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Washed and rolled off the high poop by a burst of sea, we were left stranded in the waist of the ship, whence we fought our way for'ard to the steep-pitched forecastle- head. Others joined us. We lashed ourselves fast and counted noses. We were eighteen. The rest had perished. Johannes Maartens touched me and pointed upward through cascading salt- water from the back-fling of the cliff.
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