The 'James Caird' was the last boat to leave,
heavily loaded with stores and odds and ends of camp equipment. Many
things regarded by us as essentials at that time were to be discarded a
little later as the pressure of the primitive became more severe. Man
can sustain life with very scanty means. The trappings of civilization
are soon cast aside in the face of stern realities, and given the
barest opportunity of winning food and shelter, man can live and even
find his laughter ringing true.
The three boats were a mile away from our floe home at 2 p.m. We had
made our way through the channels and had entered the big pool when we
saw a rush of foam-clad water and tossing ice approaching us, like the
tidal bore of a river. The pack was being impelled to the east by a
tide-rip, and two huge masses of ice were driving down upon us on
converging courses. The 'James Caird' was leading. Starboarding the
helm and bending strongly to the oars, we managed to get clear. The two
other boats followed us, though from their position astern at first
they had not realized the immediate danger. The 'Stancomb Wills' was
the last boat and she was very nearly caught, but by great exertion she
was kept just ahead of the driving ice. It was an unusual and
startling experience. The effect of tidal action on ice is not often as
marked as it was that day.
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