Mount Kyffin, sketched on December 13, 1911. 524
      From a sketch by Dr. Edward A. Wilson.

Where Evans died, showing the Pillar Rock near which the
    Lower Glacier Depot was made.  Sketched on December 11, 1911. 526
      From a sketch by Dr. Edward A. Wilson.

Sledging in a high wind:  the floor-cloth of the tent is the sail. 530
      From a sketch by Dr. Edward A. Wilson.

PLATE X. Mount Longstaff, sketched on December 1, 1911. 
    See also PLATE III., p. 338 532
      From sketches by Dr. Edward A. Wilson.

A Blizzard Camp:  the half-buried sledge is in the foreground. 536
    From a sketch by Dr. Edward A. Wilson.

MAP

The Polar Journey 542

CHAPTER VIII

SPRING

Inside was pandemonium.  Most men had gone to bed, and I have a blurred memory of men in pyjamas and dressing-gowns getting hold of me and trying to get the chunks of armour which were my clothes to leave my body.  Finally they cut them off and threw them into an angular heap at the foot of my bunk.  Next morning they were a sodden mass weighing 24 lbs.  Bread and jam, and cocoa; showers of questions; “You know this is the hardest journey ever made,” from Scott; a broken record of George Robey on the gramophone which started us laughing until in our weak state we found it difficult to stop.  I have no doubt that I had not stood the journey as well as Wilson:  my jaw had dropped when I came in, so they tell me.  Then into my warm blanket bag, and I managed to keep awake just long enough to think that Paradise must feel something like this.

We slept ten thousand thousand years, were wakened to find everybody at breakfast, and passed a wonderful day, lazying about, half asleep and wholly happy, listening to the news and answering questions.  “We are looked upon as beings who have come from another world.  This afternoon I had a shave after soaking my face in a hot sponge, and then a bath.  Lashly had already cut my hair.  Bill looks very thin and we are all very blear-eyed from want of sleep.  I have not much appetite, my mouth is very dry and throat sore with a troublesome hacking cough which I have had all the journey.  My taste is gone.  We are getting badly spoiled, but our beds are the height of all our pleasures."[168]

But this did not last long: