Whilst away surveying we mostly worked on the sea ice, and pitched our tent there.  On October 2 at, midnight a terrific squall struck our tent.  We knew what Wilson’s experience had been and consequently we were out of our bags in a moment.  Being close to land we got Gran to collect rocks on the valance, while Debenham and I held on for our lives to it, otherwise the tent would have blown away via McMurdo Sound into the Ross Sea.

Eventually all was serene, the tent securely anchored by rocks piled close around, and we three were snoring in our bags.

We lay still until the following afternoon, by which time the blizzard had abated, and one could see a mile or two; accordingly we were up and about, so that when the visibility suited, Debenham and I were once more at work and Gran was away to Cape Evans for the purpose of replenishing our food bag.

It is worthy of mention that Gran could easily carry sixty pounds weight in a “rygsaek,” (Norwegian knapsack for ski running and towing) and hung about him whilst keeping up a speed on ski that made the best of us sweat.

Debenham whilst in the neighbourhood of the Turk’s Head found much of interest to geologists, and was pleased at what we collected in the way of information.  “Deb” was one of the best cooks in the expedition, so we fared well whilst he was with Gran and myself.

Gran kept us alive with his reminiscences, which were always amusing, and he certainly possessed the liveliest imagination in the Expedition.  He ought to have been a brigand chief.  Sometimes his imaginative foresight led him to commit slight breaches of discipline, as the following anecdote will show.  On midwinter night when our table was gay and festive Gran noticed an unopened pint bottle of champagne towards the end of the feast, when “bubbley” was being superseded by port and liqueurs.  Cleverly he coaxed the champagne bottle on to his lap, under his jersey, and finally into his bunk, where it remained hidden until such opportunity should arise for its consumption.

Gran was too generous to finish it himself, and too wise to divide it with many—­a pint was for two and no more.

It so happened that whilst we two were working around Glacier Tongue this spring doing survey work we had to come in to Cape Evans for some purpose.  We had a hard run out on ski to our camp, and my short legs found great effort necessary to keep pace with the swarthy ski-runner.  Once arrived at the survey camp I puffed and blew and sank nearly exhausted on my sleeping-bag in the tent.  I told Gran we must have some tea before re-commencing work, and reached out to get the cooker ready.  Gran asked me what I fancied most in the world, and my reply was—­a pint of champagne.

He laughed and asked me what I would give him for that same, to which I articulated, “FIVE POUNDS,” and sank my tired head between my knees.  Noiselessly the Norwegian glided from the tent to reappear with the stolen champagne bottle.  I smiled delightedly, and soon we were hard at work cooking the champagne into its liquid state once more, for it was of course hard frozen in the low temperature.