The swell was slight when the ‘Stancomb Wills’ was launched and the boat got under way without any difficulty; but half an hour later, when we were pulling down the ‘James Caird’, the swell increased suddenly.  Apparently the movement of the ice outside had made an opening and allowed the sea to run in without being blanketed by the line of pack.  The swell made things difficult.  Many of us got wet to the waist while dragging the boat out—­a serious matter in that climate.  When the ‘James Caird’ was afloat in the surf she nearly capsized among the rocks before we could get her clear, and Vincent and the carpenter, who were on the deck, were thrown into the water.  This was really bad luck, for the two men would have small chance of drying their clothes after we had got under way.  Hurley, who had the eye of the professional photographer for “incidents,” secured a picture of the upset, and I firmly believe that he would have liked the two unfortunate men to remain in the water until he could get a “snap” at close quarters; but we hauled them out immediately, regardless of his feelings.

The ‘James Caird’ was soon clear of the breakers.  We used all the available ropes as a long painter to prevent her drifting away to the north-east, and then the ‘Stancomb Wills’ came alongside, transferred her load, and went back to the shore for more.  As she was being beached this time the sea took her stern and half filled her with water.  She had to be turned over and emptied before the return journey could be made.  Every member of the crew of the ‘Stancomb Wills’ was wet to the skin.  The water-casks were towed behind the ’Stancomb Wills’ on this second journey, and the swell, which was increasing rapidly, drove the boat on to the rocks, where one of the casks was slightly stove in.  This accident proved later to be a serious one, since some sea-water had entered the cask and the contents were now brackish.

By midday the ‘James Caird’ was ready for the voyage.  Vincent and the carpenter had secured some dry clothes by exchange with members of the shore party (I heard afterwards that it was a full fortnight before the soaked garments were finally dried), and the boat’s crew was standing by waiting for the order to cast off.  A moderate westerly breeze was blowing.  I went ashore in the ‘Stancomb Wills’ and had a last word with Wild, who was remaining in full command, with directions as to his course of action in the event of our failure to bring relief, but I practically left the whole situation and scope of action and decision to his own judgment, secure in the knowledge that he would act wisely.  I told him that I trusted the party to him and said good-bye to the men.  Then we pushed off for the last time, and within a few minutes I was aboard the ‘James Caird’.  The crew of the ’Stancomb Wills’ shook hands with us as the boats bumped together and offered us the last good wishes.  Then, setting our jib, we cut the painter and moved away to the north-east.  The men who were staying behind made a pathetic little group on the beach, with the grim heights of the island behind them and the sea seething at their feet, but they waved to us and gave three hearty cheers.  There was hope in their hearts and they trusted us to bring the help that they needed.