IN WINTER QUARTERS WITH CAPTAIN SCOTT 219 



4000 feet up we could follow the flashing paper, and saw that 

 here the air currents were opposed to the direction of the 

 steam-cloud at 13,000 feet elevation. 



The next afternoon there was a furious blizzard of fifty 

 miles an hour, and a temperature of — 7 . We kept to the 

 hut, and made a start at winter occupations. I was busy- 

 writing a narrative of the western journey for Captain Scott. 

 In this I proposed to discuss the physiography in some detail. 

 When I had written twenty pages on the first day and a half, 

 I wondered if the " Owner " would live through a report 

 840 pages long ! Luckily the rule of three responsible for 

 this forecast did not hold throughout ! 



Inside the hut the temperature was +47 . This was not 

 exactly hot, and poor Ponting was delighted when some of 

 the new-comers advocated lighting the small stove near his 

 dark room. He said that developing photographs with water 

 down to 47 was not the pleasantest job on earth. The 

 blizzards hit his side of the hut, so that the inside of the dark 

 room was festooned with icicles, giving it a most picturesque 

 but uncomfortable appearance. 



Things were getting straight in our cubicle. Our floor 

 space was about eight feet by eight. We built a small table 

 opposite the door and put shelves over this. Gran occupied 

 a bunk over mine, and the legs of his wire bedstead hung 

 over my head and feet, and caused many bruises at first. 

 Debenham's bunk was raised six feet off the ground, and 

 was supported on two stout wooden cylinders, on which the 

 linoleum had been rolled. He climbed into it by a primitive 

 ladder. His sea-chest was under the table, while mine half 

 blocked the doorway. 



On the rubbish-heap outside I found a small tin which 

 served as my wash-basin. In this I kept a sponge, and 

 normally it stood on my chest below Debenham's bunk. We 

 were able to get about half a tea-cup of water if we found 

 the cook in a good humour, so that it was rather a dry 

 rub. 



Secretly I was rather proud of my morning wash, but it 

 did not seem to improve my appearance. I soon discovered 

 the reason. Watching Debenham one morning before I arose, 

 I saw him finish his ante-breakfast pipe and casually knock it 

 on the edge of his bunk. The ash obeyed the laws of gravity, 



