At one end lie Campbell, Dickason and myself in our sleeping-bags,
resting after the day's work, and, opposite to us, on a raised dais
formed by a portion of the floor not yet levelled, Levick, Browning and
Abbott sit discussing their seal hoosh, while the primus hums cheerily
under the cooker containing the coloured water which served with us
instead of cocoa. As the diners warm up jests begin to fly between the
rival tents and the interchange is brisk, though we have the upper hand
to-day, having an inexhaustible subject in the recent disaster to their
tent, and their forced abandonment of their household gods. Suddenly some
one starts a song with a chorus, and the noise from the primus is dwarfed
immediately. One by one we go through our favourites, and the concert
lasts for a couple of hours. By this time the lamps are getting low, and
gradually the cold begins to overcome the effects of the hoosh and the
cocoa. One after another the singers begin to shiver, and all thoughts of
song disappear as we realize what we are in for. A night with one one-man
bag between two men! There is a whole world of discomfort in the very
thought, and no one feels inclined to jest about that for the moment.
Those jests will come all right to-morrow when the night is safely past,
but this evening it is anything but a cheery subject of contemplation.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79