I do not think the
whales were so numerous. The most noticeable thing about them that day
was the organization shown by the band of whales which appeared after
Bowers' pony, Uncle Bill, had fallen between two floes, and we were
trying to get him towards the Barrier. "Good God, look at the whales,"
said some one, and there, in a pool of water behind the floe on which we
were working, lay twelve great whales in perfect line, facing the floe.
And out in front of them, like the captain of a company of soldiers, was
another. As we turned they dived as one whale, led by the big fellow in
front, and we certainly expected that they would attack the floe on which
we stood. Whether they never did so, or whether they tried and failed,
for the floes here were fifteen or sixteen feet thick, I do not know; we
never saw them again.

One other incident of those days is worth recalling. "Cherry, Crean,
we're floating out to sea," was the startling awakening from Bowers,
standing in his socks outside the tent at 4.30 A.M. that Wednesday
morning. And indeed at first sight on getting outside the tent it looked
a quite hopeless situation. I thought it was madness to try and save the
ponies and gear when, it seemed, the only chance at all of saving the men
was an immediate rush for the Barrier, and I said so. "Well, I'm going to
try," was Bowers' answer, and, quixotic or no, he largely succeeded. I
never knew a man who treated difficulties with such scorn.

* * * * *

There must be some of my companions who look back upon Hut Point with a
peculiar fondness, such as men get for places where they have experienced
great joys and great trials. And Hut Point has an atmosphere of its own.
I do not know what it is. Partly aesthetic, for the sea and great
mountains, and the glorious colour effects which prevail in spring and
autumn, would fascinate the least imaginative; partly mysterious, with
the Great Barrier knocking at your door, and the smoke of Erebus by day
and the curtain of Aurora by night; partly the associations of the
place--the old hut, the old landmarks, so familiar to those who know the
history of the Discovery Expedition, the stakes in the snow, the holes
for which ice was dug to water the ship, Vince's Cross on the Point. Now
there is another Cross, on Observation Hill.

And yet when we first arrived the hut was comfortless enough. Wilson and
Meares and Gran had been there some days; they had found