Some of the hands were in a rather bad way, but Wild
had held the party together and kept hope alive in their hearts. There
was no time then to exchange news or congratulations. I did not even
go up the beach to see the camp, which Wild assured me had been much
improved. A heavy sea was running and a change of wind might bring the
ice back at any time. I hurried the party aboard with all possible
speed, taking also the records of the Expedition and essential portions
of equipment. Everybody was aboard the 'Yelcho' within an hour, and we
steamed north at the little steamer's best speed. The ice was open
still, and nothing worse than an expanse of stormy ocean separated us
from the South American coast.
During the run up to Punta Arenas I heard Wild's story, and blessed
again the cheerfulness and resource that had served the party so well
during four and a half months of privation. The twenty-two men on
Elephant Island were just at the end of their resources when the
'Yelcho' reached them. Wild had husbanded the scanty stock of food as
far as possible and had fought off the devils of despondency and
despair on that little sand-spit, where the party had a precarious
foothold between the grim ice-fields and the treacherous, ice-strewn
sea. The pack had opened occasionally, but much of the time the way to
the north had been barred.
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