to be perilous.  Seeing her plight, I sent the ‘Dudley Docker’ back for her and tied the ‘James Caird’ up to a piece of ice.  The ’Dudley Docker’ had to tow the ‘Stancomb Wills’, and the delay cost us two hours of valuable daylight.  When I had the three boats together again we continued down the lane, and soon saw a wider stretch of water to the west; it appeared to offer us release from the grip of the pack.  At the head of an ice-tongue that nearly closed the gap through which we might enter the open space was a wave-worn berg shaped like some curious antediluvian monster, an icy Cerberus guarding the way.  It had head and eyes and rolled so heavily that it almost overturned.  Its sides dipped deep in the sea, and as it rose again the water seemed to be streaming from its eyes, as though it were weeping at our escape from the clutch of the floes.  This may seem fanciful to the reader, but the impression was real to us at the time.  People living under civilized conditions, surrounded by Nature’s varied forms of life and by all the familiar work of their own hands, may scarcely realize how quickly the mind, influenced by the eyes, responds to the unusual and weaves about it curious imaginings like the firelight fancies of our childhood days.  We had lived long amid the ice, and we half-unconsciously strove to see resemblances to human faces and living forms in the fantastic contours and massively uncouth shapes of berg and floe.

At dusk we made fast to a heavy floe, each boat having its painter fastened to a separate hummock in order to avoid collisions in the swell.  We landed the blubber-stove, boiled some water in order to provide hot milk, and served cold rations.  I also landed the dome tents and stripped the coverings from the hoops.  Our experience of the previous day in the open sea had shown us that the tents must be packed tightly.  The spray had dashed over the bows and turned to ice on the cloth, which had soon grown dangerously heavy.  Other articles off our scanty equipment had to go that night.  We were carrying only the things that had seemed essential, but we stripped now to the barest limit of safety.  We had hoped for a quiet night, but presently we were forced to cast off, since pieces of loose ice began to work round the floe.  Drift-ice is always attracted to the lee side of a heavy floe, where it bumps and presses under the influence of the current.  I had determined not to risk a repetition of the last night’s experience and so had not pulled the boats up.  We spent the hours of darkness keeping an offing from the main line of pack under the lee of the smaller pieces.  Constant rain and snow squalls blotted out the stars and soaked us through, and at times it was only by shouting to each other that we managed to keep the boats together.  There was no sleep for anybody owing to the severe cold, and we dare not pull fast enough to keep ourselves warm since we were unable to see more than a few yards ahead.