When I banked it was about 15 feet above, and, very scratched and winded, I clung on with my nails and scrambled up higher.  The next wave, a bigger one, nearly had me, but I was just too high to be sucked back.  Atkinson and I then started getting the gear down, Evans having taken my place in the pram.  By running down between waves we hove some items into the boat, including the guns and rifles, which I went right down to throw.  These were caught and put into the boat, but Evans was too keen to save a bunch of boots that Atkinson threw down, and the next minute the pram passed over my head and landed high and dry, like a bridge, over the rocks between which I was wedged.  I then scrambled out as the next wave washed her still higher, right over and over, with Evans and Rennick just out in time.  The next wave—­a huge one—­picked her up, and out she bumped over the rocks and out to sea she went, water-logged, with the guns, fortunately, jammed under the thwarts.  She was rescued by the whaler, baled out, and then Gran and one of the seamen manned her battered remains again, and we, unable to save the gear otherwise, lashed it to life-buoys, threw it into the sea and let it drift out with the back-wash to be picked up by the pram.

“Clothes, watches and ancient guns, rifles, ammunition, birds (dead) and all specimens were, with the basket of crockery and food, soaked with salt water.  However, the choice was between that or leaving them altogether, as anybody would have said had they seen the huge rollers breaking among the rocks and washing 30 to 40 feet up with the spray; in fact, we were often knocked over and submerged for a time, clinging hard to some rock or one of the ropes for dear life.  Evans swam off first.  Then I was about half an hour trying to rescue a hawser and some lines entangled among the rocks.  It was an amusing job.  I would wait for a lull, run down and haul away, staying under for smaller waves and running up the rocks like a hare when the warning came from the boat that a series of big ones were coming in.  I finally rescued most of it—­had to cut off some and got it to the place opposite the boat, and with Rennick secured it and sent it out to sea to be picked up.  My pair of brown tennis shoes (old ones) had been washed off my feet in one of the scrambles, so I was wearing a pair of sea-boots—­Nelson’s, I found—­which, fortunately for him, was one of the few pairs saved.  The pram came in, and waiting for a back-wash Rennick swam off.  I ran down after the following wave, and securing my green hat, which by the bye is a most useful asset, struck out through the boiling, and grabbed the pram safely as we were lifted on the crest of an immense roller.  However, we were just beyond its breaking-point, so all was well, and we arrived aboard after eight hours’ wash and wetness, and none the worse, except for a few scratches, and yours truly in high spirits.  We stayed there that night, and the following, Thursday, morning left.  Winds