A great piece had broken off within eight feet of my tent. We made
what inspection was possible in the darkness, and found that on the
westward side of the berg the thick snow covering was yielding rapidly
to the attacks of the sea. An ice-foot had formed just under the
surface of the water. I decided that there was no immediate danger and
did not call the men. The north-westerly wind strengthened during the
night.
The morning of April 11 was overcast and misty. There was a haze on
the horizon, and daylight showed that the pack had closed round our
berg, making it impossible in the heavy swell to launch the boats. We
could see no sign of the water. Numerous whales and killers were
blowing between the floes, and Cape pigeons, petrels, and fulmars were
circling round our berg. The scene from our camp as the daylight
brightened was magnificent beyond description, though I must admit that
we viewed it with anxiety. Heaving hills of pack and floe were
sweeping towards us in long undulations, later to be broken here and
there by the dark lines that indicated open water. As each swell lifted
around our rapidly dissolving berg it drove floe-ice on to the ice-
foot, shearing off more of the top snow-covering and reducing the size
of our camp. When the floes retreated to attack again the water
swirled over the ice-foot, which was rapidly increasing in width.
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