Rocks studded the shallow water round the spit and the sea surged amongst them.  I ordered the ‘Stancomb Wills’ to run on to the beach at the place that looked smoothest, and in a few moments the first boat was ashore, the men jumping out and holding her against the receding wave.  Immediately I saw she was safe I ran the ‘James Caird’ in.  Some of us scrambled up the beach through the fringe of the surf and slipped the painter round a rock, so as to hold the boat against the backwash.  Then we began to get the stores and gear out, working like men possessed, for the boats could not be pulled up till they had been emptied.  The blubber-stove was quickly alight and the cook began to prepare a hot drink.  We were labouring at the boats when I noticed Rickenson turn white and stagger in the surf.  I pulled him out of reach of the water and sent him up to the stove, which had been placed in the shelter of some rocks.  McIlroy went to him and found that his heart had been temporarily unequal to the strain placed upon it.  He was in a bad way and needed prompt medical attention.  There are some men who will do more than their share of work and who will attempt more than they are physically able to accomplish.  Rickenson was one of these eager souls.  He was suffering, like many other members of the Expedition, from bad salt-water boils.  Our wrists, arms, and legs were attacked.  Apparently this infliction was due to constant soaking with sea-water, the chafing of wet clothes, and exposure.

I was very anxious about the ‘Dudley Docker’, and my eyes as well as my thoughts were turned eastward as we carried the stores ashore; but within half an hour the missing boat appeared, labouring through the spume-white sea, and presently she reached the comparative calm of the bay.  We watched her coming with that sense of relief that the mariner feels when he crosses the harbour-bar.  The tide was going out rapidly, and Worsley lightened the ‘Dudley Docker’ by placing some cases on an outer rock, where they were retrieved subsequently.  Then he beached his boat, and with many hands at work we soon had our belongings ashore and our three craft above high-water mark.  The spit was by no means an ideal camping-ground; it was rough, bleak, and inhospitable—­just an acre or two of rock and shingle, with the sea foaming around it except where the snow-slope, running up to a glacier, formed the landward boundary.  But some of the larger rocks provided a measure of shelter from the wind, and as we clustered round the blubber-stove, with the acrid smoke blowing into our faces, we were quite a cheerful company.  After all, another stage of the homeward journey had been accomplished and we could afford to forget for an hour the problems of the future.  Life was not so bad.  We ate our evening meal while the snow drifted down from the surface of the glacier, and our chilled bodies grew warm.  Then we dried a little tobacco at the stove and enjoyed our pipes