Working with our woollen half-mitts and mitts on our hands all the time, and our fur mitts over them when possible, we gradually got the buckles undone, and spread the green canvas floor-cloth on the snow.  This was also fitted to be used as a sail, but we never could have rigged a sail on this journey.  The shovel and the bamboos, with a lining, itself lined with ice, lashed to them, were packed on the top of the load and were now put on the snow until wanted.  Our next job was to lift our three sleeping-bags one by one on to the floor-cloth:  they covered it, bulging over the sides—­those obstinate coffins which were all our life to us....  One of us is off by now to nurse his fingers back.  The cooker was unlashed from the top of the instrument box; some parts of it were put on the bags with the primus, methylated spirit can, matches and so forth; others left to be filled with snow later.  Taking a pole in each hand we three spread the bamboos over the whole.  “All right?  Down!” from Bill; and we lowered them gently on to the soft snow, that they might not sink too far.  The ice on the inner lining of the tent was formed mostly from the steam of the cooker.  This we had been unable to beat or chip off in the past, and we were now, truth to tell, past worrying about it.  The little ventilator in the top, made to let out this steam, had been tied up in order to keep in all possible heat.  Then over with the outer cover, and for one of us the third worst job of the day was to begin.  The worst job was to get into our bags:  the second or equal worst was to lie in them for six hours (we had brought it down to six):  this third worst was, to get the primus lighted and a meal on the way.

As cook of the day you took the broken metal framework, all that remained of our candlestick, and got yourself with difficulty into the funnel which formed the door.  The enclosed space of the tent seemed much colder than the outside air:  you tried three or four match-boxes and no match would strike:  almost desperate, you asked for a new box to be given you from the sledge and got a light from this because it had not yet been in the warmth, so called, of the tent.  The candle hung by a wire from the cap of the tent.  It would be tedious to tell of the times we had getting the primus alight, and the lanyards of the weekly food bag unlashed.  Probably by now the other two men have dug in the tent; squared up outside; filled and passed in the cooker; set the thermometer under the sledge and so forth.  There were always one or two odd jobs which wanted doing as well:  but you may be sure they came in as soon as possible when they heard the primus hissing, and saw the glow of light inside.  Birdie made a bottom for the cooker out of an empty biscuit tin to take the place of the part which was blown away.  On the whole this was a success, but we had to hold it steady—­on Bill’s sleeping-bag, for the flat frozen bags spread all over the floor space.  Cooking was a longer business now.  Some one whacked out the biscuit, and the cook put the ration of pemmican into the inner cooker which was by now half full of water.  As opportunity offered we got out of our day, and into our night foot-gear—­fleecy camel-hair stockings and fur boots.  In the dim light we examined our feet for frost-bite.