"Well, I'm going to
try," was Bowers' answer, and, quixotic or no, he largely succeeded. I
never knew a man who treated difficulties with such scorn.
* * * * *
There must be some of my companions who look back upon Hut Point with a
peculiar fondness, such as men get for places where they have experienced
great joys and great trials. And Hut Point has an atmosphere of its own.
I do not know what it is. Partly aesthetic, for the sea and great
mountains, and the glorious colour effects which prevail in spring and
autumn, would fascinate the least imaginative; partly mysterious, with
the Great Barrier knocking at your door, and the smoke of Erebus by day
and the curtain of Aurora by night; partly the associations of the
place--the old hut, the old landmarks, so familiar to those who know the
history of the Discovery Expedition, the stakes in the snow, the holes
for which ice was dug to water the ship, Vince's Cross on the Point. Now
there is another Cross, on Observation Hill.
And yet when we first arrived the hut was comfortless enough. Wilson and
Meares and Gran had been there some days; they had found some old bricks
and a grid, and there was an open blubber fire in the middle of the
floor. There was no outlet for the smoke and smuts and it was impossible
to see your neighbour, to speak without coughing, or to open your eyes
long before they began to smart.
Pages:
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326