“This afternoon we were treated to one or two showers of hail-like snow.  Yesterday we also had a rare form of snow, or, rather, precipitation of ice-spicules, exactly like little hairs, about a third of an inch long.

“The warmth in the tents at lunch-time was so great that we had all the side-flaps up for ventilation, but it is a treat to get warm occasionally, and one can put up with a little stuffy atmosphere now and again for the sake of it.  The wind has gone to the best quarter this evening, the south-east, and is freshening.”

On these fine, clear, sunny days wonderful mirage effects could be observed, just as occur over the desert.  Huge bergs were apparently resting on nothing, with a distinct gap between their bases and the horizon; others were curiously distorted into all sorts of weird and fantastic shapes, appearing to be many times their proper height.  Added to this, the pure glistening white of the snow and ice made a picture which it is impossible adequately to describe.

Later on, the freshening south-westerly wind brought mild, overcast weather, probably due to the opening up of the pack in that direction.

I had already made arrangements for a quick move in case of a sudden break-up of the ice.  Emergency orders were issued; each man had his post allotted and his duty detailed; and the whole was so organized that in less than five minutes from the sounding of the alarm on my whistle, tents were struck, gear and provisions packed, and the whole party was ready to move off.  I now took a final survey of the men to note their condition, both mental and physical.  For our time at Ocean Camp had not been one of unalloyed bliss.  The loss of the ship meant more to us than we could ever put into words.  After we had settled at Ocean Camp she still remained nipped by the ice, only her stern showing and her bows overridden and buried by the relentless pack.  The tangled mass of ropes, rigging, and spars made the scene even more desolate and depressing.

It was with a feeling almost of relief that the end came.

“November 21, 1915.—­This evening, as we were lying in our tents we heard the Boss call out, ‘She’s going, boys!’ We were out in a second and up on the look-out station and other points of vantage, and, sure enough, there was our poor ship a mile and a half away struggling in her death-agony.  She went down bows first, her stern raised in the air.  She then gave one quick dive and the ice closed over her for ever.  It gave one a sickening sensation to see it, for, mastless and useless as she was, she seemed to be a link with the outer world.  Without her our destitution seems more emphasized, our desolation more complete.  The loss of the ship sent a slight wave of depression over the camp.  No one said much, but we cannot be blamed for feeling it in a sentimental way.  It seemed as if the moment of severance from many cherished associations, many happy moments, even stirring