"Almost every night there was some sewing to do, and it was not long before every one's fingers were in a bad state. They became, especially near the tips, as hard as wood and devoid of sensation. Manipulating toggles and buttons on one's clothing gave an immense amount of trouble, and it always seemed an interminable time before we got away in the morning. Our lowest temperature was -35 degrees F., early on September 18. "We were fifty miles 'out' on September 19 on a white, featureless plain. Through low drift we had seen very little of our surroundings on the march. A bamboo pole with a black flag was raised, a mound was built, and a week's provisions for three men and two gallons of kerosene were cached. "In the morning there was a howling eighty-mile blizzard with dense drift, and our hopes of an early start homeward were dispelled. We feared for the safety of the tent, knowing that if it had gone during that 'blow' our hopes of getting back to the Hut would have been small. "The wind continued all day and the next night, but, to our joy, abated on the 21st to fifty miles an hour, permitting us to travel. "Through a seventy-five-miler on the 22nd and a quieter day on the 23rd, we picked up our half-way mound at Birthday Camp on September 24. On the same night the long-suffering sledge-meter, much battered, gave up recording. "At 3 A.M. I was awakened by something striking me on the head. I looked out of the sleeping-bag and found that the tent had fallen in on us. The lashing at the apex had carried away and the poles upwind were almost flat. The cap was gone, and one side of the tent was split from top to bottom. I awakened the others, and Whetter and I got out, leaving Close inside to hang on to the bag. Luckily we had kept on our burberrys in case of accidents. For once the entrance had not to be unfastened, as there was a ready-made exit. The poles were roughly bound together with an alpine rope and anchored to a pick on the windward side. It was blowing about eighty miles an hour, but fortunately there was no drift. When daylight came the tent was found to be hopelessly ruined, and to light the primus was impossible, though the wind had abated to thirty-five miles an hour. "We ate some frozen food and pushed on, hoping to find Aladdin's Cave before dark, so that we should not have to spend a night without a tent. After a struggle of thirteen miles over rough ice we came, footsore and worn out, to Aladdin's Cave. Close's feet were badly blistered, and both my big toes had become frost-bitten at the fifty-mile camp, giving me a good deal of trouble on the way back. "Never was the Cave a more luxurious place. The cooker was kept busy far into the night, while we drank and smoked and felt happy."