The three boats sped forward to the southwest in a rising sea, the gale increased, and the heavy seas grew hourly more formidable and threatening. De Long and Chipp were experiencing great difficulty in the management of their overloaded boats. Melville, in his endeavour to obey the order to keep within hail, was all but swamped by the fury of the waves as they broke over the whale-boat. In an endeavour to answer signals from De Long, Melville shouted down the wind that he must run or swamp—De Long waved back, motioning him onward. Melville hoisted sail, shook out one reef, and the whale-boat shot forward like an arrow. De Long then signalled Chipp; for an instant the second cutter was seen in the dim twilight to rise on the crest of a wave, then sink out of sight; once more she appeared; a tremendous sea broke over her; a man was seen striving to free the sail; she sank again from view, and, though seas rose and fell, one after another, the second cutter with all on board was never seen again. The whale-boat plunged on at a spanking rate and was soon out of sight of De Long. The question now was whether she would outlive the gale—and to insure greater safety Melville ordered a drag anchor to be made of tent poles weighted with such available material as came to hand. What a night, lying anchored at the mercy of the gale, bailing out with pumps, buckets, and pans the heavy seas as they broke over the boat; hungry and thirsty men, soaked to the skin with repeated ice-cold baths, half frozen from exposure to the icy blasts. A little whiskey was all they had during that fearful night, and in the morning a quarter of a pound of pemmican served as breakfast to the wretched crew. The gale still raged about them with unabated fury. But by afternoon it had abated sufficiently for them to get under way, and the morning of the 14th found them sailing through young ice, and in shoal waters, which they avoided by steering to the eastward all day. Short rations of a quarter of a pound of pemmican three times a day, without water, was all they had, and another miserable night settled upon the toilers, as they bailed the water-logged whale-boat, the water turning to slush the minute it was in the boat. The men were now undergoing severe sufferings from thirst. The following day they were fortunate in reaching one mouth of the Lena River, and, proceeding up this stream, they disembarked for the first time, after five days of misery. Taking shelter in a deserted hut, lately vacated by natives, they thawed their aching bodies around a cheering camp fire, brewed a pot of tea, and ate of a stew made of a few birds shot at Semenovski Island. But their swollen limbs, blistered and cracked hands, gave them excruciating pain, and another sleepless night added to their misery. Two more toilsome days were spent pulling up the river and encamping at night under a cold and cheerless sky.