The dramatic shipwreck had occurred so fast that Jacob had not had time to gather his belongings; he watched as his porthole dipped beneath the roiling waves (affording him a unique and spellbinding view of the coral reef and assorted aquatic fauna) and knew he had just moments to find space in a lifeboat.
That had been two days earlier. The interim he had spent adrift in said lifeboat, alone and without food or drinking water. The hot Pacific sun beat down on him by day, and at night he was beset with mosquitoes. But in spite of the discomfit these insects caused Jacob, he was encouraged for their presence suggested he was close to land.
On the morning of the third day, these hopes materialised in the vision - on the far horizon - of a slither of land, shimmering with the promise of survival.
"Behold," cried Jacob weakly, addressing the distant island, "behold thy white, dry strand; behold thy copse of fruitful palms. Oh! Sumptuous, bounteous mother!"
Relief washed over Jacob, ironically swamping his raft and causing it to sink. He drowned.