About 8 p.m. we heard a hail in the distance.  We could see nothing, but soon like a pale ghost out of the darkness came the boat, the faces of the men showing white in the glare of the fire.  Wild ran her on the beach with the swell, and within a couple of minutes we had dragged her to a place of safety.  I was waiting Wild’s report with keen anxiety, and my relief was great when he told me that he had discovered a sandy spit seven miles to the west, about 200 yds. long, running out at right angles to the coast and terminating at the seaward end in a mass of rock.  A long snow-slope joined the spit at the shore end, and it seemed possible that a “dugout” could be made in the snow.  The spit, in any case, would be a great improvement on our narrow beach.  Wild added that the place he described was the only possible camping-ground he had seen.  Beyond, to the west and south-west, lay a frowning line of cliffs and glaciers, sheer to the water’s edge.  He thought that in very heavy gales either from the south-west or east the spit would be spray-blown, but that the seas would not actually break over it.  The boats could be run up on a shelving beach.

After hearing this good news I was eager to get away from the beach camp.  The wind when blowing was favourable for the run along the coast.  The weather had been fine for two days and a change might come at any hour.  I told all hands that we would make a start early on the following morning.  A newly killed seal provided a luxurious supper of steak and blubber, and then we slept comfortably till the dawn.

The morning of April 17 came fine and clear.  The sea was smooth, but in the offing we could see a line of pack, which seemed to be approaching.  We had noticed already pack and bergs being driven by the current to the east and then sometimes coming back with a rush to the west.  The current ran as fast as five miles an hour, and it was a set of this kind that had delayed Wild on his return from the spit.  The rise and fall of the tide was only about five feet at this time, but the moon was making for full and the tides were increasing.  The appearance of ice emphasized the importance of getting away promptly.  It would be a serious matter to be prisoned on the beach by the pack.  The boats were soon afloat in the shallows, and after a hurried breakfast all hands worked hard getting our gear and stores aboard.  A mishap befell us when we were launching the boats.  We were using oars as rollers, and three of these were broken, leaving us short for the journey that had still to be undertaken.  The preparations took longer than I had expected; indeed, there seemed to be some reluctance on the part of several men to leave the barren safety of the little beach and venture once more on the ocean.  But the move was imperative, and by 11 a.m. we were away, the ‘James Caird’ leading.  Just as we rounded the small island occupied by the ringed penguins the “willywaw” swooped down from the 2000-ft. cliffs behind us, a herald of the southerly gale that was to spring up within half an hour.