Life was not so bad. We ate our evening meal while the snow drifted
down from the surface of the glacier, and our chilled bodies grew warm.
Then we dried a little tobacco at the stove and enjoyed our pipes
before we crawled into our tents. The snow had made it impossible for
us to find the tide-line and we were uncertain how far the sea was
going to encroach upon our beach. I pitched my tent on the seaward
side of the camp so that I might have early warning of danger, and,
sure enough, about 2 a.m. a little wave forced its way under the tent-
cloth. This was a practical demonstration that we had not gone far
enough back from the sea, but in the semi-darkness it was difficult to
see where we could find safety. Perhaps it was fortunate that
experience had inured us to the unpleasantness of sudden forced changes
of camp. We took down the tents and re-pitched them close against the
high rocks at the seaward end of the spit, where large boulders made an
uncomfortable resting-place. Snow was falling heavily. Then all hands
had to assist in pulling the boats farther up the beach, and at this
task we suffered a serious misfortune. Two of our four bags of
clothing had been placed under the bilge of the 'James Caird', and
before we realized the danger a wave had lifted the boat and carried
the two bags back into the surf.
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