Things
were bad for us in those days, but the end was coming. The morning of
May 8 broke thick and stormy, with squalls from the north-west. We
searched the waters ahead for a sign of land, and though we could see
nothing more than had met our eyes for many days, we were cheered by a
sense that the goal was near at hand. About ten o'clock that morning
we passed a little bit of kelp, a glad signal of the proximity of land.
An hour later we saw two shags sitting on a big mass of kelp, and knew
then that we must be within ten or fifteen miles of the shore. These
birds are as sure an indication of the proximity of land as a
lighthouse is, for they never venture far to sea. We gazed ahead with
increasing eagerness, and at 12.30 p.m., through a rift in the clouds,
McCarthy caught a glimpse of the black cliffs of South Georgia, just
fourteen days after our departure from Elephant Island. It was a glad
moment. Thirst-ridden, chilled, and weak as we were, happiness
irradiated us. The job was nearly done.
We stood in towards the shore to look for a landing-place, and
presently we could see the green tussock-grass on the ledges above the
surf-beaten rocks. Ahead of us and to the south, blind rollers showed
the presence of uncharted reefs along the coast. Here and there the
hungry rocks were close to the surface, and over them the great waves
broke, swirling viciously and spouting thirty and forty feet into the
air.
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