Khyber Pass, at the eastern end of the old lead ahead of the ship, to a
point clear of the jib-boom, a distance of about 700 yds. Five teams
went out in the dim noon twilight, with a zero temperature and an
aurora flickering faintly to the southward. The starting signal was to
be given by the flashing of a light on the meteorological station. I
was appointed starter, Worsley was judge, and James was timekeeper.
The bos'n, with a straw hat added to his usual Antarctic attire, stood
on a box near the winning-post, and was assisted by a couple of shady
characters to shout the odds, which were displayed on a board hung
around his neck--6 to 4 on Wild, "evens" on Crean, 2 to 1 against
Hurley, 6 to 1 against Macklin, and 8 to 1 against McIlroy. Canvas
handkerchiefs fluttered from an improvised grand stand, and the pups,
which had never seen such strange happenings before, sat round and
howled with excitement. The spectators could not see far in the dim
light, but they heard the shouts of the drivers as the teams approached
and greeted the victory of the favourite with a roar of cheering that
must have sounded strange indeed to any seals or penguins that happened
to be in our neighbourhood. Wild's time was 2 min. 16 sec., or at the
rate of 10½ miles per hour for the course.

We celebrated Midwinter's Day on the 22nd. The twilight extended over
a period of about six hours that day, and there was a good light at
noon from the moon, and also a northern glow with wisps of beautiful
pink cloud along the horizon. A sounding gave 262 fathoms with a mud
bottom. No land was in sight from the mast-head, although our range of
vision extended probably a full degree to the westward. The day was
observed as a holiday, necessary work only being undertaken, and, after
the best dinner the cook could provide, all hands gathered in the Ritz,
where speeches, songs, and toasts occupied the evening. After supper
at midnight we sang "God Save the King" and wished each other all