We brought back with us from our march towards the Pole vivid memories of how to feel intensely, fiercely hungry. From November 15, 1908, until February 23, 1909, we had but one full meal on Christmas Day, and even then scarcely any time had passed before we were as hungry as ever. Our daily allowance of food would have been a small one for a city worker in a temperate climate, and in our own case hunger was increased by the fact that we were performing vigorous labour in a very low temperature. When our evening meal was prepared we used to "turn backs" in order to ensure fair divisions of the food. The cook used to pour the hoosh into pannikins and arrange the biscuits in four heaps, and as soon as we were all satisfied that the divisions were equal one man would turn his back, and another, pointing at one lot, would say "Whose?" [Illustration: The Southern Party on board the "Nimrod." Left to right: Wild, Shackleton, Marshall, Adams. (_See page 164_)] Then the man with his back turned would mention a name, and so the distribution proceeded, each of us feeling sure that the smallest share had fallen to his lot. On alternate days we had chocolate and cheese for lunch, and since the former was more satisfying and easier to divide we infinitely preferred it. Considering how greatly we depended during our march upon pony-meat, the reader will readily understand that the loss of Socks was a terrible blow to us. If we had been able to use poor Socks for food there is no doubt that we should have been able to get further south, and perhaps even have reached the Pole itself. But I must also mention that had we managed to get to the Pole, we could scarcely have caught the ship before she was compelled to leave by the approach of winter. During the last weeks of the journey outwards, and the long march back when our allowance had been reduced to twenty ounces per man a day, I confess without one atom of shame that we really thought of little but food. Man becomes very primitive when he is desperately hungry, and neither the glory of the mountains that towered high on our sides, nor the majesty of the great glacier up which we travelled so painfully, appealed to any extent to our emotions. I used often to find myself wondering whether people who suffer from hunger in the big cities of civilisation felt as we were feeling, and I concluded that they did not, for no barrier of law and order would have been allowed to stand between us and any food that had been available. The difference must be that the man who starves in a city is weakened and hopeless and without spirit while we--until nearly the end--were vigorous and keen. We could not joke about food in any way that is possible for the man who is hungry in the ordinary sense. True we thought and talked about it most of the time, but always in the most serious manner.