there was--so I remembered no more until past six.

And Crean's rabbit gave birth to seventeen little ones, and it was said
that Crean had already given away twenty-two.

We had stopped and banked fires against an immense composite floe on the
evening of Christmas Eve. How we watched the little changes in the ice
and the wind, and scanned the horizon for those black patches which meant
open water ahead. But always there was that same white sky to the south
of us. And then one day there came the shadow of movement on the sea, the
faintest crush on the brash ice, the whisper of great disturbances afar
off. It settled again: our hopes were dashed to the ground. Then came the
wind. It was so thick that we could not see far; but even in our
restricted field changes were in progress.

"We commence to move between two floes, make 200 or 300 yards, and are
then brought up bows on to a large lump. This may mean a wait of anything
from ten minutes to half-an-hour, whilst the ship swings round, falls
away, and drifts to leeward. When clear she forges ahead again and the
operation is repeated. Occasionally when she can get a little way on she
cracks the obstacle and slowly passes through it. There is a distinct
swell--very long, very low. I counted the period as about nine seconds.
Every one says the ice is breaking up."[82]

On December 28 the gale abated. The sky cleared, and showed signs of open
water ahead. It was cold in the wind but the sun was wonderful, and we
lay out on deck and basked in its warmth, a cheerful, careless crowd.
After breakfast there was a consultation between Scott and Wilson in the
crow's nest. It was decided to raise steam.