Most fascinating to listen to
waves and chain breaking. In the thick haze I saw the ice astern
breaking up and the shore receding. I called all hands and clapped
relieving tackles (4-in. Manila luff tackles) on to the cables on the
forepart of the windlass. The bos'n had rushed along with his
hurricane lamp, and shouted, 'She's away wi' it!' He is a good fellow
and very conscientious. I ordered steam on main engines, and the
engine-room staff, with Hooke and Ninnis, turned to. Grady, fireman,
was laid up with a broken rib. As the ship, in the solid floe, set to
the north-west, the cables rattled and tore at the hawse-pipes; luckily
the anchors, lying as they were on a strip-sloping bottom, came away
easily, without damage to windlass or hawse-pipes. Slowly as we
disappeared into Sound, the light in the hut died away. At 11.30 p.m.
the ice around us started to break up, the floes playing tattoo on the
ship's sides. We were out in the Sound and catching the full force of
the wind. The moon broke through the clouds after midnight and showed
us the pack, stretching continuously to northward, and about one mile
to the south. As the pack from the southward came up and closed in on
the ship, the swell lessened and the banging of floes alongside eased a
little.
"May 7, 8 a.m.--Wind east-south-east.
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