She looked to be firmly fixed and in a very uncomfortable position.

It looked as though she had been trying to get round the Cape, and therefore I argued she must have been going a good pace as the drift was making rapidly to the south.

Later Pennell told me he had been trying to look behind the berg and had been going astern some time before he struck.
My heart sank when I looked at her and I sent Evans off in the whaler to sound, recovered the ice anchors again, set the people to work, and walked disconsolately back to the Cape to watch.
Visions of the ship failing to return to New Zealand and of sixty people waiting here arose in my mind with sickening pertinacity, and the only consolation I could draw from such imaginations was the determination that the southern work should go on as before--meanwhile the least ill possible seemed to be an extensive lightening of the ship with boats as the tide was evidently high when she struck--a terribly depressing prospect.
Some three or four of us watched it gloomily from the shore whilst all was bustle on board, the men shifting cargo aft.

Pennell tells me they shifted 10 tons in a very short time.
The first ray of hope came when by careful watching one could see that the ship was turning very slowly, then one saw the men running from side to side and knew that an attempt was being made to roll her off.

The rolling produced a more rapid turning movement at first and then she seemed to hang again.