'October 26th - Fine clear day. The ice in a state of turmoil all the morning subjected the ship to terrific strains. I was assisting Chips on the coffer-dam down in the shaft tunnel when the pressure set in and the creaking and groaning of timbers mingled with the pounding and scrunching against the ship's sides produced a hideous deafening din and warned us to make for safety. As there was a likelihood of the ship's sides crushing in and trapping us in the tunnel we hastened up on deck. All were actively engaged cleaning the lowering-gear of the boats, and stacking the emergency stores in case of compulsory disembarkation, which now seems inevitable.
The dogs, instinctively conscious of the imminent peril, set up distressed wails of uneasiness and fear. Sir Ernest stands on the poop, surveying the movements of the ice, and giving an occasional peremptory order. Sledges and all gear are being rapidly accumulated on deck ... the brunt of the pressure assails our starboard quarter and the damaged stern-post. The ship is forced ahead by a series of pulsating jerks, and with such force that the bows are driven wedgewise into the solid floe ahead ... At 7 p.m. the order is given to lower the boats. They are hauled some distance away from the Endurance and out of the zone of immediate danger. ... October 27th - ... All hands are ordered to stand by to discharge equipment and stores on to the ice. The pumps work faster and faster and someone is actually singing a shanty to their beat. The dogs are rapidly passed out down a canvas chute and secured on the floe, followed by cases of concentrated sledging rations, sledges and equipment. The ship is doomed.
By 8 p.m. all essential gear is "floed", and though the destruction of the ship continues, smoke may be observed issuing from the galley chimney - the cook is preparing supper.' (F. Hurley, op. cit., pp. 63-4)