They were so chilled and benumbed by the cold, however, that they lost all heart, and absolutely refused.

Weekes was equally chilled, but had superior sagacity and self-command.

He counteracted the tendency to drowsiness and stupor which cold produces by keeping himself in constant exercise; and seeing that the vessel was advancing, and that everything depended upon himself, he set to work to scull the boat clear of the bar, and into quiet water.
Toward midnight one of the poor islanders expired; his companion threw himself on his corpse and could not be persuaded to leave him.

The dismal night wore away amidst these horrors: as the day dawned, Weekes found himself near the land.

He steered directly for it, and at length, with the aid of the surf, ran his boat high upon a sandy beach.
Finding that one of the Sandwich Islanders yet gave signs of life, he aided him to leave the boat, and set out with him towards the adjacent woods.