"We were early astir--about 7 A.M.--while the pink coloration of dawn was stealing over the peaceful Barrier. For once, after months, it was perfectly still. We hurried about making preparations--hauled Bickerton up to the cross-trees and awaited the moment when we should raise the top-mast. We pulled it up half-way and Bickerton affixed a pin in its centre, above which two stays were to be attached. Suddenly, down came the wind in terrific gusts and, after securing the stays, the job had to be given up.... We were just about to have lunch when the wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun. We all sallied out once more, and, this time, completed the job, though for a while the top-mast was in imminent peril of being blown away by a sharp northerly gust." Next day the aerial was hoisted in a wind of sixty miles per hour, but the strain was so severe on the block, upwind, that it carried away. Fortunately the insulators of the aerial were entangled by the stays in their fall to ground, otherwise some one may have been hurt, as there were a dozen men almost directly below. Six days after this accident, August 17, the top-mast halliard of the down-wind mast frayed through, and as a stronger block was to be affixed for the aerial, some one had to climb up to wire it in position. Bickerton improvized a pair of climbing irons, and, after some preliminary practice, ascended in fine style. Finally, by September 30, the aerial was at such a height as to give hope that long-distance messages might be despatched. There was a certain amount of suppressed excitement on the evening of that day when the engine started and gradually got up speed in the dynamo. The sharp note of the spark rose in accompanying crescendo and, when it had reached its highest pitch, Hannam struck off a message to the world at large. No response came after several nights of signalling, and, since sledging had usurped every other interest, the novelty soon wore off. "Atmospherics"--discharges of atmospheric electricity--and discharges from the drift-snow were heard in the wireless receiver. While messages were being sent, induction effects were noted in metallic objects around the Hut. A cook at the stove was the first to discover this phenomenon, and then every one conceived a mania for "drawing" sparks. A rather stimulating experience--the more so as it usually happened unexpectedly and accidentally--was to brush one's head against one of the numerous coils of flexible metal gas-piping festooned about the place. Sparks immediately jumped the interval with startling effect. October 13, the day when the mast blew down, was known in wireless circles as Black Sunday. All had worked keenly to make the "wireless" a success, and the final event was considered to be a public misfortune. However, the honours were to be retrieved during the following year.