Big seas overtook us frequently, however, striking savage blows at us, as if the Antarctic were thoroughly angry at our having escaped its clutches and were determined to beat us even yet. On the night of March 30, at about eleven o’clock, a whacking big fellow overtook us, and we thought we were for the Locker, because we were literally smothered; but we won clear, and after shortening sail ran with greater steadiness though less speed.
During the following forenoon watch our ship reeled off thirty-one knots in the four hours, nearly eight knots per hour. Good going, this; it looked as if the South Georgians had got a grip on the towrope and were hauling us thither hand over hand. Because of the steady swing of the seas, which here run clean round the world without meeting any untoward obstacles, the motion of the Quest, though vigorous, was uniform and easy.
The wake of Loose Ice as seen from the Crow’s Nest. (Capt. Worsley is on the ladder.)
A Close-up View of the Pack.
