Our way was
across the open sea, and soon after noon we swung round the north end
of the pack and laid a course to the westward, the 'James Caird' still
in the lead. Immediately our deeply laden boats began to make heavy
weather. They shipped sprays, which, freezing as they fell, covered
men and gear with ice, and soon it was clear that we could not safely
proceed. I put the 'James Caird' round and ran for the shelter of the
pack again, the other boats following. Back inside the outer line of
ice the sea was not breaking. This was at 3 p.m., and all hands were
tired and cold. A big floeberg resting peacefully ahead caught my eye,
and half an hour later we had hauled up the boats and pitched camp for
the night. It was a fine, big, blue berg with an attractively solid
appearance, and from our camp we could get a good view of the
surrounding sea and ice. The highest point was about 15 ft. above sea-
level. After a hot meal all hands, except the watchman, turned in.
Every one was in need of rest after the troubles of the previous night
and the unaccustomed strain of the last thirty-six hours at the oars.
The berg appeared well able to withstand the battering of the sea, and
too deep and massive to be seriously affected by the swell; but it was
not as safe as it looked. About midnight the watchman called me and
showed me that the heavy north-westerly swell was undermining the ice.
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