"My post as first officer generally confined me on board the Commodore, whilst most of the officers and men were on shore for the recovery of their health, when a storm came on and rose so mountainous a sea as none of us ever saw before. The ship was in danger of being pooped as we lay at anchor; at last we parted both our bower-cables and drove out to sea, with the sheet-anchor hanging in the hawse, a whole cable and three quarters of another out (excuse these barbarous sea terms), and narrowly escaped driving on a ledge of rocks, that was near, and leaving the Commodore and all the rest behind. The ship, by her labouring in such a troubled sea, made so much water that I was in doubt whether she would not have foundered; our ports and the guns were but ill-secured, owing to the suddenness of the storm, which also upset the long boat. Under these circumstances we drove to sea with one hundred men and boys on board, not knowing whether I should not at last be a captain in spite of my teeth. In this manner I drove seventy leagues, and was fifteen days before I recovered land, beating up against a fresh trade and the current. The Commodore, you may imagine, was overjoyed at my return, as were all the rest. They were very busy in building a vessel to carry them all to China, as they preferred venturing to sea in it to remaining in an uninhabited island, or to be exposed to the cruelty of the Spaniards who live in the neighbouring islands, the Commodore concluding that either the ship was lost, or that I should never be able to beat to windward. At last, after many hazards, we sailed on the 22nd of October 1742, and met with a tolerably good passage to the island of Macoa, a Portuguese settlement on the coast of China, where we arrived on the 11th November, having buried one hundred and sixty men since our leaving Acapulco, or four hundred and twenty since we left England, including Indians and negroes, whom we detained as prisoners."