"Things must improve," said Bill.
I do not know what time it was when I woke up. It was calm, with that
absolute silence which can be so soothing or so terrible as circumstances
dictate. Then there came a sob of wind, and all was still again. Ten
minutes and it was blowing as though the world was having a fit of
hysterics. The earth was torn in pieces: the indescribable fury and roar
of it all cannot be imagined.
"Bill, Bill, the tent has gone," was the next I remember--from Bowers
shouting at us again and again through the door. It is always these early
morning shocks which hit one hardest: our slow minds suggested that this
might mean a peculiarly lingering form of death. Journey after journey
Birdie and I fought our way across the few yards which had separated the
tent from the igloo door. I have never understood why so much of our gear
which was in the tent remained, even in the lee of the igloo. The place
where the tent had been was littered with gear, and when we came to
reckon up afterwards we had everything except the bottom piece of the
cooker, and the top of the outer cooker. We never saw these again. The
most wonderful thing of all was that our finnesko were lying where they
were left, which happened to be on the ground in the part of the tent
which was under the lee of the igloo. Also Birdie's bag of personal gear
was there, and a tin of sweets.
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