saw us and in another moment the hut poured out her little party, consisting of Sunny Jim, Ponting, Nelson, Day, Lashly, Hooper, Clissold, Dimitri and Anton.  Ponting’s face was a study as he ran up; he failed to recognize any of us and stopped dead with a blank look—­as he admitted afterwards, he thought it was the Norwegian expedition for the space of a moment; and then we were all being greeted as heartily as if we had really done something to be proud of.

“The motors had had to be shifted, and a lot of gear placed higher up the beach, but the water had never reached near the hut, so all was well.  Inside it looked tremendous, and we looked at our grimy selves in a glass for the first time for three months; no wonder Ponting did not recognize the ruffians.  He photographed a group of us, which will amuse you some day, when it is permissible to send photos.  We ate heartily and had hot baths and generally civilized ourselves.  I have since concluded that the hut is the finest place in the southern hemisphere, but then I could not shake down to it at once.  I hankered for a sleeping-bag out on the snow, or for the blubbery atmosphere of Hut Point.  I expect the truth of the matter was that all my special pals, Bill, Cherry, Titus, and Atch, had been left behind.

“We found eight ponies at Winter Quarters in the stable, Hackenschmidt having died.  These with our two at Hut Point left us with ten to start the winter with.  I at once looked out the other big Siberian horse that had been a pair with my late lamented (they were the only Siberian ponies, all the rest being Manchurians) and singled him out for myself, should ‘the powers that be’ be willing.

“A party had to return to Hut Point with some provision in a day or two, so I asked to go.  Captain Scott had decided to go himself, but said he would be very pleased if I would go too; so it being a fine day we left the following Monday.  The two teams consisted of Captain Scott, Lashly, Day and Dimitri with one tent and sledge, and Crean, Hooper, Nelson and myself with the other.  We had it fine as far as the Glacier Tongue; and then along came the cheery old south wind in our faces; we crossed the Tongue and struggled against this till we could camp under the Hutton Cliffs where we got some shelter.  All of us had our faces frost-bitten, the washing and shaving having made mine quite tender.  It was a bit of a job getting up the cliff:  we had to stand on top of a pile of fallen ice and hoist a 10-feet sledge on to our shoulders, at least on to the shoulders of the tall ones; this just touched the overhanging cornice.  A cornice of snow is caused by continual drift over a sharp edge:  it takes all sorts of fantastic shapes, but usually hangs over like this.  Looking edgeways it looks as if it must fall down, but as a matter of fact is usually very tough indeed.  In this case steps were cut in it with an ice axe from our extemporary ladder, and Captain Scott and I got up first.  With the aid of a rope and the ladder we got the light ones up first, and hauled up the gear last of all; hanging the sledge from the top with one rope enabled the last two to struggle up it assisted by a rope round them from above.  It was a cold job and more frost-bites occurred in two of our novices, one on a foot and the other on a finger.