It was a fortunate thing that this wind often blew quite clear without snowfall or drift.  Two days later in the same gale the tent of the other three men collapsed on top of them at 8 A.M.  At 4 P.M. the sun was going down and they settled to make their way across to their comrades.  Levick tells the story as follows: 

“Having done this [securing the remains of the tent, etc.], we started on our journey.  This lay, first of all, across half a mile of clear blue ice, swept by the unbroken wind, which met us almost straight in the face.  We could never stand up, so had to scramble the whole distance on ‘all fours,’ lying flat on our bellies in the gusts.  By the time we had reached the other side we had had enough.  Our faces had been rather badly bitten, and I have a very strong recollection of the men’s countenances, which were a leaden blue, streaked with white patches of frost-bite.  Once across, however, we reached the shelter of some large boulders on the shore of the island, and waited here long enough to thaw out our noses, ears, and cheeks.  A scramble of another six hundred yards brought us to the half-finished igloo, into which we found that the rest of the party had barricaded themselves, and, after a little shouting, they came and let us in, giving us a warm welcome, and about the most welcome hot meal that I think any of us had ever eaten.”

[Illustration:  PRIESTLEY AND CAMPBELL]

Priestley continues: 

“After the arrival of the evicted party we made hoosh, and as we warmed up from the meal, we cheered up and had one of the most successful sing-songs we had ever had forgetting all our troubles for an hour or two.  It is a pleasing picture to look back upon now, and, if I close my eyes, I can see again the little cave cut out in snow and ice with the tent flapping in the doorway, barely secured by ice-axe and shovel arranged crosswise against the side of the shaft.  The cave is lighted up with three or four small blubber lamps, which give a soft yellow light.  At one end lie Campbell, Dickason and myself in our sleeping-bags, resting after the day’s work, and, opposite to us, on a raised dais formed by a portion of the floor not yet levelled, Levick, Browning and Abbott sit discussing their seal hoosh, while the primus hums cheerily under the cooker containing the coloured water which served with us instead of cocoa.  As the diners warm up jests begin to fly between the rival tents and the interchange is brisk, though we have the upper hand to-day, having an inexhaustible subject in the recent disaster to their tent, and their forced abandonment of their household gods.  Suddenly some one starts a song with a chorus, and the noise from the primus is dwarfed immediately.  One by one we go through our favourites, and the concert lasts for a couple of hours.  By this time the lamps are getting low, and gradually the cold begins to overcome the effects of the hoosh and the cocoa.  One after another the singers begin to shiver, and