Macklin sustained a nasty cut during the flensing, running his hand off the haft of the knife on to the blade. He rather prided himself on his knives, on which he kept a razor edge, and on his flensing, and I think he felt annoyed at his clumsiness, for it was with an almost shamefaced air that he went to McIlroy to get his hand bound up. The art of keeping a hunting-knife in really good order is one which few people understand. A keen edge is essential for neat and rapid work, yet I have seen many people hacking laboriously away with a blade which would scarcely penetrate butter. I always carry a pocket carborundum stone, and I carefully clean and sharpen my knife every time I use it. Before using the stone it is important to see that there is no blood or blubber remaining on the blade. After a heavy day’s flensing it may take from half an hour to an hour to bring the edge to perfection again, and I am always amused at the man who brings something resembling a butcher’s steel and says: “You might just sharpen that for me, will you?” Another art is the making of a good leather sheath, for that is a thing one cannot buy. It is careful and continued attention to small things that makes for efficiency at this kind of work. [Illustration: CHIPPING FROZEN SPRAY FROM THE GUNWALES _Photo: Wilkins_] [Illustration: THE _QUEST_ BESET NEAR ROSS’S APPEARANCE OF LAND _Photo: Wilkins_] It did not get completely dark at midnight. The increasing light in the early morning produced a wonderful sunrise. Owing to the gradual upward curve of the sun in these latitudes, the effects last for hours and change slowly, contrasting strongly with the evanescent tropical skies, where the sun rises abruptly above the horizon and in the evening falls back so suddenly that there is no twilight. The sky to the eastward was lit up with the most delicate and beautiful colours, which were reflected on the surface of the floe. The old floes passed slowly from pale pink to crimson and, as the sun came over the rim, to the palest and most delicate heliotrope. The darker newly frozen ice changed from bronze to light apple-green. To the westward a large golden moon was poised in a cloudless sky, turning the floes to the palest of gold. No words of mine can adequately convey the beauty of such a morning.