364 WITH SCOTT : THE SILVER LINING 



" I was walking to Sheffield and got lost, and couldn't get 

 any one to tell me the way. I asked a man and couldn't get 

 any great satisfaction out of him. He saw some of my Ant- 

 arctic gear in my bag, and said I looked as if I was going to 

 the Pole, but would not believe me when I said I'd been 

 there ! I then told him my name (to impress him, no doubt !), 

 and he was not a bit concerned, but said his name was Taylor 

 also ! Then I switched off home, where everybody was much 

 concerned about the end of the world, or something equally 

 cheerful. There was an awful red sky to the south which 

 caused great perturbation, until finally some one called out, 

 ' It's the return of the mail-clad " goater "-cars from the 

 Pole ! ' These were a sort of red motors assisted by goats, 

 and were quite the latest thing in transport evidently, and I 

 was much pitied because I didn't know all about them. But 

 a bad pun in a dream seems to denote too much fry ! 



" It is now noon, and. we are still snowed up off the end 

 of Mackay Tongue (43 hours now and we have not got away). 

 It dripped most of the night, for the temperature was +27 

 outside and warmer inside. There was a puddle by the door, 

 but Gran and my bags have absorbed most of that, and Deb's 

 is wetter. So far the inside of mine is still O.K., and I have 

 fur inside always now. It is much warmer, and as soft and 

 comfortable as anything I've slept in as far as I remember. 

 We have been trekking over a month, and though we've had 

 almost unique hard relaying for two weeks — 330 per man — 

 yet I enjoyed it much more than the Ferrar trip under better 

 conditions. 



" We got up at 8, and Gran made a biscuit-bovril-pem- 

 hoosh, which was very good. We had only two meals yester- 

 day, so went a full whack this morning. I put on my boots 

 and wind-coat and puttees, and dug out the thermometer. 

 The sledge is buried two feet in snow. Deb's big camera 

 tripod shows above the snow, and a bamboo pole — also the 

 top of the shovel, — but the rest is clean buried. The first fall 

 of snow was consolidated by the blizzard ; the last fall, since 

 1 p.m. yesterday, is fluffy light stuff and quite different in 

 texture. I dug down to the biscuits and got Deb's note-book, 

 and then came in and scraped off the snow and had breakfast. 

 I have finished * Martin Chuzzlewit ' this morning and 

 puzzled over German declensions, and still we can't see more 



