I realized
that the condition of the party generally, and particularly of McNeish
and Vincent, would prevent us putting to sea again except under
pressure of dire necessity. Our boat, moreover, had been weakened by
the cutting away of the topsides, and I doubted if we could weather the
island. We were still 150 miles away from Stromness whaling-station by
sea. The alternative was to attempt the crossing of the island. If we
could not get over, then we must try to secure enough food and fuel to
keep us alive through the winter, but this possibility was scarcely
thinkable. Over on Elephant Island twenty-two men were waiting for the
relief that we alone could secure for them. Their plight was worse
than ours. We must push on somehow. Several days must elapse before
our strength would be sufficiently recovered to allow us to row or sail
the last nine miles up to the head of the bay. In the meantime we
could make what preparations were possible and dry our clothes by
taking advantage of every scrap of heat from the fires we lit for the
cooking of our meals. We turned in early that night, and I remember
that I dreamed of the great wave and aroused my companions with a shout
of warning as I saw with half-awakened eyes the towering cliff on the
opposite side of the cove. Shortly before midnight a gale sprang up
suddenly from the north-east with rain and sleet showers.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318