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The 'Dudley Docker' was pulling with three oars, as the 'Stancomb Wills' had the odd one, and she fell away to leeward in a particularly heavy squall. I anxiously watched her battling up against wind and sea. It would have been useless to take the 'James Caird' back to the assistance of the 'Dudley Docker' since we were hard pressed to make any progress ourselves in the heavier boat.
I had laid the course for Elephant Island and we were making good progress. The 'Dudley Docker' ran down to me at dusk and Worsley suggested that we should stand on all night; but already the 'Stancomb Wills' was barely discernible among the rollers in the gathering dusk, and I decided that it would be safer to heave to and wait for the daylight.
I was just climbing into the 'Stancomb Wills' when I saw the 'Dudley Docker' coming up astern under sail. The sight took a great load off my mind. Rowing carefully and avoiding the blind rollers which showed where sunken rocks lay, we brought the 'Stancomb Wills' towards the opening in the reef.
I was pleased at their quick return, and as their report seemed to show that the road was favourable, on February 2 I sent back eighteen men under Wild to bring all the remainder of the food and the third boat, the 'Stancomb Wills'. They started off at 1 a.m., towing the empty boat-sledge on which the 'James Caird' had rested, and reached Ocean Camp about 3.30 a.m.
Most of the time the 'Dudley Docker' kept the 'James Caird' and the 'Stancomb Wills' up to the swell, and the men who were rowing were in better pass than those in the other boats, waiting inactive for the dawn. The temperature was down to 4° below zero, and a film of ice formed on the surface of the sea. When we were not on watch we lay in each other's arms for warmth.
While the painter of the 'Stancomb Wills' tightened and drooped under my hand, my thoughts were busy with plans for the future. Towards midnight the wind shifted to the south-west, and this change enabled us to bear up closer to the island. A little later the 'Dudley Docker' ran down to the 'James Caird', and Worsley shouted a suggestion that he should go ahead and search for a landing-place.
The call to action came at 1 p.m. The pack opened well and the channels became navigable. The conditions were not all one could have desired, but it was best not to wait any longer. The 'Dudley Docker' and the 'Stancomb Wills' were launched quickly.
Starboarding the helm and bending strongly to the oars, we managed 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.
We had to cut the painter of the 'James Caird' and pole her off, thus losing much valuable rope. There was no time to cast off. Then we pushed away from the floe, and all night long we lay in the open, freezing sea, the 'Dudley Docker' now ahead, the 'James Caird' astern of her, and the 'Stancomb Wills' third in the line. The boats were attached to one another by their painters.
"All this time we were coasting along beneath towering rocky cliffs and sheer glacier-faces, which offered not the slightest possibility of landing anywhere. At 9.30 a.m. we spied a narrow, rocky beach at the base of some very high crags and cliff, and made for it. To our joy, we sighted the 'James Caird' and the 'Stancomb Wills' sailing into the same haven just ahead of us.
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