Right to the minute the steam-whistle came to us, borne clearly
on the wind across the intervening miles of rock and snow. Never had
any one of us heard sweeter music. It was the first sound created by
outside human agency that had come to our ears since we left Stromness
Bay in December 1914. That whistle told us that men were living near,
that ships were ready, and that within a few hours we should be on our
way back to Elephant Island to the rescue of the men waiting there
under the watch and ward of Wild. It was a moment hard to describe.
Pain and ache, boat journeys, marches, hunger and fatigue seemed to
belong to the limbo of forgotten things, and there remained only the
perfect contentment that comes of work accomplished.
My examination of the country from a higher point had not provided
definite information, and after descending I put the situation before
Worsley and Crean. Our obvious course lay down a snow-slope in the
direction of Husvik. "Boys," I said, "this snow-slope seems to end in
a precipice, but perhaps there is no precipice. If we don't go down we
shall have to make a detour of at least five miles before we reach
level going What shall it be?" They both replied at once, "Try the
slope." So we started away again downwards. We abandoned the Primus
lamp, now empty, at the breakfast camp and carried with us one ration
and a biscuit each.
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