Throughout the whole period that we were navigating about the pack edge, I was constantly made to feel how extremely fortunate we were to have escaped unscathed from the ice after the loss of the _Endurance_. That we got away at all is truly marvellous, for not once in a dozen times could a frail ship’s boat win free under similar circumstances where the floes, coming together, must have cracked her like an eggshell. For a while I continued north, entering all the time a more and more open sea dotted all about with bergs and large solitary pieces of floe. The day after leaving the pack we encountered heavy swell, which caused the _Quest_, with her empty bunkers, to pitch and roll in the most uncomfortable manner. Decks, rails and running gear became iced up with sprays which broke over her gunwale and froze solidly, necessitating the greatest care in moving about. At night I could not distinguish white horses from growlers, and so took in sail and lay to. I sent McLeod and Macklin aloft to take in the topsail, which they found an unpleasant job on account of the treacherous condition of the rigging, which was ice-covered and slippery, and the jerky movement of the ship. We continued on at daybreak encountering a few bergs but no floe ice. There was a heavy swell from the east-south-east, and though the wind seemed to have dropped a little squalls of great violence continued to pass over us. On this day we reached the maximum of discomfort, and though the men maintained their cheerfulness I see now from some of the diaries that it must have cost an effort: It has been another unpleasant day with all the discomforts of yesterday accentuated, the ship rolling just as heavily and all gear more thickly coated with ice, which is hanging in festoons and stalactites from every possible place. Sprays have been flying over all day and everything in the ship is damp. There is no comfort anywhere except in one’s bunk, and even there it is all one can do to prevent being thrown out. On the bridge to-day Commander Wild remarked: “The man who comes down here for the sake of experience is mad; the man who comes twice is beyond all hope; while as for the man who comes five times (himself)——” Words failed him. Poor Query is utterly miserable; he cannot get a minute’s rest anywhere. Nor can any of us. Yesterday I caught my thumb in the jackstay, and it is so swollen and tender that to touch anything gives me agony. This beastly motion makes me sea-sick—I am full of sorrows to-day. We are getting near to Elephant Island, the home of all foul winds that blow—what crazy impulse sent me again to these abandoned regions? (writes Macklin). Indeed at this stage of the voyage it took all our fortitude to keep up our spirits. We again hove to for the night, and the gale increasing in violence we lay to all next day.