should reach Hong-Kong. Every sort of sail was improvised for the occasion--even to setting the sails of the boats hanging at the davits. At the end of an hour, owing to the superhuman efforts of the men pumping, one of the chain pumps broke down. This caused a gloom. After a bit, we tried to put a sail over the leak; but this failed, and no time could be spared troubling over it. Officers were cheering the men, who were singing; and it seemed to give them encouragement and assist them in their work. The ship now began to sink by the bows; the ports were all barred in; and every gun that could be so placed was run to the after part of the ship. Shot, shell, and every movable weight were brought aft, to counteract the weight of water in the bows. On we sailed, hoping against hope; but to no purpose. Her bows began visibly to droop, and, matters having assumed a serious aspect, the Commodore attempted to get her to take the ground on the first small island that lay in our path. Minute guns were now fired, and the ensign at the peak was reversed, in the hope that some sail might possibly come to our assistance. A few old trading junks were about; but they took no notice. We passed an easy stone’s throw off the point of one small island, hoping she would take the ground; but nine and ten fathoms of water was called in the chains close to the shore, and on we went. It was a very exciting moment as we gradually neared this small island, wondering what would happen. It was lucky that we did not ground. I do not know how it was, but I personally had a presentiment that we should not have to forsake the ship and take to our boats before something turned up. And my idea proved right. Soon after our passing this island the breeze freshened very considerably, which enabled our ship to be steered for the gradual shelving mud shoals off Macao, some miles distant. I reported to the Commodore that, in the distance and hull down, I could see three French men-of-war at anchor, with a Rear-Admiral’s flag flying. This was great news. He instantly gave the order to salute the French flag, though we kept on firing minute guns of distress all the while. It was a fine idea: it is astonishing how subordinates gain confidence when complete reliance can be placed on their chief in moments of dilemma: it always encourages the feeling of dogged determination not to give in. The water had now reached the level of the main-deck bow ports, and was coming in where there was the slightest leakage; and the hour was about 3.30 P.M.