for us in those days, but the end was coming.  The morning of May 8 broke thick and stormy, with squalls from the north-west.  We searched the waters ahead for a sign of land, and though we could see nothing more than had met our eyes for many days, we were cheered by a sense that the goal was near at hand.  About ten o’clock that morning we passed a little bit of kelp, a glad signal of the proximity of land.  An hour later we saw two shags sitting on a big mass of kelp, and knew then that we must be within ten or fifteen miles of the shore.  These birds are as sure an indication of the proximity of land as a lighthouse is, for they never venture far to sea.  We gazed ahead with increasing eagerness, and at 12.30 p.m., through a rift in the clouds, McCarthy caught a glimpse of the black cliffs of South Georgia, just fourteen days after our departure from Elephant Island.  It was a glad moment.  Thirst-ridden, chilled, and weak as we were, happiness irradiated us.  The job was nearly done.

We stood in towards the shore to look for a landing-place, and presently we could see the green tussock-grass on the ledges above the surf-beaten rocks.  Ahead of us and to the south, blind rollers showed the presence of uncharted reefs along the coast.  Here and there the hungry rocks were close to the surface, and over them the great waves broke, swirling viciously and spouting thirty and forty feet into the air.  The rocky coast appeared to descend sheer to the sea.  Our need of water and rest was well-nigh desperate, but to have attempted a landing at that time would have been suicidal.  Night was drawing near, and the weather indications were not favourable.  There was nothing for it but to haul off till the following morning, so we stood away on the starboard tack until we had made what appeared to be a safe offing.  Then we hove to in the high westerly swell.  The hours passed slowly as we waited the dawn, which would herald, we fondly hoped, the last stage of our journey.  Our thirst was a torment and we could scarcely touch our food; the cold seemed to strike right through our weakened bodies.  At 5 a.m. the wind shifted to the north-west and quickly increased to one of the worst hurricanes any of us had ever experienced.  A great cross-sea was running and the wind simply shrieked as it tore the tops off the waves and converted the whole seascape into a haze of driving spray.  Down into valleys, up to tossing heights, straining until her seams opened, swung our little boat, brave still but labouring heavily.  We knew that the wind and set of the sea was driving us ashore, but we could do nothing.  The dawn showed us a storm-torn ocean, and the morning passed without bringing us a sight of the land; but at 1 p.m., through a rift in the flying mists, we got a glimpse of the huge crags of the island and realized that our position had become desperate.  We were on a dead lee shore, and we could gauge our approach to the unseen cliffs by the