“Sir Ernest had just been relieved at the helm, & we bailed together peering under the clew of the lugsail. The Island was now so close that we had to crane our necks to look up at the peak. Inch by inch we staggered & lurched drunkenly past the black fangs of the rocky point. The moments became so tense that we feared even to speak—just held our breath or baled for life.

“By [nightfall] we knew we were safe. High, almost overhead it seemed, the great peak loomed mysteriously through the darkness. Right abeam long pale fingers from the surf reached back threateningly for us, but they held no terrors then; every moment the clamorous roar of the surf on the rocky point became more faint with distance on the lee quarter.”

— Frank Worsley