to get clear.  The two other boats followed us, though from their position astern at first they had not realized the immediate danger.  The ‘Stancomb Wills’ was the last boat and she was very nearly caught, but by great exertion she was kept just ahead of the driving ice.  It was an unusual and startling experience.  The effect of tidal action on ice is not often as marked as it was that day.  The advancing ice, accompanied by a large wave, appeared to be travelling at about three knots; and if we had not succeeded in pulling clear we would certainly have been swamped.

We pulled hard for an hour to windward of the berg that lay in the open water.  The swell was crashing on its perpendicular sides and throwing spray to a height of sixty feet.  Evidently there was an ice-foot at the east end, for the swell broke before it reached the berg-face and flung its white spray on to the blue ice-wall.  We might have paused to have admired the spectacle under other conditions; but night was coming on apace, and we needed a camping-place.  As we steered north-west, still amid the ice-floes, the ‘Dudley Docker’ got jammed between two masses while attempting to make a short cut.  The old adage about a short cut being the longest way round is often as true in the Antarctic as it is in the peaceful countryside.  The ‘James Caird’ got a line aboard the ‘Dudley Docker’, and after some hauling the boat was brought clear of the ice again.  We hastened forward in the twilight in search of a flat, old floe, and presently found a fairly large piece rocking in the swell.  It was not an ideal camping-place by any means, but darkness had overtaken us.  We hauled the boats up, and by 8 p.m. had the tents pitched and the blubber-stove burning cheerily.  Soon all hands were well fed and happy in their tents, and snatches of song came to me as I wrote up my log.

Some intangible feeling of uneasiness made me leave my tent about 11 p.m. that night and glance around the quiet camp.  The stars between the snow-flurries showed that the floe had swung round and was end on to the swell, a position exposing it to sudden strains.  I started to walk across the floe in order to warn the watchman to look carefully for cracks, and as I was passing the men’s tent the floe lifted on the crest of a swell and cracked right under my feet.  The men were in one of the dome-shaped tents, and it began to stretch apart as the ice opened.  A muffled sound, suggestive of suffocation, came from beneath the stretching tent.  I rushed forward, helped some emerging men from under the canvas, and called out, “Are you all right?”