ughts of deep
and healthy slumber she will give a tired sledger at the end of a long
day's march in summer, when after a nice hot supper he tucks his soft dry
warm furry bag round him with the light beating in through the green silk
tent, the homely smell of tobacco in the air, and the only noise that of
the ponies tethered outside, munching their supper in the sun.

And so it came about that during our sojourn at Cape Evans, in our
comfortable warm roomy home, we took our full allotted span of sleep.
Most were in their bunks by 10 P.M., sometimes with a candle and a book,
not rarely with a piece of chocolate. The acetylene was turned off at
10.30, for we had a limited quantity of carbide, and soon the room was
in complete darkness, save for the glow of the galley stove and where a
splash of light showed the night watchman preparing his supper. Some
snored loudly, but none so loud as Bowers; others talked in their sleep,
the more so when some nasty experience had lately set their nerves on
edge. There was always the ticking of many instruments, and sometimes the
ring of a little bell: to this day I do not know what most of them meant.
On a calm night no sound penetrated except, perhaps, the whine of a dog,
or the occasional kick of a pony in the stable outside. Any disturbance
was the night watchman's job. But on a bad blizzard night the wind, as it
tore seawards over the hut, roared and howled in the ventilator let into
the roof: in the more furious gusts the whole hut shook, and the pebbles
picked up by the hurricane scattered themselves noisily against the
woodwork of the southern wall. We did not get many nights like these the
first winter; during the second we seemed to get nothing else. One
ghastly blizzard blew for six weeks.

The night watchman took his last hourly observation at 7 A.M., and was
free to turn in after waking the cook and making up the fire. Frequently,
however, he had so much work to do that he preferred to forgo his sleep
and remain up. For instance, if the weather looked threatening, he would
take his pony out for exercise as soon as possible in the morning, or
those lists of stores were not finished, or that fish trap had to be
looked after: all kinds of things.

A sizzling on the fire and a smell of porridge and fried seal liver
heralded breakfast, which was at 8 A.M. in theory and a good deal later
in practice. A sleepy eye might see the meteorologist stumping out
(Simpson always stumped)