chap, xvii ADVENT POINT 235 



corner after corner, buoyed up with hopes that at each we 

 should be able to set the sail and run for our goal. But 

 always the wind changed with the bending coast, which 

 it so encircled as to be dead in our teeth at every point. 

 At length the bluffs beyond Advent Point came in view 

 and were greeted with a shout. But still there was elbow 

 after elbow to be passed, each with a huge fallen rock 

 at its foot. The view was in the main invariable — always 

 the sloping, crumbling cliff on our left hand, the fringe 

 of rocks below, and then the turbulent sea. At last the 

 cliffs ended, a low point remained to be passed, and we 

 should hoist the sail and slip into and across the bay. 

 But no ! as we rounded the point the wind ceased. The 

 waves remained for an hour or two apparently as large as 

 ever, but there was no breath of air ; the tide slackened. 

 For form's sake we hoisted the sail, but the rowing had to 

 continue to the bitter end. 



An hour long our goal was in sight, clear beneath the 

 low, thick cloud-blanket. Many were the changes that had 

 been made at Advent Point during our five weeks' absence 

 in the interior. The bare, bleak shore, on whose snowy 

 edge we first landed, now carried a spick-and-span little 

 wooden inn, to which finishing touches of paint and 

 carpentry were being applied. There was another camp 

 too, likewise of green canvas tents, not far from ours, the 

 camp of Mr. Walkey. There were also various piles of 

 stores belonging to the inn, to the Swedish party, or to 

 the men at work patching up the wrecked cutter of the 

 winterers. 



About 4.30 A.M. (July 29) we landed, and the dreary 

 work of pitching camp with frozen fingers followed. Our 

 heavy baggage was in a chaotic condition, stowed under 

 tarpaulins and ground - sheets, everybody's possessions 

 jostled anyhow with, under, or above every one else's, tins, 



