The wind
shows signs of easing down, but the temperature does not fall and
the snow is as wet as ever--not promising signs of abatement.
Keohane's rhyme!
The snow is all melting and everything's afloat, If this goes on
much longer we shall have to turn the _tent_ upside down and use it
as a boat.
_Wednesday, December_ 6.--Camp 30. Noon. Miserable, utterly
miserable. We have camped in the 'Slough of Despond.' The tempest
rages with unabated violence. The temperature has gone to 33 deg.;
everything in the tent is soaking. People returning from the outside
look exactly as though they had been in a heavy shower of rain. They
drip pools on the floorcloth. The snow is steadily climbing higher
about walls, ponies, tents, and sledges. The ponies look utterly
desolate. Oh! but this is too crushing, and we are only 12 miles from
the Glacier. A hopeless feeling descends on one and is hard to fight
off. What immense patience is needed for such occasions!
11 P.M.--At 5 there came signs of a break at last, and now one can
see the land, but the sky is still overcast and there is a lot of
snow about. The wind also remains fairly strong and the temperature
high. It is not pleasant, but if no worse in the morning we can get
on at last. We are very, very wet.
_Thursday, December_ 7.--Camp 30. The storm continues and the situation
is now serious. One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day,
so that we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals.
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