The 'Stancomb Wills' came up and McIlroy reported that
Blackborrow's feet were very badly frost-bitten. This was unfortunate,
but nothing could be done. Most of the people were frost-bitten to
some extent, and it was interesting to notice that the "oldtimers,"
Wild, Crean, Hurley, and I, were all right. Apparently we were
acclimatized to ordinary Antarctic temperature, though we learned later
that we were not immune.
All day, with a gentle breeze on our port bow, we sailed and pulled
through a clear sea. We would have given all the tea in China for a
lump of ice to melt into water, but no ice was within our reach. Three
bergs were in sight and we pulled towards them, hoping that a trail of
brash would be floating on the sea to leeward; but they were hard and
blue, devoid of any sign of cleavage, and the swell that surged around
them as they rose and fell made it impossible for us to approach
closely. The wind was gradually hauling ahead, and as the day wore on
the rays of the sun beat fiercely down from a cloudless sky on pain-
racked men. Progress was slow, but gradually Elephant Island came
nearer. Always while I attended to the other boats, signalling and
ordering, Wild sat at the tiller of the 'James Caird'. He seemed
unmoved by fatigue and unshaken by privation. About four o'clock in
the afternoon a stiff breeze came up ahead and, blowing against the
current, soon produced a choppy sea.
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