Into the boats

They sailed for a while, then camped on a berg they deemed safe. Later that night, a huge crack shot through the iceberg, sending one of the firemen tumbling into the icy water, still in his sleeping bag. They didn't get any more sleep that night, and at 6:00 they started off again. They rowed with difficulty through some ice floes; the boats were big and bulky and kept ramming into the ice. They got through it, to find open water ahead. It was too dangerous for them to try sailing through it, because the waves were gigantic, unfettered by the pack ice. They reluctantly turned toward King George Island. For the next several days, a huge gale swept through the waters. They could not tell where they were. When the weather cleared, they expected that the readings would tell them they had covered many miles. The results were awful. They had not covered an inch of ground. In fact, they had gone backward, sixty miles south and about thirty miles east. This news eliminated all possibilities except for one: Elephant Island. It was over a hundred miles away. They sailed for three days, weathering storms and avoiding pack ice, with virtually no rest and almost no food at all. They were freezing inside their clothes, they were all soaked. Most of them had frostbite. Finally, one day, they spotted it as a black spot in the distance. Elephant Island.