When I woke up, it was broad daylight, and I found myself drifting near the southwest end of Treasure Island.
The sun had already risen, but the huge mass of Spy-glass Hill still blocked it from my view. On this side, the hill dropped almost straight down into the sea, ending in steep and dangerous cliffs.
Haulbowline Head and Mizzenmast Hill were close beside me. The hill looked dark and empty, while the head was surrounded by cliffs forty or fifty feet high, with enormous rocks scattered below.
I was less than a quarter of a mile from shore, and my first thought was to paddle in and land.
But I quickly gave up that idea.
The waves crashed violently among the rocks. Water burst upward, sprays flew through the air, and the cliffs echoed with every удар of the surf.
If I went closer, I knew I would either be smashed to death against the rocks or waste all my strength trying to climb those impossible cliffs.
But there was another problem.
On the flat rocks nearby, I saw huge slimy creatures crawling around. Some slid into the sea with loud splashes, while others gathered together and made strange barking noises that echoed across the shore.
Later, I learned they were sea lions and completely harmless.
But at that moment, with the wild waves, dangerous shore, and terrifying creatures, I wanted nothing to do with that place.
I would rather have stayed hungry and thirsty on the sea than try to land there.
Luckily, I thought I had another chance.
North of Haulbowline Head, the coast stretched a long way, leaving a wide area of yellow sand when the tide was low.
Beyond that was another cape called Cape of the Woods on the map. Tall green pine trees covered it, reaching all the way down to the edge of the sea.
I remembered what Silver had told me about the current flowing north along the western coast of Treasure Island.
From where I was drifting, I could tell I was already caught in that current.
So I decided to let Haulbowline Head pass behind me and save my strength for trying to land at the much friendlier-looking Cape of the Woods.
The sea was moving in long, smooth swells.
A gentle wind blew steadily from the south, working together with the current instead of fighting against it. The waves rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
If the conditions had been different, I would surely have died.
But my little coracle handled the water surprisingly well.
Many times, while I lay at the bottom with only my eyes above the edge, I saw enormous blue waves rising beside me.
Yet the little boat simply bounced upward, shook gently like it was sitting on springs, and slid down the other side as lightly as a bird.
After a while, I became brave enough to sit up and try paddling.
But even a small change in weight completely changed the behavior of the coracle.
The moment I moved, the boat stopped its gentle motion. It suddenly rushed down a steep slope of water, making me dizzy, and buried its nose into the next wave with a huge splash.
I was soaked and terrified.
I quickly dropped back into my old position.
Immediately, the coracle seemed to recover and began floating smoothly again.
I realized I could not control her. She had a mind of her own.
And if I could not guide her, how could I ever reach land?
I was terribly frightened, but I forced myself to stay calm.
First, I carefully used my sea cap to scoop out the water inside the boat.
Then I raised my eyes above the side and studied how the coracle managed to move so safely through the waves.
I discovered something interesting.
From the shore or from a ship’s deck, a wave looks like one huge smooth mountain.
But when you are inside it, a wave is more like a range of hills on land, with peaks, valleys, and flat spaces.
The coracle, left alone, twisted and turned between these lower areas, avoiding the steep sides and crashing tops of the waves.
“Well,” I thought, “I must stay where I am and not disturb the balance.”
“But I can still use the paddle when the water is calm and slowly push myself toward shore.”
I immediately tried it.
I lay on my elbows in the most uncomfortable position and occasionally gave a weak paddle stroke toward land.
It was slow and exhausting work.
But I could see that I was making progress.
As I approached Cape of the Woods, I realized I would miss the exact point I wanted to reach.
Still, I had moved some distance in the right direction.
I was now close enough to see the cool green treetops swaying in the wind.
I felt certain I could reach the next stretch of shore.
It was just in time.
My thirst had become unbearable.
The heat of the sun above me, the bright reflection of the waves, and the seawater drying on my skin had covered my lips with salt.
My throat burned, and my head ached.
Seeing the trees so close almost drove me mad with desire.
But the current carried me past the cape.
As another stretch of open sea appeared before me, I saw something that completely changed my thoughts.
Right ahead of me, less than half a mile away, was the Hispaniola under sail.
At first, I was sure I would be rescued.
But I was so desperate for water that I could hardly decide whether I was happy or afraid.
Before I could think clearly, surprise took over, and I could only stare.
The Hispaniola was sailing with her main sail and two jibs.
Her white canvas shone brightly in the sun like snow.
When I first saw her, all her sails were full.
She was heading northwest, and I guessed the crew was sailing around the island back toward the anchorage.
Then she slowly turned farther west.
I thought they had spotted me and were changing course to chase me.
But suddenly she turned directly into the wind.
The sails collapsed, shaking uselessly, and the ship stopped.
“Foolish sailors,” I said to myself.
“They must still be drunk.”
I imagined how Captain Smollett would have made them work.
The schooner slowly turned away, filled her sails again, and moved quickly for a short distance.
Then once more she turned into the wind and stopped.
Again and again this happened.
The Hispaniola moved wildly in every direction, north, south, east, and west, but each time she ended up helpless with her sails flapping.
It became obvious that nobody was steering her.
But where were the men?
Either they were completely drunk or they had abandoned the ship.
I thought that if I could reach her, perhaps I could return the vessel to her captain.
The current carried both my coracle and the schooner southward at the same speed.
Because the Hispaniola kept stopping and losing direction, she was not making much progress.
If only I dared to sit up and paddle, I believed I could catch her.
The idea was exciting.
And knowing there was a water barrel beside the front cabin made me even more determined.
I stood up.
Another wave immediately covered me with spray.
But this time I held my position.
With all my strength and care, I began paddling after the helpless Hispaniola.
Once a heavy wave crashed over me, and I had to stop and empty the water from the boat.
My heart was pounding.
But little by little, I learned how to handle the coracle.
I guided her through the waves, receiving only occasional blows against the bow and splashes of foam in my face.
Soon I was gaining on the schooner.
I could see the brass on the tiller shining as it swung wildly from side to side.
Still, nobody appeared on deck.
I could only believe the ship was abandoned.
If not, the men must have been lying drunk below deck, where I might be able to trap them and take control of the ship.
For some time, the Hispaniola had been doing the worst thing possible for me.
She was almost standing still, heading nearly south while constantly turning.
Whenever she moved away from the wind, her sails filled and immediately pushed her back into the wind again.
Although she seemed helpless, she was still moving away from me.
The current carried her along, and her sideways drift pushed her even farther away.
But finally, my chance came.
The wind weakened for a few seconds.
The current slowly turned the ship around until her stern faced me.
The cabin window was still open.
The lamp above the table was still burning, even though daylight had arrived.
The main sail hung loosely like a flag.
The ship was almost motionless except for the current.
I had actually been losing ground.
But now I paddled harder than ever and began catching up again.
I was less than a hundred yards away when the wind suddenly returned.
The Hispaniola filled her sails on the left side and rushed forward again, leaning over like a bird flying low over the water.
At first, I felt hopeless.
Then suddenly I felt excited.
The ship turned around until she was broadside to me.
She kept turning.
Half the distance disappeared.
Then two-thirds.
Then three-quarters.
I could see white water boiling beneath her bow.
From my tiny boat, the schooner looked enormous.
Then suddenly I understood what was happening.
I barely had time to think.
I barely had time to act.
I was riding on top of a wave when the schooner came rushing down from the next one.
The bowsprit passed directly above me.
I jumped up and leaped forward, forcing the coracle under the water.
With one hand, I grabbed the jib-boom.
My foot caught between the ropes and supports.
I hung there, breathing heavily.
Then a dull crash came from below.
The Hispaniola had struck the coracle.
My little boat was gone.
And I was left with no choice but to stay aboard the Hispaniola.