The rescued
bag contained Holness, who was wet down to the waist but otherwise
unscathed. The crack was now opening again. The 'James Caird' and my
tent were on one side of the opening and the remaining two boats and
the rest of the camp on the other side. With two or three men to help
me I struck my tent; then all hands manned the painter and rushed the
'James Caird' across the opening crack. We held to the rope while, one
by one, the men left on our side of the floe jumped the channel or
scrambled over by means of the boat. Finally I was left alone. The
night had swallowed all the others and the rapid movement of the ice
forced me to let go the painter. For a moment I felt that my piece of
rocking floe was the loneliest place in the world. Peering into the
darkness; I could just see the dark figures on the other floe. I
hailed Wild, ordering him to launch the 'Stancomb Wills', but I need
not have troubled. His quick brain had anticipated the order and
already the boat was being manned and hauled to the ice-edge. Two or
three minutes later she reached me, and I was ferried across to the
Camp.
We were now on a piece of flat ice about 200 ft. long and 100 ft.
wide. There was no more sleep for any of us that night. The killers
were blowing in the lanes around, and we waited for daylight and
watched for signs of another crack in the ice.
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