May 15 was a great day.  We made our hoosh at 7.30 a.m.  Then we loaded up the boat and gave her a flying launch down the steep beach into the surf.  Heavy rain had fallen in the night and a gusty north-westerly wind was now blowing, with misty showers.  The ‘James Caird’ headed to the sea as if anxious to face the battle of the waves once more.  We passed through the narrow mouth of the cove with the ugly rocks and waving kelp close on either side, turned to the east, and sailed merrily up the bay as the sun broke through the mists and made the tossing waters sparkle around us.  We were a curious-looking party on that bright morning, but we were feeling happy.  We even broke into song, and, but for our Robinson Crusoe appearance, a casual observer might have taken us for a picnic party sailing in a Norwegian fiord or one of the beautiful sounds of the west coast of New Zealand.  The wind blew fresh and strong, and a small sea broke on the coast as we advanced.  The surf was sufficient to have endangered the boat if we had attempted to land where the carcass of the sea-elephant was lying, so we decided to go on to the head of the bay without risking anything, particularly as we were likely to find sea-elephants on the upper beaches.  The big creatures have a habit of seeking peaceful quarters protected from the waves.  We had hopes, too, of finding penguins.  Our expectation as far as the sea-elephants were concerned was not at fault.  We heard the roar of the bulls as we neared the head of the bay, and soon afterwards saw the great unwieldy forms of the beasts lying on a shelving beach towards the bay-head.  We rounded a high, glacier-worn bluff on the north side, and at 12.30 p.m. we ran the boat ashore on a low beach of sand and pebbles, with tussock growing above high-water mark.  There were hundreds of sea-elephants lying about, and our anxieties with regard to food disappeared.  Meat and blubber enough to feed our party for years was in sight.  Our landing-place was about a mile and a half west of the north-east corner of the bay.  Just east of us was a glacier-snout ending on the beach but giving a passage towards the head of the bay, except at high water or when a very heavy surf was running.  A cold, drizzling rain had begun to fall, and we provided ourselves with shelter as quickly as possible.  We hauled the ‘James Caird’ up above highwater mark and turned her over just to the lee or east side of the bluff.  The spot was separated from the mountain-side by a low morainic bank, rising twenty or thirty feet above sea-level.  Soon we had converted the boat into a very comfortable cabin à la Peggotty, turfing it round with tussocks, which we dug up with knives.  One side of the ‘James Caird’ rested on stones so as to afford a low entrance, and when we had finished she looked as though she had grown there.  McCarthy entered into this work with great spirit.  A sea-elephant provided us with fuel and meat, and that evening found a well-fed and fairly contented party at rest in Peggotty Camp.