Shipwreck on the Sahara | The Storm | 1
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It's 10 p.m., August 28th, 1815. Captain James Riley stands alone at the bow of his ship, watching the white caps crash over the heavy sides. Something is wrong. Riley can feel it. The ship is headed to the Cape Verde Islands, the last stop of their six-month journey. They'll drop off tobacco and pick up salt to bring home to America. A quick trip, in and out, but so far, no sign of land.

It doesn't make sense. He should have seen the Canary Islands when they passed through. But now the instruments are showing they are 120 miles off course. It seems impossible. The channel between the islands is only 50 miles wide. Even on a night as dark as this, he should have been able to make out the biggest island. And now the fog is rolling in. At 38 years old, Riley has been a sailor more than half of his life.

As a merchant trader, he's crossed the Atlantic seven times. He's faced down squalls that raise waves as big as houses. He watched the sky erupt in bolts of lightning and heard cracks of thunder loud enough to split a man's eardrums. But this is different. The fog envelops the ship in a cold, gray veil. He can't see a thing. And the high winds make matters worse. These are very dangerous conditions.

His shoulders sag under the weight of his responsibility. There are eleven crewmen on the ship, all trusting him to bring them home safely. And then he hears it. A deep low rumble somewhere in the distance. He hears the clattering of feet. It's Horace Savage, his fifteen-year-old cabin boy. His eyes are wide with fear. "Captain! A storm is coming!" Riley listens as the booming grows closer, more ominous.

Then he realizes it's not a storm at all. It's something far worse. It's breakers! They're heading straight for land. All hands on deck, man the sails. We're headed for the rocks. Riley's crew emerges from all corners of the ship, racing to obey his commands. Sails are hauled up, loose items roped in. Everyone is frantically trying to save their boat, the commerce, from impending doom.

But it's too late. A sudden jolt slams the men to the deck. They slide across the slippery wood, grabbing at handholds to keep from being thrown into the sea. Riley scrambles to his feet. Drop the anchors, now! It takes all of the men to drop the two 1,400-pound pieces of wood and steel. But the anchors are no match for the ocean. The vessel is running aground.

Riley watches as a jagged outcropping of rock rips into the hull of the ship. This is every captain's nightmare. The ship is going down.

He weighs his options. If his calculations are right, they are off the western coast of Africa, somewhere near the vast Sahara Desert. A no-man's land from which few sailors return. Those who do bring back tales of hostile tribes, unforgiving lands, and endless thirst. But there's no doubt his ship will sink, whether it's now or tomorrow. He needs to make a choice to try and save his crew. Men, ready the longboats.

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Progressive casualty insurance company and affiliates. Comparison rates not available in all states or situations. Prices vary based on how you buy. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. Imagine your ship runs aground off the coast of Northwest Africa. You have no choice but to row to shore. There, you find yourself at the edge of the Sahara Desert, one of the most inhospitable places on Earth.

At 3,000 miles long, it's the largest hot desert in the world. All sand dunes and scrub brush and never-ending sun. To survive in the Sahara, you need to be tough. Oasis settlements are controlled by Berber tribes, who also run the Trans-Saharan slave trade between Western Africa and the North.

It is here, on the outer edge of this world, where the ship of Captain Riley and his crew find themselves in August 1815. With no way to escape and dwindling supplies, they will need to cross hundreds of miles to reach civilization. If captured by desert tribes, they face enslavement or death.

Without help from locals, they will die of hunger and thirst. This is the true story of the men who survived. It is based on the journals they wrote upon their return. It's about sacrifice, heroism, human endurance, and the fight to get home. But their journey will have a much greater impact than on just their own lives. It will influence a future president and impact the nation in many ways. Ways that are still felt even today.

This is Episode 1, The Storm. It's May the 1st, 1815, in Middletown, Connecticut, a picturesque sailing port along the Connecticut River. Inside a small yellow house on the edge of town, Captain James Riley stands in front of a mirror, buttoning his coat when his wife Phoebe pokes her head in. They're here again.

Phoebe's eyes are gentle, but she sees the stress. She'd never complain, but he knows this fifth pregnancy has been hard. Their financial problems haven't made it any easier. "You stay here. I'll go. It'll be okay, I promise." The local sheriff stands at the door, shifting from foot to foot. Behind him, one of the store owners from town drums his fingers impatiently on the frame.

"Gentlemen, I'm taking care of this. We talked about this. Please don't come to my house. It scares Phoebe." But the sheriff doesn't move. When Riley sailed to France with local merchant goods, he took them on consignment. He knew the risks of sailing in wartime conditions. When the French seized his cargo, Riley was responsible. He needs to pay for the goods he lost. "It's the law, Riley. The courts have decided.

Riley always intended to pay back the merchants, but the war with the British stopped everything. A blockade left sailors stranded on the shore with no way to earn a living. Other sailors tried to convince Riley to join them on illegal trading ventures, but he refused. He may not have money, but he still has his name and his reputation. "I'm sailing back tomorrow for the islands with a shipload of tobacco and flour. I will pay everyone back plus interest, and I'll be back in six months."

The sheriff sighs and turns away. Okay, six months, Riley, or we're going to have to take the house. Riley closes the door and turns to Phoebe. She looks worried. He smiles at her reassuringly. It'll be fine. I always land on my feet, don't I? Plus, I'll be back in no time. Besides, I have Horace with me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to him. Horace Savage swabs the deck of a ship called the Commerce and whistles a sea shanty tune.

Horace is thrilled to be heading to sea in a ship so fine with Captain Riley. The captain has been like a father to him since his own father was lost at sea when Horace was just a baby. He moves the moth in the bucket of water, making waves that splash out onto the deck. He's going to polish the oak until it shines.

Horace is the youngest member of the crew at 15 years old. He had a gross spurt last year, shot up nearly six inches. His tall and lanky body still feels like he's wearing a new suit that doesn't quite fit. His whole life he's dreamed of being a sailor. His father was a sailor too. He went to cities and ports all over the world, places with exotic names like Gibraltar and Bombay. He was a man of adventure, or so Horace has been told.

Horace knows it's silly to miss someone he's never met, but that's how he feels. He's going to have adventures just like his father. He pictures himself stepping off the dock into a faraway land, exchanging goods with a merchant. "I'll have six pounds of salt, please," he'd say. The sound of footsteps startles him out of his daydream. It's Richard Delisle, the ship's cook. He's carrying a sack of potatoes and onions.

Hey, aren't you supposed to be swabbing the ship? They aren't paying you to stare into the water dreaming about girls. Delisle is a free black man from Hartford and the only black crew member. Horace doesn't know a whole lot about him, other than what Captain Riley told him. He used to be a servant under the famous Daniel Ketchum, whose infantry held off the Brits. He works harder than anyone, and everyone likes him. He tells great war stories. Horace hopes Delisle might be a friend.

This will be my first voyage. Dalal grins. The first one is always special, and there are some fine men on this crew. They'll teach you a lot if you pay attention. There are 11 crew members in all, including the captain. As they arrive, they stow their bags in the hold and quickly get to work, coiling ropes, adjusting the yards, and making the deck ship shape. Captain on deck!

Horace stands at attention as James Riley steps on board. He looks so official in his dark blue peacoat with gold buttons, the collar turned up against the wind. His eyes are steady and confident. When Riley sees Horace, he smiles. Good to see you here, Horace. Are you ready, son? I've been ready my whole life, sir. Riley turns to face the rest of the crew. Gentlemen, if you please, set the sails and cast loose.

As Horace feels the ship moving away from the wharf, he looks downriver. 30 miles to the south lies the opening to the Long Island Sound, and just beyond that is the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Horace is finally going to get his chance to see the world.

Sidi Hammet picks up a heavy bag and slings it onto the camel's back, quickly tying it with a thick rope. He has work to do and not much time to do it. He has hundreds of items to pack for trade and sale. Jewelry, pottery, spices, and cloth. It's a journey that will take him many months across the Sahara Desert. He's on the outer edges of Marrakesh, Morocco.

In the distance, he can still hear the sounds of the city, a musical blend of voices and instruments. It's a sound he will miss. In the desert, there is no sound, except for the wind and the camel feet sinking into the sand. He quickly shakes off the thought. He has a lot on the line. He has debts to settle.

Hamet has spent much of his life as a trader, bringing goods from the north to the south and returning with gold and jewels. Each trip he hopes to bring back enough riches to make a good life for himself and his family. But this trip is different. He wants this one to be the last. As he fastens another bag to his camel, he sees an old man approaching. He's dressed in expensive robes and has a flowing white beard. It's Sheikh Ali, his father-in-law, and he doesn't look happy.

Hammett raises his hand to his forehead in a traditional greeting. The sheik scowls in return. "Hammett! Don't forget what you owe me!" On Hammett's last trip, his father-in-law gave him goods to sell on consignment. But when two of his camels died, Hammett was forced to abandon his wares in the middle of the desert. When he returned empty-handed, the sheik was so angry he destroyed Hammett's house and took his wife and children away. It was a full year until the sheik returned them again.

I haven't forgotten, he tells him now. I promise to pay you in full, or I'll die trying. The Sheik crosses his arms. If you fail, you won't need to bother dying. I'll kill you myself. Hammett watches him stalk away, his white robe flying behind him in the wind. Then he looks around for his brother. Saeed, you need to finish packing your camel. The caravan is leaving.

Said is the youngest son in the family. At 20 years old, he's been working for half of his life, but Hamet still feels responsible for him. "I hope we don't meet up with any Tuareg along the way." "The Tuareg are a nomadic tribe, the Sahara's most feared raiders. They attack at night and spare no one." "We'll be fine, Said. When we get to Gelmeem, we'll meet up with the caravan. There'll be a thousand men. The Tuareg don't attack caravans so big."

Hammett loads the final pack onto the camel's back. The animal shifts, its knees buckling under the weight. Hammett leans in to whisper into the camel's ear. "Hold still. It's okay." The camel calms under his soothing voice. Hammett quickly fastens the ties and gives it a final tug to make sure his cargo doesn't slip free.

Then he climbs on top and gently kicks his heels into the camel's flanks and then holds on tightly as the animal lumbers up to its full seven foot height. Hammett gazes out towards the desert, miles and miles of golden sand. As many times as he's made this trek, the sight still moves him. It represents hope this vast desert will lead him to a better life for his family. He says a prayer quietly to himself to bless the journey.

He asks for protection for his brother and the camels, and the countless others in the caravan. But most of all, he asks for a blessing to allow him to return safely to see his children again. Captain Riley stands on the deck of the commerce, gazing out at the thick clouds that line the horizon, looking for the telltale mountains marking the Strait of Gibraltar. For the past three months, they've been lucky. Mostly blue skies and smooth sailing,

There was only one close call in the Bahamas when the ship ran aground in a storm, but they got her back. Riley loves everything about the sea. The smell of the ocean, the taste of salt in the air, the vast endless green and white and gray. Even the way it dances with the wind during a storm, hurling the ship up over frothy waves. It makes him feel alive.

It's so different from his life on the farm where he grew up. His family never knew if a blight of insects or a late season freeze would reduce a year of hard work to nothing. The sea represents possibility. Here, a man can forge his own destiny. He sees that same excitement in the eyes of Horace Savage. He watches the boy's face as he stares off into the distance. A look of wonder in his eyes.

"You know, your father was your age when he first crossed the Atlantic." "I wish I had known him." "He was a good man. You're a lot like him. He'd be proud." Riley gives Horace a firm pat on the back. He promised the boy's mother he would bring Horace back home safely, and he is determined to keep his word. Horace squints and points into the distance. "Captain, are those rocks?" Riley picks up the telescope. He can just make out the outline of two great mountains.

"Good eye, Horace. That's Gibraltar. Land ho!" The crew rushes up to the deck. Some shout and cheer. Others stare in awe. It's the first time they've seen the mountains that flank the entrance to the legendary Strait of Gibraltar. It separates two continents and cultures. To the north is Europe, where the crew will trade for Spanish coins and casts of wine.

To the south is the mysterious continent of Africa, where ships and sailors have been known to disappear without a trace. But Captain Riley has no intention of going that far. This trip shouldn't take them anywhere near the African coast.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. City Hammett leans forward on his camel and wipes sweat from his eyes. It's mid-morning in the Sahara Desert, and it's already 120 degrees. But Hammett doesn't mind. When he reaches his destination, he knows he will receive a handsome payment for his goods. He is one of 1,000 men in the caravan making their way to Timbuktu.

Saeed, did you check the camels this morning? His brother nods. Yes, we are blessed. Without camels, they could never make the months-long trip. They have brought ten camels on this journey, all loaded with wares. They walk together, bound by ropes. There are almost 4,000 camels total in the caravan.

four to every man. Some are milk camels that carry food and water. Others carry men. They labor up the shifting sand dunes, then stumble down the other side. The men on the ground sing to them softly and push them along. Hammett reaches into his pack and pops a date into his mouth, savoring the moisture. Surviving the heat means moving little and conserving water. Hammett also knows travel requires a good spirit.

"Saeed, do you know what they call a frozen camel?" His brother stares back at him. "It's too hot to joke, brother. Be quiet now. They call a frozen camel… lost, Saeed. Lost! There are no frozen camels in the desert!" "Brother, what is that?" Hammett peers into the distance. A dark haze is approaching, propelled by the wind. As it gets closer, Hammett sees what it is. "Sandstorm! Get down!"

The wind rises in an instant and the sky grows black. Hammett throws himself to the ground. There's no time to attend to the camels. He must protect himself. Dust swirls around him. It's so thick he can hardly open his eyes. His skin burns from the white-hot grains. He attempts to cover his head with the folds of his turban. He calls for his brother, but he can't see him through the dust. "Saeed! Cover your face!"

The sound of his shouting is swallowed up by the wind. Then the storm fully closes in, blocking out the sun, and the world goes black. Horace Savage stands peering through the fog. He can't see a thing.

They've been out on the water for almost six weeks. The two weeks in Gibraltar was one of the highlights of the trip for Horace. He worked alongside the crew during the day. At night, he drank at the local tavern with the men, something his mother would never approve of, but he enjoyed it greatly. For the first time in his life, he feels like a real explorer. They just have one final stop, the Cape Verde Islands, 350 miles off the coast of Africa.

Horace just wishes the weather would clear so they'd get there already. And then he hears the rumble. Captain, there's a storm. The captain is standing at the bow. On his face is a look of alarm. That's not a storm, Horace. It's breakers. Giant rocks emerge out of the fog. All hands on deck. Man the sails. We have to turn the ship around. Horace is thrown off his feet. His head hits the deck.

When he comes to, the crew are lowering a dinghy into the water. "Captain, what's happening? Where are we?" "Africa." Horace feels his heart start to pound. He's heard the rumors. Hostile tribes. Endless desert. Sandstorms. No food or water. But there's no time to think about that. The tide is rising, and the men are frantically heaving supplies overboard.

Casts of wine and water, barrels of bread and salt pork, a trunk full of coins. Horace does his best to help, but he's dizzy from the blow. Men, prepare the longboat. Attach the hossar to the rings on the back. I'll take two others and we'll go on ahead to the shore. There, we'll make a rope bridge for the rest to get across.

The men bow their heads as the captain says a quick prayer. When Horace looks up again, Riley is in the longboat. They'll be okay, he thinks. The captain will save them. But as Riley pushes off into the four-foot swells, he says something that gets Horace's heart pumping again. Men, when you reach shore, whatever you do, do not wander off alone.

Sidi Hammet keeps his head low to the ground, trying to breathe. He's drowning in a whirlwind of dust. The sand has been blowing for three days straight. He prays to Allah for mercy, wondering if this is the end, if he will be buried forever under the sand. And then it's gone. The wind shifts, and it almost feels cool. Hammet slowly gets to his feet and brushes the sand from his turban. "Saeed!"

"Where is his brother?" He looks around. Most of the caravan is buried under a flood of sand. Copper pots and bits of cloth are scattered everywhere, but no sign of Said. Hammett wanders across the dunes, calling his name. Finally, he locates a pair of thin legs sticking out of the sand. He recognizes the worn sandals. It's Said. Hammett falls to his knees, digging into the loose dry particles.

Finally, he manages to pull his brother free. Said comes up sputtering, trying to catch his breath. Thank you, brother. I thought I'd been swallowed up by a whale. Hemet holds his brother in his arms and chokes back tears. Around them is nature's destruction. Hundreds of lifeless camels and men dead in the sand. And worse is the thirst. Hemet feels it deep in his throat.

an ever-present call from his body. They are running out of water. If they don't find an oasis soon, they will all die. Captain Riley stands on an unknown shore, watching the commerce buckle as it takes on more water through its shattered hull. In a few hours, the vessel will be largely submerged. There will be no sailing back to America. He needs to find another way to keep his men alive.

First, they need water and food, but here on the rocky beach, it's completely desolate. The only sound is the wind and the waves lapping against the shore. Riley watches the crew pull in the rations they were able to salvage, but it won't be enough to hold them for long. Men, we need to search the area for food and for water. There may be springs nearby.

The men fan out on the beach in small groups of two and three. All except William Porter, who approaches the captain and speaks in a whisper. "Captain, we should look for a place to hide. It's not safe here. They say Africa is filled with cannibals."

Porter is 31 years old, an able seaman with a powerful build and warm, friendly smile. He's traveled the Atlantic with Riley several times. Riley trusts him, but he doesn't need anyone spreading panic through the crew. Those are old wives' tales, Porter, told by sailors to frighten each other. If we find any native people, we'll need them if we're going to survive. Porter looks skeptical, but he nods. Yes, sir.

And then Riley sees a man in the distance walking towards them on the beach. He wears a bright cotton shawl and leans on a stick. Riley recognizes his clothing. It's worn by Berbers, a people native to Northern Africa. Riley met several Berbers on his last trip when they came to trade salt in Europe. Riley knows them to be honorable people. He feels a rush of hope. "Hello!" The man raises his stick in greeting. That's when Riley sees it's not a stick at all.

It's a spear. And the man's not alone. A larger group is hiding behind the rocks. Now, they're running towards him. Spears raised in the air. They're trapped between the cliffs and ocean. Riley motions to his men not to move. "Don't show any aggression, no matter what they do!" The men shout in a language Riley doesn't know. He tries to communicate with his hands.

We don't want trouble. We are peaceful. Our ship is wrecked. It's wrecked. It's no use. They don't understand. One man steps forward and grabs Horace roughly by the collar. Riley tries to step in, but the rest of the tribesmen stop him with their spears. Then they tear off the boy's jacket and begin to rifle through it. Hold steady, Horace. Just stay calm.

When the men find nothing in the boy's jacket, they start rifling through the pockets in Horace's pants. A few silver coins fall to the ground. At the sight of money, pandemonium erupts. "Captain, what are they saying?" "They want our money." Riley steps forward, pointing to the coins and then back at the ship. "Let my men go back to the brig. They will return with more. I will stay here to make sure they'll come back."

The tribesmen nod and move their spears to Riley's throat. The message is clear. If they don't return with the silver, the captain will die. But Horace hesitates. He wants to stay behind with his captain. Riley shakes his head. Go back with the others, Horace. Send back only one man with the silver. No one else. He watches the men swim back to the boat and load silver into two large sacks. Then they hand it to Horace.

Riley watches the boy step onto the rope. As he gets closer, the Berbers start to yell. That's when a sickening realization hits him. As soon as the boy touches land, the men will tear him to pieces fighting over the spoils. "Go back, Horace! Go back!" Horace stops with a startled look on his face. "Send someone else! Men, do you hear me? That's an order!"

Horace quickly turns around and heads back to the boat and hands the bag to the newest crew member, a man named Antonio Michel. Michel joined the crew in Gibraltar as a paying passenger after a shipwrecked off the coast of the Canary Islands. He's older than the rest of the crew, with graying hair and a thin beard.

Riley watches Michelle shimmy across the bridge, the bundles of silver tied around his waist. He nearly slips and falls into the water several times, but he makes it over the jagged rocks onto the beach. He holds up the silver and smiles, an offering. Riley closes his eyes for a moment and says a prayer. When he opens them, the Berbers are on top of Michelle, beating him in a frenzy with their sticks.

Riley catches Michelle's eyes. He hates himself for what he has to do. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Riley turns away and sprints for the ocean and swims for his life. He doesn't look back. Horace shouts from the deck of the ship, "Captain! Swim! Swim!" He tries not to look at the beach. The other men's voices chorus around him. "Hurry! We'll throw you a rope!"

When Riley reaches the ship, Forrest is the first to grab hold of an arm. "Captain! Are you okay?" But Riley is silent. Sounds of Michelle's cries echo in the distance. The other crew members help the captain to his feet. William Porter is the first to speak up. "What do we do now?" Riley looks at the men around him. Some of them stare at the ocean with vacant expressions. Others look angry.

Collect the remaining rations, everything you can carry, and prepare the longboat. We're going to take our chances at sea. As the men spur into action, he quickly turns away to wipe his eyes. He doesn't want anyone to see his tears. But he knows if he had to do it over again, he would still have chosen to save the boy. Now, he just needs to make sure the sacrifice was not in vain. He has to keep the rest of the crew alive.

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City Hammett lowers the last corpse into a mass grave and stands with his brother Saeed, praying over the bodies of dozens of their comrades.

They have uncovered 30 bodies so far, and there are many more still buried under the sand. But they don't have any more time to look for victims. Hundreds of camels have also died. Camels much needed to make the journey. They carry the men's wares, but also provide milk. To lose so many is a huge loss, but Hammett's camels have been spared. He says a silent prayer of thanks.

The mood at the camp is desperate. They are running out of water and those who survived need to keep moving before another sandstorm rises. "Come on, Saeed. Let's pack up." Saeed shakes his head in disgust. "This expedition is cursed. We should turn back." Hammett knows his brother is scared, but he also knows there is no turning back. It's a one-way ticket. If they don't return with a profit, Sheikh Ali will take Hammett's family again.

All of their hopes are on the backs of the camels. In the distance, Hammett sees a pack of hyenas circling the corpses of the dead, still partially buried in the sand. At least someone will feast tonight. It's midnight, September 6th, 1815. Captain Riley fingers through the chest of rations. There is very little left,

His hands shake from exhaustion, his throat is sandpaper dry. But he doesn't drink, he must conserve the little water they have. It's been six days since the crew fled the wrecked calmers and longboats for open sea, in hopes of being rescued by a passing ship. But so far, they've seen nothing except the ocean and the endless sun. Riley has no compass, no charts, they were all lost in the shipwreck.

The men row, but they have no idea where they are. During the day, the heat beats down on their heads while Riley keeps his eye on the coast to guide them. But at night, gale force winds carry them further out to sea. Tonight, he can't even see the stars through the clouds. He is giving up any hope of a rescue at sea. If they continue, the best they can hope for is to fight another few days.

There isn't enough food or water to maintain their strength. They will soon lose any power to affect their own fate. It's time to give his men a choice. Stay here in the longboat and pray for another ship to find them, or take their chances and head back to the hull of their ship. Maybe if they're lucky, someone spotted the wreckage by now. "We're going to take a vote. If you want to return to the ship, raise your hand." The men look at one another. Porter is the first to make a choice.

He raises his hand. Horace follows suit, then Delisle. One by one, each of the men votes to return to the wreckage. The commerce is their only hope. City Hammett can't stop thinking about water. For weeks, the sun has beat down as the caravan trudged through the scorching sand. There have been no more sandstorms, but the constant heat can drive a man mad. Hammett's mouth is so dry he has trouble swallowing. The camels are suffering too.

Normally they're built for conditions like this. They can survive for weeks without water. But this heat is too much. Their humps have shrunk into half the normal size. To keep them from flagging under the load, the caravan was forced to dump tons of salt they had planned to trade. It did little to help. 300 more animals died from exhaustion. But soon they will be at the oasis, the wells of Jahera. There will be palm trees and water.

They will rest for twenty days. Each night when the caravan stops, it's all that Hammett dreams of. "Saeed, what's the first thing you'll do when you reach the oasis?" "I'll drink, you fool. Then I'll climb down into the well and I'll dunk my head." As they get closer, Hammett pictures the water going down his throat. He imagines it cooling him from the inside out, nourishing his body.

And then a whisper starts to make its way through the caravan. It starts at the front of the line, nearly two miles up, and makes its way back man by man. "It's dry. It's completely dry. There's been nothing here for over a year. Even the palm trees are dead. Jahera's famous wells are dry? It can't be true." But as Hammett gets closer, he sees for himself. The fronds on every palm are dry and brittle. When he reaches the well, he has to be sure.

He climbs off his camel and lowers a bucket into the depths. Said falls to the ground in despair. "You have led us to our deaths, brother." Hammet wants to say something to give his brother hope, but he knows Said is right. Timbuktu is still many miles away. Without water, they will drop one by one. The oasis is dead, and soon they will be too.

Riley watches his men bail water from the boat. They made the decision to head back to the commerce, but for four full days, they have made little progress. The swales rise up over the sides of the longboat and soak their bodies. It's a never-ending slog. Two men, two buckets in 30-minute shifts, and still, the water pours in. The muscles in their arms and back ache from the strain. Their hands are raw and covered in boils from the salt.

Each day, they grow weaker. There's no more water, and the thirst is unbearable. Their throats crack when they speak. Their hearing is muffled due to loss of moisture in the inner ear. Some of them are starting to hallucinate. The commerce is no longer a destination. It's dry land. They need to get out of the boat. And then Riley sees it. A thin strip of coastline. "It's there! Head for the beach!"

Horace Savage bails the water up more quickly. The other sailors roll, pulling hard with the last of their energy. But the nearer to shore they get, the rougher the water becomes. When the boat finally slams against the rocky shore, some of the men drop to their knees and weep. After dragging the boat up onto the banks, Riley assesses where they are. They're enclosed by a wall of cliffs towering more than 100 feet above.

There is nothing in either direction. They must be further north than the commerce and the beach where they encountered the Berber tribe. But where are they? Riley takes a seat on a boulder and watches his men search through the rocks for springs. Others wade into the water looking for fish. The cook Delisle is the first to return to the captain. There's nothing, captain. I've searched the whole beach. Not a single crab. No oysters. What about water? No. Riley thinks for a moment.

His men are defeated, weak. He has to keep their spirits up. "Okay, Delisle. You stay with the men. Tell them to keep looking for food. I'm gonna get over the cliffs and see what's beyond. If I don't come back and you don't find food, take your chances in the boat. Go north. You might run into a shipping lane." The rocky cliffs cut into Riley's hands as he makes his way up the face. He stops every few handholds on the larger outcroppings to catch his breath.

Small stones tumble down around him, but he doesn't look down. It takes almost two hours to reach the top. He uses the last of his strength to pull himself over. For a moment, he lays there staring at the sky. It's bright blue, almost white from the blinding sun overhead. He thinks of his wife at home in Connecticut, his new baby. He doesn't even know if it's a boy or a girl. Then he stands up and he blinks his eyes. He can't believe what he's seeing.

There is nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. They have washed up on the shore at the foot of the Sahara Desert, the largest hot desert in the world. This is the first episode of our four-part series, Shipwreck on the Sahara. If you like our show, please give us a five-star rating and a review. Follow Against the Odds on Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, the Wondery app, or wherever you're listening right now.

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A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book Skeletons on the Zahara by Dean King. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Cameron Pasha wrote this episode. Our editors are Matt Wise and Laura Walls. Our consulting producer is Dean King.

Brian White is our associate producer. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design is by Rob Schieliga. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jentz and Marshall Louis for Wondery. If you like Against the Odds, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.