The sun was now
rising gloriously. The Burberry suits were drying and the ice was
melting off our beards. The steaming food gave us new vigour, and
within three-quarters of an hour we were off again to the west with all
sails set. We had given an additional sail to the 'Stancomb Wills' and
she was able to keep up pretty well. We could see that we were on the
true pack-edge, with the blue, rolling sea just outside the fringe of
ice to the north. White-capped waves vied with the glittering floes in
the setting of blue water, and countless seals basked and rolled on
every piece of ice big enough to form a raft.
We had been making westward with oars and sails since April 9, and
fair easterly winds had prevailed. Hopes were running high as to the
noon observation for position. The optimists thought that we had done
sixty miles towards our goal, and the most cautious guess gave us at
least thirty miles. The bright sunshine and the brilliant scene around
us may have influenced our anticipations. As noon approached I saw
Worsley, as navigating officer, balancing himself on the gunwale of the
'Dudley Docker' with his arm around the mast, ready to snap the sun.
He got his observation and we waited eagerly while he worked out the
sight. Then the 'Dudley Docker' ranged up alongside the 'James Caird'
and I jumped into Worsley's boat in order to see the result.
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