faces the men
whom they had last seen from the ship at Glacier Tongue. I hope their
story will be told by Debenham. For days their doings were the topic of
conversation. Both numerically and intellectually they were an addition
to our party, which now numbered sixteen. Taylor especially is seldom at
a loss for conversation and his remarks are generally original, if
sometimes crude. Most of us were glad to listen when the discussions in
which he was a leading figure raged round the blubber stove. Scott and
Wilson were always in the thick of it, and the others chimed in as their
interest, knowledge and experience led. Rash statements on questions of
fact were always dangerous, for our small community contained so many
specialists that errors were soon exposed. At the same time there were
few parts of the world that one or other of us had not visited at least
once. Later, when we came to our own limited quarters, books of reference
were constantly in demand to settle disputes. Such books as the Times
Atlas, a good encyclopaedia and even a Latin Dictionary are invaluable to
such expeditions for this purpose. To them I would add Who's Who.

From odd corners we unearthed some Contemporary Reviews, the Girls' Own
Paper and the Family Herald, all of ten years ago! We also found encased
in ice an incomplete copy of Stanley Weyman's My Lady Rotha; it was
carefully thawed out and read by everybody, and the excitement was
increased by the fact that the end of the book was missing.

"Who's going to cook?" was one of the last queries each night, and two
men would volunteer. It is not great fun lighting an ordinary coal fire
on a cold winter's morning, but lighting the blubber fire at Hut Point
when the metal frosted your fingers and the frozen blubber had to be
induced to drip was a far more arduous task. The water was converted from
its icy state and, by that time, the stove was getting hot, in inverse
proportion to your temper. Seal liver fry and cocoa with unlimited
Discovery Cabin biscuits were the standard dish for breakfast, and when
it was ready a sustained cry of 'hoosh' brought the sleepers from their
bags, wiping reindeer hairs from their eyes. I think I was responsible
for the greatest breakfast failure when I fried some biscuits and
sardines (we only had one tin). Leaving the biscuits in the frying pan,
the lid of a cooker, after taking it from the fire, they went on cooking
and became as charcoal. This meal was known as