On November 4, Whitefield remarked:-- "Our allowance of water now is but a pint a day, so that we dare not eat much salt beef. Our sails are exceeding thin; some more of them were split last night, and no one knows where we are; but God does, and that is sufficient. Last night, He lifted up the light of His blessed countenance upon me; and to-day, He fills me with joy unspeakable and full of glory; so that, though I have little to eat, I inwardly possess all things. This is now the eighth week I have been on board. If my friends ask me why I arrived no sooner, I may truly answer, Satan hindered us; for I believe it is he who is permitted to do this." A week later he wrote again:-- "Still we are floating about, not knowing where we are; but our people seem yet to have hopes of seeing Ireland. The weather now begins to be cold, so that I can say with the Apostle, 'I am in hungerings and thirstings, cold and fastings often.' My outward man sensibly decayeth, but the spiritual man, I trust, is renewed day by day. Our ship is much out of repair, and our food by no means enough to support nature; an ounce or two of salt beef, a pint of water, and a cake made of flour and skimmings of the pot; but I often think of Him who preserved Moses in the ark of bulrushes, and so long as I look upwards, my faith will not fail." The next day, land appeared. Their plight was pitiable. They had but half a pint of water left. A boat was sent on shore. Provisions and water were obtained; and Mr. McMahon, "a great country gentleman," sent an invitation to Whitefield to visit him, and to stay in his house as long as he liked. "As soon as the provisions came," says Whitefield, "we kneeled down and returned hearty thanks to our good God, who has heard our prayers, and sent His angel before us to prepare our way." On November 14, the ship anchored near the west coast of Ireland, and Whitefield landed. He writes:--