Hudson went down in the bunkers and cleared the ice from the bilges.
"This is not a pleasant job," wrote Worsley. "We have to dig a hole
down through the coal while the beams and timbers groan and crack all
around us like pistol-shots. The darkness is almost complete, and we
mess about in the wet with half-frozen hands and try to keep the coal
from slipping back into the bilges. The men on deck pour buckets of
boiling water from the galley down the pipe as we prod and hammer from
below, and at last we get the pump clear, cover up the bilges to keep
the coal out, and rush on deck, very thankful to find ourselves safe
again in the open air."

Monday, October 25, dawned cloudy and misty, with a minus temperature
and a strong south-easterly breeze. All hands were pumping at
intervals and assisting the carpenter with the coffer-dam. The leak was
being kept under fairly easily, but the outlook was bad. Heavy pressure-
ridges were forming in all directions, and though the immediate
pressure upon the ship was not severe, I realized that the respite
would not be prolonged. The pack within our range of vision was being
subjected to enormous compression, such as might be caused by cyclonic
winds, opposing ocean currents, or constriction in a channel of some
description. The pressure-ridges, massive and threatening, testified
to the overwhelming nature of the forces that were at work. Huge
blocks of ice, weighing many tons, were lifted into the air and tossed
aside as other masses rose beneath them. We were helpless intruders in
a strange world, our lives dependent upon the play of grim elementary
forces that made a mock of our puny efforts. I scarcely dared hope now
that the 'Endurance' would live, and throughout that anxious day I
reviewed again the plans made long before for the sledging journey that
we must make in the event of our having to take to the ice. We were
ready, as far as forethought could make us, for every contingency.