less I feel sorry for a beast that has been my constant companion and
care for so long. He has done his share in our undertaking anyhow, and
may I do my share as well when I get into harness myself.

"The snow has started to fall over his bleak resting-place, and it looks
like a blizzard. The outlook is dark, stormy and threatening."

Indeed it had been a dismal march into a blank white wall, and the ponies
were sinking badly in the snow, leaving holes a full foot deep. The
temperature was +17 deg. and the flakes of snow melted when they lay on the
dark colours of the tents and our furs. After building the pony walls
water was running down our windproofs.

I note "we are doing well on pony meat and go to bed very content."
Notwithstanding the fact that we could not do more than heat the meat by
throwing it into the pemmican we found it sweet and good, though tough.
The man-hauling party consisted of Lieut. Evans and Lashly who had lost
their motors, and Atkinson and Wright who had lost their ponies. They
were really quite hungry by now, and most of us pretty well looked
forward to our meals and kept a biscuit to eat in our bags if we could.
The pony meat therefore came as a relief. I think we ought to have
depoted more of it on the cairns. As it was, what we did not eat was
given to the dogs. With some tins of extra oil and a depoted pony the
Polar Party would probably have got home in safety.

On December 3 we roused out at 2.30 A.M. It was thick and snowy. As we
breakfasted the blizzard started from the south-east, and was soon
blowing force 9, a full gale, with heavy drift. "The strongest wind I
have known here in summer."[210] It was impossible to start, but we
turned out and made up the pony walls in heavy drift, one of them being
blown down three times. By 1.30 P.M. the sun was shining, and the land
was clear. We started at 2, with what we thought was Mount Hope showing
up ahead, but soon great snow-clouds were banking up and in two hours we
were walking in a deep gloom which made it difficult to find the track
made by the man-hauling party ahead. By the time we reached the cairn,
which was always built at the end of the first four miles, it was blowing
hard from the N.N.W. of all the unlikely quarters of the compass. Bowers
and Scott were on ski.

"I put on my windproof blouse and nosed out the track for two miles, when
we suddenly came upon the tent of the leading party. They had camped
owing to the difficulty of steering a course in such thick weather. The
ponies, however, with the wind abaft the beam were going along
splendidly, and Scott thought it worth while to shove on. We therefore
carried on another four miles, making ten in all, a good half march,
before we camped. On ski it was simply ripping, except for the inability
to see anything at all. With the wind behind, and the good sliding
surface made by the wind-hardened snow, one fairly slithered along.
Camping was less pleasant as it was blowing a gale by that time. We are
all in our bags again now, with a good hot meal inside one, and blow high
or blow low one might be in a worse place than a reindeer bag."[211]

It was all right for the people on ski (and this in itself gave us a
certain sense of grievance), but things had not been so easy with the
ponies, who were sinking very deeply in places, while we ourselves were
sinking well over our ankles. This day we began to cross the great
undulations in the Barrier, with the crests some mile apart, which here
mark the approach to the land. We had built the walls to the north of the
ponies on camping, because the wind was from that direction, but by
breakfast on December 4 it was blowing a thick blizzard from the
south-east. We began to feel bewildered by these extraordinary weather
changes, and not a little exasperated too. Again we could not march, and
again we had to dig out the sledges and ponies, and to move them all
round to the other side of the walls which we had partly to rebuild. "Oh
for the simple man-hauling life!" was our thought, and "poor helpless
beasts--this is no country for live stock." By this time we could not see
the neighbouring tents for the drift. The situation was not improved by
the fact that our tent doors, the tents having been pitched for the
strong north wind then blowing, were now facing the blizzard, and sheets
of snow entered with each individual. The man-hauling party came up just
before the worst of the blizzard started. The dogs alone were
comfortable, buried deep beneath the drifted snow. The sailors began to
debate who was the Jonah. They said he was the cameras. The great
blizzard was brewing all about us.

But at mid-day as though a curtain was rolled back, the thick snow fog
cleared off, while at the same time the wind fell calm, and a great
mountain appeared almost on the top of us. Far away to the south-east we
could distinguish, by looking very carefully, a break in the level
Barrier horizon--a new mountain which we reckoned must be at least in
latitude 86 deg. and very high. Towards it the ranges stretched away, peak
upon peak, range upon range, as far as the eye could see. "The mountains
surpassed anything I have ever seen: beside the least of these giants Ben
Nevis would be a mere mound, and yet they are so immense as to dwarf each
other. They are intersected at every turn with mighty glaciers and
ice-falls and eternally ice-filled valleys that defy description. So
clear was everything that every rock seemed to stand out, and the effect
of the sun as he came round (between us and the mountains) was to make
the scene still more beautiful."[212]

Altogether we marched eleven miles this day, and camped right in front of
the Gateway, which we reckoned to be some thirteen miles away. We saw no
crevasses but crossed ten or twelve very large undulations, and estimated
that the dips between them were twelve to fifteen feet. Mount Hope was
bigger than we expected, and beyond it, stretching out into the Barrier
as far as we could see, was a great white line of jagged edges, the chaos
of pressure which this vast glacier makes as it flows into the
comparatively stationary ice of the Barrier.

My own pony Michael was shot after we came into camp. He was as
attractive a little beast as we had. His light weight helped him on soft
surfaces, but his small hoofs let him in farther than most and I notice
in Scott's diary that on November 19 the ponies were sinking half-way to
the hock, and Michael once or twice almost to the hock itself. A highly
strung, spirited animal, his off days took the form of fidgets, during
which he would be constantly trying to stop and eat snow, and then rush
forward to catch up the other ponies. Life was a constant source of
wonder to him, and no movement in the camp escaped his notice. Before we
had been long on the Barrier he developed mischievous habits and became a
rope eater and gnawer of other ponies' fringes, as we called the coloured
tassels we hung over their eyes to ward off snow-blindness. However, he
was by no means the only culprit, and he lost his own fringe to Nobby
quite early in the proceedings. It was not that he was hungry, for he
never quite finished his own feed. At any rate he enjoyed the few weeks
before he died, pricking up his ears and getting quite excited when
anything happened, and the arrival of the dog-teams each morning after he
had been tethered sent him to bed with much to dream of. And I must say
his master dreamed pretty regularly too. Michael was killed right in
front of the Gateway on December 4, just before the big blizzard, which,
though we did not know it, was on the point of breaking upon us, and he
was untying his cloth and chewing up everything he could reach to the
last. "It was decided after we camped, and he had his feed already on:
Meares reported that he had no more food for the dogs. He walked away,
and rolled in the snow on the way down, not having done so when we got
in. He was just like a naughty child all the way, and pulled all out. He
has been a good friend, and has a good record, 82 deg. 23' S. He was a bit
done to-day: the blizzard had knocked him. Gallant little Michael!"[213]

As we got into our bags the mountain tops were fuzzy with drift. We
wanted one clear day to get across the chasm: one short march and the
ponies' task was done. Their food was nearly finished. Scott wrote that
night: "We are practically through with the first stage of our
journey."[214]

"Tuesday, December 5. Camp 30. Noon. We awoke this morning to a raging
howling blizzard. The blows we have had hitherto have lacked the very
fine powdering snow, that especial feature of the blizzard. To-day we
have it fully developed. After a minute or two in the open one is covered
from head to foot. The temperature is high, so that what falls or drives
against one sticks. The ponies--heads, tails, legs and all parts not
protected by their rugs--are covered with ice; the animals are standing
deep in snow, the sledges are almost covered, and huge drifts above the
tents. We have had breakfast, rebuilt the walls, and are now again in our
bags. One cannot see the next tent, let alone the land. What on earth
does such weather mean at this time of year? It is more than our share of
ill-fortune, I think, but the luck may turn yet....

"11 P.M. It has blown hard all day with quite the greatest snowfall I
remember. The drifts about the tents are simply huge. The temperature was
-27 deg. this forenoon, and rose to +31 deg. in the afternoon, at which time the
snow melted as it fell on anything but the snow, and, as a consequence,
there are pools of water on everything, the tents are wet through, also
the wind-clothes, night-boots, etc.; water drips from the tent poles and
door, lies on the floor-cloth, soaks the sleeping-bags, and makes
everything pretty wretched. If a cold snap follows before we have had
time to dry our things, we shall be mighty uncomfortable. Yet after all
it would be humorous enough if it were not for the seriousness of
delay--we can't afford that, and it's real hard luck that it should come
at such a time. The wind shows signs of easing down, but the temperature
does not fall and the snow is as wet as ever, not promising signs of
abatement.

"Wednesday, December 6. Camp 30. Noon. Miserable, utterly miserable. We
have camped in the 'Slough of Despond.' The tempest rages with unabated
violence. The temperature has gone to +33 deg.; everything in the tent is
soaking. People returning from the outside look exactly as though they
had been in a heavy shower of rain. They drip pools on the floor-cloth.
The snow is steadily climbing higher about walls, ponies, tents and
sledges. The ponies look utterly desolate. Oh! But this is too crushing,
and we are only 12 miles from the glacier. A hopeless feeling descends on
one and is hard to fight off. What immense patience is needed for such
occasions!"[215]

Bowers describes the situation as follows:

"It is blowing a blizzard such as one might expect to be driven at us by
all the powers of darkness. It may be interesting to describe it, as it
is my first experience of a really warm blizzard, and I hope to be
troubled by cold ones only, or at least moderate ones only, in future as
regards temperature.

"When I swung the thermometer this morning I looked and looked again, but
unmistakably the temperature was +33 deg.F., above freezing point (out of the
sun's direct rays) for the first time since we came down here. What this
means to us nobody can conceive. We try to treat it as a huge joke, but
our wretched condition might be amusing to read of it later. We are wet
through, our tents are wet, our bags which are our life to us and the
objects of our greatest care, are wet; the poor ponies are soaked and
shivering far more than they would be ordinarily in a temperature fifty
degrees lower. Our sledges--the parts that are dug out--are wet, our food
is wet, everything on and around and about us is the same--wet as
ourselves and our cold, clammy clothes. Water trickles down the tent
poles and only forms icicles in contact with the snow floor. The warmth
of our bodies has formed a snow bath in the floor for each of us to lie
in. This is a nice little catchwater for stray streams to run into before
they freeze. This they cannot do while a warm human lies there, so they
remain liquid and the accommodating bag mops them up. When we go out to
do the duties of life, fill the cooker, etc., for the next meal, dig out
or feed the ponies, or anything else, we are bunged up with snow. Not the
driving, sandlike snow we are used to, but great slushy flakes that run
down in water immediately and stream off you. The drifts are tremendous,
the rest of the show is indescribable. I feel most for the unfortunate
animals and am thankful that poor old Victor is spared this. I mended a
pair of half mitts to-day, and we are having two meals instead of three.
This idleness when one is simply jumping to go on is bad enough for most,
but must be worse for Captain Scott. I feel glad that he has Dr. Bill
(Wilson) in his tent; there is something always so reassuring about Bill,
he comes out best in adversity."[216]

"Thursday, December 7. Camp 30. The storm continues and the situation is
now serious. One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day, so that
we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals. That is not the
worst; with the help of the dogs we could get on, without doubt. The
serious part is that we have this morning started our Summit
rations--that is to say, the food calculated from the Glacier Depot has
been begun. The first supporting party can only go on a fortnight from
this date and so forth."[217]

[Illustration: A PONY CAMP ON THE BARRIER]

[Illustration: THE DOG TEAMS LEAVING THE BEARDMORE GLACIER]

This day was just as warm, and wetter--much wetter. The temperature was
+35.5 deg., and our bags were like sponges. The huge drifts had covered
everything, including most of the tent, the pony walls and sledges. At
intervals we dug our way out and dug up the wretched ponies, and got them
on to the top again. "Henceforward our full ration will be 16 oz.
biscuit, 12 oz. pemmican, 2 oz. butter, 0.57 oz. cocoa, 3.0 oz. sugar and
0.86 oz. tea. This is the Summit ration, total 34.43 oz., with a little
onion powder and salt. I am all for this: Seaman Evans and others are
much regretting the loss of chocolate, raisins and cereals. For the first
week up the glacier we are to go one biscuit short to provision Meares on
the way back. The motors depoted too much and Meares has been brought on
far farther than his orders were originally bringing him. Originally he
was to be back at Hut Point on December 10. The dogs, however, are
getting all the horse that is good for them, and are very fit. He has to
average 24 miles a day going back. Michael is well out of this: we are
now eating him. He was in excellent condition and tastes very good,
though tough."[218]

By this time there was little sleep left for us as we lay in our
sleeping-bags. Three days generally see these blizzards out, and we hoped
much from Friday, December 8. But when we breakfasted at 10 A.M. (we were
getting into day-marching routine) wind and snow were monotonously the
same. The temperature rose to +34.3 deg.. These temperatures and those
recorded by Meares on his way home must be a record for the interior of
the Barrier. So far as we were concerned it did not much matter now
whether it was +40 deg. or +34 deg.. Things did look really gloomy that morning.

But at noon there came a gleam of comfort. The wind dropped, and
immediately we were out plunging about, always up to our knees in soft
downy snow, and often much farther. First we shifted our tents, digging
them up with the greatest care that the shovel might not tear them. The
valances were encased in solid ice from the water which had run down.
Then we started to find our sledges which were about four feet down: they
were dragged out, and everything on them was wringing wet. There was a
gleam of sunshine, which soon gave place to snow and gloom, but we
started to make experiments in haulage. Four men on ski managed to move a
sledge with four others sitting upon it. Nobby was led out, but sank to
his belly. As for the drifts I saw Oates standing behind one, and only
his head appeared, and this was all loose snow.

"We are all sitting round now after some tea--it is much better than
getting into the bags. I can hardly think that the ponies can pull on,
but Titus thinks they can pull to-morrow; all the food is finished, and
what they have had to-day was only what they would not eat out of their
last feed yesterday. It is a terrible end--driven to death on no more
food, to be then cut up, poor devils. I have swopped the Little Minister
with Silas Wright for Dante's Inferno!"[219] The steady patter of the
falling snow upon the tents was depressing as we turned in, but the
temperature was below freezing.

The next morning (Saturday, December 9) we turned out to a cloudy snowy
day at 5.30 A.M. By 8.30 we had hauled the sledges some way out of the
camp and started to lead out the ponies. "The horses could hardly move,
sank up to their bellies, and finally lay down. They had to be driven,
lashed on. It was a grim business."[220]

My impressions of that day are of groping our way, for Bowers and I were
pulling a light sledge ahead to make the track, through a vague white
wall. First a confused crowd of men behind us gathered round the leading
pony sledge, pushing it forward, the poor beast barely able to struggle
out of the holes it made as it plunged forward. The others were induced
to follow, and after a start had been made the regular man-hauling party
went back to fetch their load. There was not one man there who would
willingly have caused pain to a living thing. But what else was to be
done--we could not leave our pony depot in that bog. Hour after hour we
plugged on: and we dare not halt for lunch, we knew we could never start
again. After crossing many waves huge pressure ridges suddenly showed
themselves all round, and we got on to a steep rise with the coastal
chasm on our right hand appearing as a great dip full of enormous
pressure. Scott was naturally worried about crevasses, and though we knew
there was a way through, the finding of it in the gloom was most
difficult. For two hours we zig-zagged about, getting forward it is true,
but much bewildered, and once at any rate almost bogged. Scott joined us,
and we took off our ski so as to find the crevasses, and if possible a
hard way through. Every step we sank about fifteen inches, and often
above our knees. Meanwhile Snatcher was saving the situation in
snow-shoes, and led the line of ponies. Snippets nearly fell back into a
big crevasse, into which his hind quarters fell: but they managed to
unharness him, and scramble him out.

I do not know how long we had been going when Scott decided to follow the
chasm. We found a big dip with hard ice underneath, and it was probably
here that we made the crossing: we could now see the ring of pressure
behind us. Almost it was decided to make the depot here, but the ponies
still plugged on in the most plucky way, though they had to be driven.
Scott settled to go as far as they could be induced to march, and they
did wonderfully. We had never thought that they would go a mile: but
painfully they marched for eleven hours without a long halt, and covered
a distance which we then estimated at seven miles. But our sledge-meters
were useless being clogged with the soft snow, and we afterwards came to
believe the distance was not so great: probably not more than five. When
we had reached a point some two miles from the top of the snow divide
which fills the Gateway we camped, thankful to rest, but more thankful
still that we need drive those weary ponies no more. Their rest was near.
It was a horrid business, and the place was known as Shambles Camp.

Oates came up to Scott as he stood in the shadow of Mount Hope. "Well! I
congratulate you, Titus," said Wilson. "And _I_ thank you, Titus," said
Scott.

And that was the end of the Barrier Stage.

FOOTNOTES:

[181] Taylor, with Scott, _The Silver Lining_, pp. 325-326.

[182] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 448.

[183] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 449.

[184] Ibid. p. 446.

[185] See pp. 350, 552-556.

[186] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 453.

[187] Ibid. p. 452.

[188] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 438-439.

[189] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 450.

[190] Bowers.

[191] Bowers.

[192] My own diary.

[193] Bowers.

[194] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 463.

[195] Ibid. p. 462.

[196] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 461.

[197] Bowers.

[198] Bowers.

[199] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 465.

[200] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 465.

[201] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 468.

[202] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 470, 471.

[203] Bowers.

[204] A note to Cape Evans is as follows:--MY DEAR SIMPSON. This
goes with Day and Hooper now returning. We are making fair
progress and the ponies doing fairly well. I hope we shall
get through to the glacier without difficulty, but to make
sure I am carrying the dog-teams farther than I intended at
first--the teams may be late returning, unfit for further
work or non-existent....--R. SCOTT.

[205] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 474.

[206] Ibid. p. 475.

[207] Ibid. p. 476.

[208] Ibid. p. 476.

[209] Bowers.

[210] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 483.

[211] Bowers.

[212] Bowers.

[213] My own diary.

[214] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 486.

[215] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 486-489.

[216] Bowers.

[217] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 489.

[218] My own diary.

[219] My own diary.

[220] Ibid.




CHAPTER X

THE POLAR JOURNEY (_continued_)

The Southern Journey involves the most important object of the
Expedition.... One cannot affect to be blind to the situation:
the scientific public, as well as the more general public, will
gauge the result of the scientific work of the Expedition largely
in accordance with the success or failure of the main object.
With success all roads will be made easy, all work will receive
its proper consideration. With failure even the most brilliant
work may be neglected and forgotten, at least for a time.--SCOTT.

II. THE BEARDMORE GLACIER


The ponies had dragged twenty-four weekly units of food for four men to
some five miles from the bottom of the glacier, but we were late. For
some days we had been eating the Summit ration, that is the food which
should not have been touched until the Glacier Depot had been laid, and
we were still a day's run from the place where this was to be done: it
was of course the result of the blizzard which no one could have expected
in December, usually one of the two most settled months. Still more
serious was the deep snow which lay like down upon the surface, and into
which we sank commonly to our knees, our sledges digging themselves in
until the crosspieces were ploughing through the drift. Shackleton had
fine weather, and found blue ice in the bottom reaches of the glacier,
and Scott lamented what was unquestionably bad luck.

It was noon of December 10 before we had made the readjustments necessary
for man-hauling. We left here pony meat for man and dog food, three
ten-foot sledges, one twelve-foot sledge, and a good many oddments of
clothing and pony gear. We started with three four-man teams, each
pulling for these first few miles about 500 lbs., as follows: (I) Scott,
Wilson, Oates, Seaman Evans: (II) Lieut. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, Lashly:
(III) Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Crean, Keohane. The team numbered (II) had
been man-hauling together some days, and two members of it, Lieut. Evans
and Lashly, had already been man-hauling since the breakdown of the
second motor at Corner Camp; it was certainly not so fit as the other
two. In addition to these three sledges the two dog-teams, which had been
doing splendid work, were carrying 600 lbs. of our weight as well as the
provisions for the Lower Glacier Depot, weighing 200 lbs. It began to
look as if Amundsen had chosen the right form of transport.

The Gateway is a gap in the mountains, a side door, as it were, to the
great tumbled glacier. By lunch we were on the top of the divide, but it
took six hours of the hardest hauling to cover the mile which formed the
rise. As long as possible we stuck to ski, but we reached a point at
which we could not move the sledges on ski: once we had taken them off we
were up to our knees, and the sledges were ploughing the snow which would
not support them. But our gear was drying in the bright sunshine, our
bags were spread out at every opportunity, and the great jagged cliffs of
red granite were welcome to the eyes after 425 statute miles of snow. The
Gateway is filled by a giant snowdrift which has been formed between
Mount Hope on our left and the mainland on our right. From Shackleton's
book we gathered that the Beardmore was a very bad glacier indeed. Once
on the top of the divide we lunched, and we descended in the evening,
camping at midnight on the edge of the glacier, which we found, as we had
feared, covered with soft snow which was so deep as to give no indication
whatever of the hard ice which Shackleton found here. "We camped in
considerable drift and a blizzard wind, which is still blowing, and I
hope will go on, for every hour it is sweeping away inches of this soft
powdery snow into which we have been sinking all day."[221]

Before setting out on December 11 we rigged up the Lower Glacier Depot,
three weekly Summit units of provisions, two cases of emergency biscuit
which was the ration for three weekly units, and two cans of oil. These
provisions were calculated to carry the three returning parties as far as
the Southern Barrier Depot. We also left one can of spirit, used for
lighting the primus, one bottle of medical brandy and certain spare and
personal gear not required. On the sledges themselves we stowed eighteen
weekly Summit units, besides the three ready bags containing the ration
for the current week, and the complement of biscuit, for this was ten
cases in addition to the three boxes of biscuit which the three parties
were using. Then there were eighteen cans of oil, with two cans of
lighting spirit and a little additional Christmas fare which Bowers had
packed. Every unit of food was worked out for four men for one week.

[Illustration: TRANSIT SKETCH FOR THE LOWER GLACIER DEPOT.--E. A. Wilson,
del. Emery Walker Limited, Collotypers.]

During this time of deep snow the sledge-meters would not work and we
were compelled to estimate the distance marched each day. "It has been a
tremendous slog, but I think a most hopeful day. Before starting it took
us about two hours to make the depot and then we got straight into the
midst of the big pressure. The dogs, with ten cases of biscuit, came
behind and pulled very well. We soon caught sight of a big boulder, and
Bill and I roped up and went over to it. It was a block of very coarse
granite, nearly gneiss, with large crystals of quartz in it, rusty
outside and quite pinkish when chipped, and with veins of quartz running
through it. It was a vast thing to be carried along on the ice, and
looked very typical of the rock round. Instead of keeping under the great
cliff where Shackleton made his depot, we steered for Mount Kyffin, that
is towards the middle of the glacier, until lunch, when we had probably
done about two or three miles. There was a crevasse wherever we went, but
we managed to pull on ski and had no one down, and the deep snow saved
the dogs."[222] The dog-teams were certainly running very big risks that
morning. They turned back after lunch, having been brought on far
longer than had been originally intended, for, as I have said, they were
to have been back at Hut Point before now, and their provision allowance
would not allow of further advance. Perhaps we rather overestimated the
dogs' capacities when Bowers wrote: "The dogs are wonderfully fit and
will rush Meares and Dimitri back like the wind. I expect he will be
nearly back by Christmas, as they will do about thirty miles a day." But
Meares told us when we got back to the hut that the dogs had by no means
had an easy journey home. Now, however, "with a whirl and a rush they
were off on the homeward trail. I could not see them (being snow-blind),
but heard the familiar orders as the last of our animal transport left
us."[223]

Our difficulties during the next four days were increased by the
snow-blindness of half the men. The evening we reached the glacier Bowers
wrote: "I am afraid I am going to pay dearly for not wearing goggles
yesterday when piloting the ponies. My right eye has gone bung, and my
left one is pretty dicky. If I am in for a dose of snow glare it will
take three or four days to leave me, and I am afraid I am in the ditch
this time. It is painful to look at this paper, and my eyes are fairly
burning as if some one had thrown sand into them." And then: "I have
missed my journal for four days, having been enduring the pains of hell
with my eyes as well as doing the most back-breaking work I have ever
come up against.... I was as blind as a bat, and so was Keohane in my
team. Cherry pulled alongside me, with Crean and Keohane behind. By
sticking plaster over my glasses except one small central spot I shut off
most light and could see the points of my ski, but the glasses were
always fogged with perspiration and my eyes kept on streaming water which
cannot be wiped off on the march as a ski stick is held in each hand; and
so heavy were our weights [we had now taken on the weights which had been
on the dog sledges] that if any of the pair slacked a hand even, the
sledge stopped. It was all we could do to keep the sledge moving for
short spells of a few hundred yards, the whole concern sinking so deeply
into the soft snow as to form a snow-plough. The starting was worse than
pulling as it required from ten to fifteen desperate jerks on the harness
to move the sledge at all." Many others were also snowblind, caused
partly by the strain of the last march of the ponies, partly by not
having realized that now that we were day-marching the sun was more
powerful and more precautions should be taken. The cocaine and zinc
sulphate tablets which we had were excellent, but we also found that our
tea leaves, which had been boiled twice and would otherwise have been
thrown away, relieved the pain if tied into some cotton and kept pressed
against the eyes. The tannic acid in the tea acted as an astringent. A
snowblind man can see practically nothing anyhow and so he is not much
worse off if a handkerchief is tied over his eyes.

"_Beardmore Glacier._ Just a tiny note to be taken back by the dogs.
Things are not so rosy as they might be, but we keep our spirits up and
say the luck must turn. This is only to tell you that I find I can keep
up with the rest as well as of old."[224]

[Illustration: MOUNT F. L. SMITH AND THE LAND TO THE NORTH-WEST--E. A.
Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited, Collotypers.]

Then for the first time we were left with our full loads of 800 lbs. a
sledge. Even Bowers asked Scott whether he was going to try it without
relaying. That night Scott's diary runs:

"It was a very anxious business when we started after lunch, about 4.30.
Could we pull our full loads or not? My own party got away first, and, to
my joy, I found we could make fairly good headway. Every now and again
the sledge sank in a soft patch, which brought us up, but we learned to
treat such occasions with patience. We got sideways to the sledge and
hauled it out, Evans (P.O.) getting out of his ski to get better
purchase. The great thing is to keep the sledge moving, and for an hour
or more there were dozens of critical moments when it all but stopped,
and not a few when it brought up altogether. The latter were very trying
and tiring."[225] Altogether it was an encouraging day and we reckoned we
had made seven miles. Generally it was not Scott's team which made the
heaviest weather these days but on December 12 they were in greater
difficulties than any of us. It was indeed a gruelling day, for the
surface was worse than ever and many men were snow-blind. After five
hours' work in the morning we were about half a mile forward. We were in
a sea of pressure, the waves coming at us from our starboard bow, the
distance between the crests not being very great. We could not have
advanced at all had it not been for our ski: "on foot one sinks to the
knees, and if pulling on a sledge to half way between knee and
thigh."[226]

On December 13, "the sledges sank in over twelve inches, and all the
gear, as well as the thwartship pieces, were acting as breaks. The tugs
and heaves we enjoyed, and the number of times we had to get out of our
ski to upright the sledge, were trifles compared with the strenuous
exertion of every muscle and nerve to keep the wretched drag from
stopping when once under weigh; and then it would stick, and all the
starting operations had to be gone through afresh. We did perhaps half a
mile in the forenoon. Anticipating a better surface in the afternoon we
got a shock. Teddy [Evans] led off half an hour earlier to pilot a way,
and Captain Scott tried some fake with his spare runners [he lashed them
under the sledge to prevent the cross-pieces ploughing the snow] that
involved about an hour's work. We had to continually turn our runners up
to scrape the ice off them, for in these temperatures they are liable to
get warm and melt the snow on them, and that freezes into knobs of ice
which act like sandpaper or spikes on a pair of skates. We bust off
second full of hope having done so well in the forenoon, but pride goeth
[before a fall]. We stuck ten yards from the camp, and nine hours later
found us little more than half a mile on. I have never seen a sledge sink
so. I have never pulled so hard, or so nearly crushed my inside into my
backbone by the everlasting jerking with all my strength on the canvas
band round my unfortunate tummy. We were all in the same boat however.

"I saw Teddy struggling ahead and Scott astern, but we were the worst off
as the leading team had topped the rise and I was too blind to pick out a
better trail. We fairly played ourselves out that time, and finally had
to give it up and relay. Halving the load we went forward about a mile
with it, and, leaving that lot, went back for the remainder. So done were
my team that we could do little more than pull the half loads. Teddy's
team did the same, and though Scott's did not, we camped practically the
same time, having gone over our distance three times. Mount Kyffin was
still ahead of us to the left: we seemed as if we can never come up with
it. To-morrow Scott decided that if we could not move our full loads we
would start relaying systematically. It was a most depressing outlook
after such a day of strenuous labour."[227] We got soaked with
perspiration these days, though generally pulling in vest, pants, and
windproof trousers only. Directly we stopped we cooled quickly. Two skuas
appeared at lunch, attracted probably by the pony flesh below, but it was
a long way from the sea for them to come. On Thursday December 14, Scott
wrote: "Indigestion and the soggy condition of my clothes kept me awake
for some time last night, and the exceptional exercise gives bad attacks
of cramp. Our lips are getting raw and blistered. The eyes of the party
are improving, I am glad to say. We are just starting our march with no
very hopeful outlook."

[Illustration: MOUNT ELIZABETH, MOUNT ANNE AND SOCKS GLACIER--E. A.
Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited, Collotypers.]

But we slogged along with much better results. "Once into the middle of
the glacier we had been steering more or less for the Cloudmaker and by
supper to-day were well past Mount Kyffin and were about 2000 feet up
after an estimated run of 11 or 12 statute miles. But the most cheering
sign was that the blue ice was gradually coming nearer the surface; at
lunch it was two feet down, and at our supper camp only one foot. In
pitching our tent Crean broke into a crevasse which ran about a foot in
front of the door and there was another at Scott's door. We threw an
empty oil can down and it echoed for a terribly long time."[228] We
spent the morning of December 15 crossing a maze of crevasses though they
were well bridged; I believe all these lower reaches of the glacier are
badly crevassed, but the thick snow and our ski kept us from tumbling in.
There was a great deal of competition between the teams which was perhaps
unavoidable but probably a pity. This day Bowers' diary records, "Did a
splendid bust off on ski, leaving Scott in the lurch, and eventually
overhauling the party which had left some time before us. All the morning
we kept up a steady, even swing which was quite a pleasure." But the same
day Scott wrote, "Evans' is now decidedly the slowest unit, though
Bowers' is not much faster. We keep up and overhaul either without
difficulty." Bowers' team considered themselves quite good, but both
teams were satisfied of their own superiority; as a matter of fact
Scott's was the faster, as it should have been for it was certainly the
heavier of the two.

"It was a very bad light all day, but after lunch it began to get worse,
and by 5 o'clock it was snowing hard and we could see nothing. We went on
for nearly an hour, steering by the wind and any glimpse of sastrugi, and
then, very reluctantly, Scott camped. It looks better now. The surface is
much harder and more wind-swept, and as a rule the ice is only six inches
underneath. We are beginning to talk about Christmas. We get very thirsty
these days in the warm temperatures: we shall feel it farther up when the
cold gets into our open pores and sunburnt hands and cracked lips. I am
plastering some skin on mine to-night. Our routine now is: turn out 5.30,
lunch 1, and camp at 7, and we get a short 8 hours' sleep, but we are so
dead tired we could sleep half into the next day: we get about 91/2 hours'
march. Tea at lunch a positive godsend. We are raising the land to the
south well, and are about 2500 feet up, latitude about 84 deg. 8' S."[229]

The next day, December 16, Bowers wrote: "We have had a really enjoyable
day's march, except the latter end of the afternoon. At the outset in the
forenoon my sledge was a bit in the lurch, and Scott drew steadily away
from us. I knew I could ordinarily hold my own with him, but for the
first two hours we dropped till we were several hundred yards astern; try
as I would to rally up my team we could gain nothing. On examining the
runners however we soon discovered the cause by the presence of a thin
film of ice. After that we ran easily. The thing one must avoid doing is
to touch them with the hand or mitt, as anything damp will make ice on
them. We usually turn the sledge on its side and scrape one runner at a
time with the back of our knives so as to avoid any chance of cutting or
chipping them. In the afternoon either the tea or the butter we had at
lunch made us so strong that we fairly overran the other team."[230]

"We must push on all we can, for we are now 6 days behind Shackleton, all
due to that wretched storm. So far, since we got among the disturbances
we have not seen such alarming crevasses as I had expected; certainly
dogs could have come up as far as this."[231]

[Illustration: MOUNT PATRICK--E. A. Wilson, del.]

"At lunch we could see big pressure ahead having done first over five
miles. Soon after lunch, having gone down a bit, we rose among very rough
stuff. We plugged on until 4.30, when ski became quite impossible, and we
put them on the sledges and started on foot. We immediately began putting
legs down: one step would be on blue ice and the next two feet down into
snow: very hard going. The pressure ahead seemed to stretch right into a