Once more on the Pacific, new dangers awaited them. They had been carried far to the south by the strong currents, and the wind was unfavourable. There was therefore no course open to them but to row as far as they could during the day, and at night throw out the stone which served as an anchor, and lie as sheltered as they could, in order to snatch a little sleep. On one of these nights, while they lay thus asleep, the wind suddenly rose to a gale, and they were roughly wakened by the splashing of the waves over their boat. They pulled up their stone anchor and ran before the tempest—Bass holding the sail and Flinders steering with an oar. As Flinders says: “It required the utmost care to prevent broaching to; a single wrong movement or a moment’s inattention would have sent us to the bottom. The task of the boy was to bale out the water, which, in spite of every care, the sea threw in upon us. The night was perfectly dark, and we knew of no place of shelter, and the only direction by which we could steer was the roar of the waves upon the neighbouring cliff’s.” After an hour spent in this manner, they found themselves running straight for the breakers. They pulled down their mast and got out the oars, though without much hope of escape. They rowed desperately, however, and had the satisfaction of rounding the long line of boiling surf. Three minutes after they were in smooth water, under the lee of the rocks, and soon they discovered a well-sheltered cove, where they anchored for the rest of the night.