Campbell says that Midwinter Day gave them seasonable weather, pitch dark, with wind and a smothering drift outside.  The men awoke early and were so eager and impatient for their full ration on this special occasion that they could not remain in their sleeping-bags, but turned out to cook a “full hoosh breakfast” for the first time for many weeks—­that evening they repeated the hoosh and augmented it by cocoa with sugar in it, then four citric acid and two ginger tabloids.  The day concluded with a smoke and a sing-song, a little tobacco having been put by for the event.

Soon after Midwinter Day a heavy snowstorm blocked the igloo entrance completely; in consequence the air became so bad that the primus stove went out and the lights would not burn.  The inmates had to dig their way out to avoid being suffocated.  This impoverishment of air had already happened through the same cause on other occasions, so the flickering and going out of the lamps warned immediately of danger, and a watch was set.  Normally the chimney would have served, but this itself was buried under the snow until built up afresh.

The winter passed in dismal hardship, and even when the rare spells of fine weather occurred the party dare not venture far afield in their meagre, oil-saturated clothing—­severe frostbite would have spelt disaster.

What the place must have looked like by moonlight I hate to think; by daylight with sunshine it looked bad enough, but from Levick’s description it looked, when the moon was shining through storm cloud, like an inferno, with its lugubrious ridges, its inky shadows, and wicked ice-gleams.  The odd figures of the blubber-smeared, grimy men added the Dante touch.

The sun came back at last, and with it the party’s spirits rose considerably; they indulged in bets and jokes at one another’s expense.  Browning and Dickason were undoubtedly the wittiest, and “the fish supper bet” is worth inclusion.  Short said these two started an argument on the name of a certain public-house situate on Portsmouth Hard.  One said one name, one argued another, until Dr. Levick was invited to settle the dispute by arbitration, the loser to stand the winner a fish supper.  Eventually Browning was adjudged to be correct, and Dickason in a fit of generosity shouted, “All right, old man, and for every fish you eat I’ll stand you a quart of beer.”  “Right-o, the only fish I cares for is whitebait,” replied Browning.

Towards the end of the winter, owing to the unusual diet, sickness set in in the shape of enteritis.  Browning suffered dreadfully, but always remained cheerful.  The ravages of the illness weakened the party sadly, and details are too horrible to write about—­suffice it that the party lost control of their organs, a circumstance that rendered existence in their wintering place a nightmare of privations.

Preparations were made for the party’s departure in the spring and the sledges overhauled.  A depot of geological specimens was established and marked by a bamboo.