268 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [August 



It seems as though the violence of the storms which succeed 

 our rare spells of fine weather is in proportion to the duration 

 of the spells. 



Thursday, August 24. Another night and day of furious 

 wind and drift, and still no sign of the end. The temperature 

 has been as high as + 16 . Now and again the snow ceases 

 and then the drift rapidly diminishes, but such an interval is 

 soon followed by fresh clouds of snow. It is quite warm out- 

 side, one can go about with head uncovered which leads me 

 to suppose that one does get hardened to cold to some extent 

 for I suppose one would not wish to remain uncovered in a 

 storm in England if the temperature showed 16 degrees of 

 frost. This is the third day of confinement to the hut: it grows 

 tedious, but there is no help, as it is too thick to see more than 

 a few yards out of doors. 



Friday, August 25. The gale continued all night and it 

 blows hard this morning, but the sky is clear, the drift has 

 ceased, and the few whale-back clouds about Erebus carry a 

 promise of improving conditions. 



Last night there was an intensely black cloud low on the 

 northern horizon but for earlier experience of the winter one 

 would have sworn to it as a water sky; but I think the phe- 

 nomenon is due to the shadow of retreating drift clouds. This 

 morning the sky is clear to the north, so that the sea ice cannot 

 have broken out in the Sound. 



During snowy gales it is almost necessary to dress oneself 

 in wind clothes if one ventures outside for the briefest periods 

 exposed woollen or cloth materials become heavy with pow- 

 dery crystals in a minute or two, and when brought into the 

 warmth of the hut are soon wringing wet. Where there is no 

 drift it is quicker and easier to slip on an overcoat. 



It is not often I have a sentimental attachment for articles 

 of clothing, but I must confess an affection for my veteran 

 uniform overcoat, inspired by its persistent utility. I find that 

 it is twenty-three years of age and can testify to its strenuous 

 existence. It has been spared neither rain, wind, nor salt sea 

 spray, tropic heat nor Arctic cold; it has outlived many sets of 

 buttons, from their glittering gilded youth to green old age, and 

 it supports its four-stripe shoulder straps as gaily as the single 

 lace ring of the early days which proclaimed it the possession 



