Down into valleys, up to tossing heights, straining until her seams opened, swung our little boat, brave still but labouring heavily.
We knew that the wind and set of the sea was driving us ashore, but we could do nothing.

The dawn showed us a storm-torn ocean, and the morning passed without bringing us a sight of the land; but at 1 p.m., through a rift in the flying mists, we got a glimpse of the huge crags of the island and realized that our position had become desperate.

We were on a dead lee shore, and we could gauge our approach to the unseen cliffs by the roar of the breakers against the sheer walls of rock.

I ordered the double-reefed mainsail to be set in the hope that we might claw off, and this attempt increased the strain upon the boat.

The 'James Caird' was bumping heavily, and the water was pouring in everywhere.