We found it quite impossible to make Penguin Island.

The gale carried us quickly past it towards the open sea, and the terrible truth flashed upon us that we should be swept out and left to perish miserably in a small boat in the midst of the wide ocean.
This idea was forced very strongly upon us because we saw nothing in the direction whither the wind was blowing us save the raging billows of the sea; and, indeed, we trembled as we gazed around us, for we were now beyond the shelter of the islands, and it seemed as though any of the huge billows, which curled over in masses of foam, might swallow us up in a moment.

The water, also, began to wash in over our sides, and I had to keep constantly baling, for Jack could not quit the helm nor Peterkin the sail for an instant, without endangering our lives.

In the midst of this distress Jack uttered an exclamation of hope, and pointed towards a low island or rock which lay directly ahead.

It had been hitherto unobserved, owing to the dark clouds that obscured the sky and the blinding spray that seemed to fill the whole atmosphere.
As we neared this rock we observed that it was quite destitute of trees and verdure, and so low that the sea broke completely over it.