The 'James Caird', being the heaviest boat, had to keep a full complement of rowers, while the 'Dudley Docker' and the 'Stancomb Wills' went short and took turns using the odd oar.

A big swell was thundering against the cliffs and at times we were almost driven on to the rocks by swirling green waters.

We had to keep close inshore in order to avoid being embroiled in the raging sea, which was lashed snow-white and quickened by the furious squalls into a living mass of sprays.
After two hours of strenuous labour we were almost exhausted, but we were fortunate enough to find comparative shelter behind a point of rock.

Overhead towered the sheer cliffs for hundreds of feet, the sea- birds that fluttered from the crannies of the rock dwarfed by the height.

The boats rose and fell in the big swell, but the sea was not breaking in our little haven, and we rested there while we ate our cold ration.