THE WINTER JOURNEY 283 
across the Barrier which could, I suppose, have only had 
one end. 
Meanwhile we had to wait. It was nearly 70 miles home 
and it had taken us the best part of three weeks to come. In 
our less miserable moments we tried to think out ways of 
getting back, but I do not remember very much about that 
time. Sunday morning faded into Sunday afternoon,— 
into Sunday night,—into Monday morning. Till then the 
blizzard had raged with monstrous fury; the winds of the 
world were there, and they had all gone mad. We had bad 
winds at Cape Evans this year, and we had far worse the 
next winter when the open water was at our doors. But I 
have never heard or felt or seen a wind like this. I won- 
dered why it did not carry away the earth. 
In the early hours of Monday there was an occasional 
hint of a lull. Ordinarily in a big winter blizzard, when 
you have lived for several days and nights with that tur- 
moil in your ears, the lulls are more trying than the noise: 
“the feel of not to feel it.” 1 I do not remember noticing 
that now. Seven or eight more hours passed, and though 
it was still blowing we could make ourselves heard to one 
another without great difficulty. It was two days and two 
nights since we had had a meal. 
We decided to get out of our bags and make a search 
for the tent. We did so, bitterly cold and utterly miserable, 
though I do not think any of us showed it. In the dark- 
ness we could see very little, and no trace whatever of the 
tent. We returned against the wind, nursing our faces and 
hands, and settled that we must try and cook a meal some- 
how. We managed about the weirdest meal eaten north 
or south. We got the floor-cloth wedged under our bags, 
then got into our bags and drew the floor-cloth over our 
heads. Between us we got the primus alight somehow, 
and by hand we balanced the cooker on top of it, minus 
the two members which had been blown away. The flame 
flickered in the draughts. Very slowly the snow in the 
cooker melted, we threw in a plentiful supply of pem- 
mican, and the smell of it was better than anything on 
1 Keats. 
