moments. Through a mist of snow we steered on a north-west course
towards the one-hundred-and-fifty-two mile depot. The wind was from the
south-east true, and this information, with hints from the sun-compass,
gave us the direction. With the sail set, on a flat surface, among
ghostly bergs and over narrow leads we ran for forty-seven miles with
scarce a clear view of what lay around. The bergs had long ramps of snow
leading close up to their summits on the windward side and in many cases
the intervals between these ramps and the bergs were occupied by deep
moats.

One day we were making four knots an hour under all canvas through thick
drift. Suddenly, after a gradual ascent, I was on the edge of a moat,
thirty feet deep. I shouted to the others and, just in time, the sledge
was slewed round on the very brink.

We pushed on blindly:

The toil of it none may share;
By yourself must the way be won
Through fervid or frozen air
Till the overland journey's done.

Christmas Day! The day that ever reminds one of the sweet story of old,
the lessons of childhood, the joys of Santa Claus--the day on which the
thoughts of the wildest wanderer turn to home and peace and love. All
the world was cheerful; the sun was bright, the air was calm. It was
the hometrail, provisions were in plenty, the sledge was light and our
hearts lighter.

The eastern edge of Ninnis Glacier was near, and, leaving the sea-ice,
we were soon straining up the first slope, backed by a line of ridges
trending north-east and south-west, with shallow valleys intervening. On
the wind-swept crests there were a few crevasses well packed with snow.

It was a day's work of twelve miles and we felt ready for Christmas
dinner. McLean was cook and had put some apple-rings to soak in the
cooker after the boil-up at lunch. Beyond this and the fact that he
took some penguin-meat into the tent, he kept his plans in the deepest
mystery. Correll and I were kept outside making things snug and taking
the meteorological observations, until the word came to enter. When at
last we scrambled in, a delicious smell diffused through the tent, and
there was a sound of frying inside the cooker-pot. We were presented
with a menu which read:

"Peace on earth, good will to men."

Xmas 1912 KING GEORGE V. LAND
200 miles east of Winter Quarters.

MENU DU DINER