I gave Worsley a line for a berg ahead and told him,
if possible, to make fast before darkness set in. This was about three
o'clock in the afternoon. We had set sail, and as the 'Stancomb Wills'
could not keep up with the other two boats I took her in tow, not being
anxious to repeat the experience of the day we left the reeling berg.
The 'Dudley Docker' went ahead, but came beating down towards us at
dusk. Worsley had been close to the berg, and he reported that it was
unapproachable. It was rolling in the swell and displaying an ugly ice-
foot. The news was bad. In the failing light we turned towards a line
of pack, and found it so tossed and churned by the sea that no fragment
remained big enough to give us an anchorage and shelter. Two miles
away we could see a larger piece of ice, and to it we managed, after
some trouble, to secure the boats. I brought my boat bow on to the
floe, whilst Howe, with the painter in his hand, stood ready to jump.
Standing up to watch our chance, while the oars were held ready to back
the moment Howe had made his leap, I could see that there would be no
possibility of getting the galley ashore that night. Howe just managed
to get a footing on the edge of the floe, and then made the painter
fast to a hummock. The other two boats were fastened alongside the
'James Caird'.
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