A few comforting signs of life appeared as we approached the Cape; some
old footprints in the snow, a long silk thread from the meteorologist's
balloon; but we saw nothing more as we neared the rocks of the
promontory and the many grounded bergs which were scattered off it.
To my surprise the fast ice extended past the Cape and we were able
to round it into the North Bay. Here we saw the weather screen on Wind
Vane Hill, and a moment later turned a small headland and brought the
hut in full view. It was intact--stables, outhouses and all; evidently
the sea had left it undisturbed. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We
watched two figures at work near the stables and wondered when they
would see us. In a moment or two they did so, and fled inside the
hut to carry the news of our arrival. Three minutes later all nine
occupants [20] were streaming over the floe towards us with shouts
of welcome. There were eager inquiries as to mutual welfare and it
took but a minute to learn the most important events of the quiet
station life which had been led since our departure. These under the
circumstances might well be considered the deaths of one pony and
one dog. The pony was that which had been nicknamed Hackenschmidt
from his vicious habit of using both fore and hind legs in attacking
those who came near him. He had been obviously of different breed from
the other ponies, being of lighter and handsomer shape, suggestive
of a strain of Arab blood.
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