relapse, and he proclaimed this distressing fact by incessant howling.  This kind of music was not calculated to lull us to sleep, and it was three or four in the morning before we could snatch a nap.  During a pause I was just dropping off, when the sun showed faintly through the tent.  This unwonted sight at once banished all further thoughts of sleep; the Primus was lighted, a cup of chocolate swallowed, and out we went.  Stubberud and Johansen set to work at the hard task of digging out the sledges; they had to go down four feet to get hold of them.  I dragged our wet clothes, sleeping-bags, and so forth out of the tent, and hung them all up to dry.  In the course of the morning observations were taken for determining the geographical longitude and latitude, as well as a few photographs, which will give some idea of what our camp looked like after the blizzard.  Having made good the damage and put everything fairly in order, we hurried away to our peaks, to secure some photographs while the light was favourable.  This time we were able to achieve our object.  “Scott’s Nunataks,” as they were afterwards named —­ after Captain Scott, who first saw them —­ were now for the first time recorded by the camera.  Before we left the summit the Norwegian flag was planted there, a snow beacon erected, and a report of our visit deposited in it.  The weather would not keep clear; before we were back at the camp there was a thick fog, and once more we had to thank the tracks of our ski for showing us the way.  During the time we had been involuntarily detained at this spot, our store of provisions had decreased alarmingly; there was only a bare week’s supply left, and in less than a week we should hardly be able to make home; probably it would take more than a week, but in that case we had the depot at our Bay of Seals to fall back upon.  In the immediate neighbourhood of our present position we could not reckon on being able to replenish our supply in the continued unfavourable state of the weather.  We therefore made up our minds on the morning of December 9 to break off the journey and turn our faces homeward.  For three days more we had to struggle with high wind and thick snow, but as things now were, we had no choice but to keep going, and by the evening of the 11th we had dragged ourselves fifty geographical miles to the west.  The weather cleared during the night, and at last, on December 12, we had a day of real sunshine.  All our discomforts were forgotten; everything went easily again.  In the course of nine hours we covered twenty-six geographical miles that day, without any great strain on either dogs or men.

At our midday rest we found ourselves abreast of the bay, where, on the outward journey, we had laid down our depot of seals’ flesh.  I had intended to turn aside to the depot and replenish our supply of meat as a precaution, but Johansen suggested leaving out this detour and going straight on.  We might thereby run the risk of having to go on short rations; but Johansen thought it a greater risk to cross the treacherous ground about the bay, and, after some deliberation, I saw he was right.  It was better to go on while we were about it.