We had to cut the
painter of the 'James Caird' and pole her off, thus losing much
valuable rope. There was no time to cast off. Then we pushed away
from the floe, and all night long we lay in the open, freezing sea, the
'Dudley Docker' now ahead, the 'James Caird' astern of her, and the
'Stancomb Wills' third in the line. The boats were attached to one
another by their painters. Most of the time the 'Dudley Docker' kept
the 'James Caird' and the 'Stancomb Wills' up to the swell, and the men
who were rowing were in better pass than those in the other boats,
waiting inactive for the dawn. The temperature was down to 4° below
zero, and a film of ice formed on the surface of the sea. When we were
not on watch we lay in each other's arms for warmth. Our frozen suits
thawed where our bodies met, and as the slightest movement exposed
these comparatively warm spots to the biting air, we clung motionless,
whispering each to his companion our hopes and thoughts. Occasionally
from an almost clear sky came snow-showers, falling silently on the sea
and laying a thin shroud of white over our bodies and our boats.
The dawn of April 13 came clear and bright, with occasional passing
clouds. Most of the men were now looking seriously worn and strained.
Their lips were cracked and their eyes and eyelids showed red in their
salt-encrusted faces.
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