Soon rain was followed by snow, the nights grew longer and darker, and they now lived in dreadful anticipation of shipwreck; the fresh water diminished, and the labor of working the vessel became too severe for the few who were able to be about. From the 1st to the 4th of November the ship had lain as a log on the ocean, helpless and drifting, at the sport of the wind and the waves. Then again, in desperation, they managed to control her, and set her course anew to the westward, without knowing absolutely anything as to where they were. In a few hours after, the joy of the distressed crew can be better imagined than described, for, looming up on the gray, gloomy horizon, they saw the snow-covered tops of high hills, still distant however, ahead. As they drew nearer, night came upon them, and they judged best, therefore, to keep out at sea “off and on” until daybreak, so as to avoid the risk of wrecking themselves in the deep darkness. When the gray light of early morning dawned, they found that the rigging on the starboard side of the vessel was giving way, and that their craft could not be much longer managed; that the fresh water was very low, and that sickness was increasing frightfully. The raw humidity of the climate was now succeeded by dry, intense cold; life was well-nigh insupportable on shipboard then, so, after a brief consultation, they determined to make for the land, save their lives, and, if possible, safely beach the _St. Peter_. The small sails were alone set; the wind was north; thirty-six fathoms of water over a sand bottom; two hours after they decreased it to twelve; they now contrived to get over an anchor and run it out at three-quarters of a cable’s length; at six in the evening this hawser parted; tremendous waves bore the helpless boat on in toward the land through the darkness and the storm, where soon she struck twice upon a rocky reef. Yet, in a moment after, they had five fathoms of water; a second anchor was thrown out, and again the tackle parted; and while, in the energy of wild despair, prostrated by sheets of salty spray that swept over them in bursts of fury, they were preparing a third bower, a huge combing wave lifted that ark of misery—that band of superlative human suffering—safely and sheer over the reef, where in an instant the tempest-tossed ship rested in calm water; the last anchor was dropped, and thus this luckless voyage of Alaskan discovery came to an end.