h of the wind and the creaking strain
of the roof, but these had become neglected. In fact, if there were a
calm, every one was restless and uneasy.

The seasoned sleeper who survived the ten minutes' bombardment before
8 o'clock was an unusual person, and he was often the Astronomer Royal.
Besides his dignified name he possessed a wrist-watch, and there was
never a movement in his mountain of blankets until 7.59 A.M., unless
the jocular night-watchman chose to make a heap of them on the floor.
To calls like "Breakfast all ready! Porridge on the table getting cold!"
seventeen persons in varying stages of wakefulness responded. No one
was guilty of an elaborate toilet, water being a scarce commodity. There
were adherents of the snow-wash theory, but these belonged to an earlier
and warmer epoch of our history.

For downright, tantalizing cheerfulness there was no one to equal the
night-watchman. While others strove to collect their befuddled senses,
this individual prated of "wind eighty miles per hour with moderate
drift and brilliant St. Elmo's fire." He boasted of the number of
garments he had washed, expanded vigorously on bread making--his brown,
appetizing specimens in full public view--told of the latest escapade
among the dogs, spoke of the fitful gleams of the aurora between 1.30
and 2 A.M., of his many adventures on the way to the meteorological
screen and so forth; until from being a mere night-watchman he had
raised himself to the status of a public hero. For a time he was most
objectionable, but under the solid influence of porridge, tinned fruit,
fresh bread, butter and tea and the soothing aroma of innumerable
pipes, other public heroes arose and ousted this upstart of the night.
Meanwhile, the latter began to show signs of abating energy after
twelve hours' work. Soon some wag had caught him having a private nap, a
whispered signal was passed round and the unfortunate hero was startled
into life with a rousing "Rise and shine!" in which all past scores were
paid off.

Every one was at last awake and the day began in earnest. The first hint
of this came from the messman and cook who commenced to make a Herculean
sweep of the pint-mugs and tin plates. The former deferentially
proceeded to scrape the plates, the master-cook presiding over a tub of
boiling water in which he vigorously scoured knives, forks and spoons,
transferring them in dripping handfuls to the cleanest part of the
kitchen-table. Cooks o