The wind now springing up, the Tonquin got under way, and stood in to seek the channel; but was again deterred by the frightful aspect of the breakers, from venturing within a league.  Here she hove to; and Mr. Mumford, the second mate, was despatched with four hands, in the pinnace, to sound across the channel until he should find four fathoms depth.  The pinnace entered among the breakers, but was near being lost, and with difficulty got back to the ship.  The captain insisted that Mr. Mumford had steered too much to the southward.  He now turned to Mr. Aiken, an able mariner, destined to command the schooner intended for the coasting trade, and ordered him, together with John Coles, sail-maker, Stephen Weekes, armorer, and two Sandwich Islanders, to proceed ahead and take soundings, while the ship should follow under easy sail.  In this way they proceeded until Aiken had ascertained the channel, when signal was given from the ship for him to return on board.  He was then within pistol shot, but so furious was the current, and tumultuous the breakers, that the boat became unmanageable, and was hurried away, the crew crying out piteously for assistance.  In a few moments she could not be seen from the ship’s deck.  Some of the passengers climbed to the mizzen top, and beheld her still struggling to reach the ship; but shortly after she broached broadside to the waves, and her case seemed desperate.  The attention of those on board of the ship was now called to their own safety.  They were in shallow water; the vessel struck repeatedly, the waves broke over her, and there was danger of her foundering.  At length she got into seven fathoms water, and the wind lulling, and the night coming on, cast anchor.  With the darkness their anxieties increased.  The wind whistled, the sea roared, the gloom was only broken by the ghastly glare of the foaming breakers, the minds of the seamen were full of dreary apprehensions, and some of them fancied they heard the cries of their lost comrades mingling with the uproar of the elements.  For a time, too, the rapidly ebbing tide threatened to sweep them from their precarious anchorage.  At length the reflux of the tide, and the springing up of the wind, enabled them to quit their dangerous situation and take shelter in a small bay within Cape Disappointment, where they rode in safety during the residue of a stormy night, and enjoyed a brief interval of refreshing sleep.

With the light of day returned their cares and anxieties.  They looked out from the mast-head over a wild coast, and wilder sea, but could discover no trace of the two boats and their crews that were missing.  Several of the natives came on board with peltries, but there was no disposition to trade.  They were interrogated by signs after the lost boats, but could not understand the inquiries.