I stood in the bows directing the steering as we ran
through the kelp and made the passage of the reef. The entrance was so
narrow that we had to take in the oars, and the swell was piling itself
right over the reef into the cove; but in a minute or two we were
inside, and in the gathering darkness the 'James Caird' ran in on a
swell and touched the beach. I sprang ashore with the short painter
and held on when the boat went out with the backward surge. When the
'James Caird' came in again three of the men got ashore, and they held
the painter while I climbed some rocks with another line. A slip on
the wet rocks twenty feet up nearly closed my part of the story just at
the moment when we were achieving safety. A jagged piece of rock held
me and at the same time bruised me sorely. However, I made fast the
line, and in a few minutes we were all safe on the beach, with the boat
floating in the surging water just off the shore. We heard a gurgling
sound that was sweet music in our ears, and, peering around, found a
stream of fresh water almost at our feet. A moment later we were down
on our knees drinking the pure, ice-cold water in long draughts that
put new life into us. It was a splendid moment.
The next thing was to get the stores and ballast out of the boat, in
order that we might secure her for the night.
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