The hours passed with
laggard feet as we stood huddled together or walked to and fro in the
effort to keep some warmth in our bodies. We lit the blubber-stove at
3 a.m., and with pipes going and a cup of hot milk for each man, we
were able to discover some bright spots in our outlook. At any rate,
we were on the move at last, and if dangers and difficulties lay ahead
we could meet and overcome them. No longer were we drifting helplessly
at the mercy of wind and current.
The first glimmerings of dawn came at 6 a.m., and I waited anxiously
for the full daylight. The swell was growing, and at times our ice was
surrounded closely by similar pieces. At 6.30 a.m. we had hot hoosh,
and then stood by waiting for the pack to open. Our chance came at 8,
when we launched the boats, loaded them, and started to make our way
through the lanes in a northerly direction. The 'James Caird' was in
the lead, with the 'Stancomb Wills' next and the 'Dudley Docker'
bringing up the rear. In order to make the boats more seaworthy we had
left some of our shovels, picks, and dried vegetables on the floe, and
for a long time we could see the abandoned stores forming a dark spot
on the ice. The boats were still heavily loaded. We got out of the
lanes, and entered a stretch of open water at 11 a.m. A strong
easterly breeze was blowing, but the fringe of pack lying outside
protected us from the full force of the swell, just as the coral-reef
of a tropical island checks the rollers of the Pacific.
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