stores forming a dark spot on the ice.  The boats were still heavily loaded.  We got out of the lanes, and entered a stretch of open water at 11 a.m.  A strong easterly breeze was blowing, but the fringe of pack lying outside protected us from the full force of the swell, just as the coral-reef of a tropical island checks the rollers of the Pacific.  Our way was across the open sea, and soon after noon we swung round the north end of the pack and laid a course to the westward, the ‘James Caird’ still in the lead.  Immediately our deeply laden boats began to make heavy weather.  They shipped sprays, which, freezing as they fell, covered men and gear with ice, and soon it was clear that we could not safely proceed.  I put the ‘James Caird’ round and ran for the shelter of the pack again, the other boats following.  Back inside the outer line of ice the sea was not breaking.  This was at 3 p.m., and all hands were tired and cold.  A big floeberg resting peacefully ahead caught my eye, and half an hour later we had hauled up the boats and pitched camp for the night.  It was a fine, big, blue berg with an attractively solid appearance, and from our camp we could get a good view of the surrounding sea and ice.  The highest point was about 15 ft. above sea-level.  After a hot meal all hands, except the watchman, turned in.  Every one was in need of rest after the troubles of the previous night and the unaccustomed strain of the last thirty-six hours at the oars.  The berg appeared well able to withstand the battering of the sea, and too deep and massive to be seriously affected by the swell; but it was not as safe as it looked.  About midnight the watchman called me and showed me that the heavy north-westerly swell was undermining the ice.  A great piece had broken off within eight feet of my tent.  We made what inspection was possible in the darkness, and found that on the westward side of the berg the thick snow covering was yielding rapidly to the attacks of the sea.  An ice-foot had formed just under the surface of the water.  I decided that there was no immediate danger and did not call the men.  The north-westerly wind strengthened during the night.

The morning of April 11 was overcast and misty.  There was a haze on the horizon, and daylight showed that the pack had closed round our berg, making it impossible in the heavy swell to launch the boats.  We could see no sign of the water.  Numerous whales and killers were blowing between the floes, and Cape pigeons, petrels, and fulmars were circling round our berg.  The scene from our camp as the daylight brightened was magnificent beyond description, though I must admit that we viewed it with anxiety.  Heaving hills of pack and floe were sweeping towards us in long undulations, later to be broken here and there by the dark lines that indicated open water.  As each swell lifted around our rapidly dissolving berg it drove floe-ice on to the ice-foot, shearing off more of the top snow-covering and reducing the