The remainder of us went on till abreast of the sulphur cones under Castle Rock, when we made for the shore, and with a little mutual help climbed the cliff and returned by land.

As far as one can see all should be well for our return to-morrow, but the sky is clouding to-night and a change of weather seems imminent.  Three successive fine days seem near the limit in this region.

We have picked up quite a number of fish frozen in the ice—­the larger ones about the size of a herring and the smaller of a minnow.  We imagined both had been driven into the slushy ice by seals, but to-day Gran found a large fish frozen in the act of swallowing a small one.  It looks as though both small and large are caught when one is chasing the other.

We have achieved such great comfort here that one is half sorry to leave—­it is a fine healthy existence with many hours spent in the open and generally some interesting object for our walks abroad.  The hill climbing gives excellent exercise—­we shall miss much of it at Cape Evans.  But I am anxious to get back and see that all is well at the latter, as for a long time I have been wondering how our beach has withstood the shocks of northerly winds.  The thought that the hut may have been damaged by the sea in one of the heavy storms will not be banished.

A Sketch of the Life at Hut Point

We gather around the fire seated on packing-cases to receive them with a hunk of butter and a steaming pannikin of tea, and life is well worth living.  After lunch we are out and about again; there is little to tempt a long stay indoors and exercise keeps us all the fitter.

The falling light and approach of supper drives us home again with good appetites about 5 or 6 o’clock, and then the cooks rival one another in preparing succulent dishes of fried seal liver.  A single dish may not seem to offer much opportunity of variation, but a lot can be done with a little flour, a handful of raisins, a spoonful of curry powder, or the addition of a little boiled pea meal.  Be this as it may, we never tire of our dish and exclamations of satisfaction can be heard every night—­or nearly every night, for two nights ago [April 4] Wilson, who has proved a genius in the invention of ‘plats,’ almost ruined his reputation.  He proposed to fry the seal liver in penguin blubber, suggesting that the latter could be freed from all rankness.  The blubber was obtained and rendered down with great care, the result appeared as delightfully pure fat free from smell; but appearances were deceptive; the ‘fry’ proved redolent of penguin, a concentrated essence of that peculiar flavour which faintly lingers in the meat and should not be emphasised.  Three heroes got through their pannikins, but the rest of us decided to be contented with cocoa and biscuit after tasting the first mouthful.  After supper we have an hour or so of smoking and conversation—­a