232 WORST JOURNEY IN THE WORLD 
The ice is cracking to the falling temperature and the tide 
crack groans as the water rises. And over all, wave upon 
wave, fold upon fold, there hangs the curtain of the aurora. 
As you watch, it fades away, and then quite suddenly a 
great beam flashes up and rushes to the zenith, an arch of 
palest green and orange, a tail of flaming gold. Again it 
falls, fading away into great searchlight beams which rise 
behind the smoking crater of Mount Erebus. And again 
the spiritual veil is drawn— 
Here at the roaring loom of Time I ply 
And weave for God the garment thou seest him by. 
Inside the hut are orgies. We are very merry—and 
indeed why not? The sun turns to come back to us to- 
night, and such a day comes only once a year. 
After dinner we had to make speeches, but instead of 
making a speech Bowers brought in a wonderful Christmas 
tree, made of split bamboos and a ski stick, with feathers 
tied to the end of each branch; candles, sweets, pre- 
served fruits, and the most absurd toys of which Bill was 
the owner. Titus got three things which pleased him im- 
mensely, a sponge, a whistle, and a pop-gun which went 
off when he pressed in the butt. For the rest of the evening 
he went round asking whether you were sweating. “No.” 
“Yes, you are,” he said, and wiped your face with the 
sponge. ‘‘If you want to please me very much you will 
fall down when I shoot you,” he said to me, and then he 
went round shooting everybody. At intervals he blew the 
whistle. 
He danced the Lancers with Anton, and Anton, whose 
dancing puts that of the Russian Ballet into the shade, con- 
tinually apologized for not being able to do it well enough. 
Ponting gave.a great lecture with slides which he had made 
since we arrived, many of which Meares had coloured. 
When one of these came up one of us would shout, “ Who 
coloured that,”’ and another would cry, ““ Meares,’’—then 
uproar. It was impossible for Ponting to speak. We had 
a milk punch, when Scott proposed the Eastern Party, and 
Clissold, the cook, proposed Good Old True Milk. Titus 
