Sunday morning faded into Sunday afternoon,--into Sunday
night,--into Monday morning. Till then the blizzard had raged with
monstrous fury; the winds of the world were there, and they had all gone
mad. We had bad winds at Cape Evans this year, and we had far worse the
next winter when the open water was at our doors. But I have never heard
or felt or seen a wind like this. I wondered why it did not carry away
the earth.
In the early hours of Monday there was an occasional hint of a lull.
Ordinarily in a big winter blizzard, when you have lived for several days
and nights with that turmoil in your ears, the lulls are more trying than
the noise: "the feel of not to feel it."[159] I do not remember noticing
that now. Seven or eight more hours passed, and though it was still
blowing we could make ourselves heard to one another without great
difficulty. It was two days and two nights since we had had a meal.
We decided to get out of our bags and make a search for the tent. We did
so, bitterly cold and utterly miserable, though I do not think any of us
showed it. In the darkness we could see very little, and no trace
whatever of the tent. We returned against the wind, nursing our faces and
hands, and settled that we must try and cook a meal somehow. We managed
about the weirdest meal eaten north or south. We got the floor-cloth
wedged under our bags, then got into our bags and drew the floor-cloth
over our heads.
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