The homeward track! A few days ago--only few hours ago-our hearts

had beat hopefully at the prospect and there was no hint of this, the

overwhelming tragedy. Our fellow, comrade, chum, in a woeful instant,

buried in the bowels of the awful glacier. We could not think of it; we

strove to forget it in the necessity of work, but we knew that the truth

would assuredly enter our souls in the lonely days to come. It was to be

a fight with Death and the great Providence would decide the issue.

On the outward journey we had left no depots of provisions en route,

for it was our bad fortune to meet such impossible country that we had

decided to make a circuit on our return to Winter Quarters sufficiently

far inland to avoid the coastal irregularities. As a matter of fact, on

the very day of the calamity, preparations had been made to cache most

of the food within twenty-four hours, as during the last few days of the

journey we were to make a dash to our "farthest east" point. Such were

the plans, and now we were ranged against unexpected odds.

With regard to the dogs, there were six very miserable animals left.

The best of them had been drafted into the rear team, as it was expected

that if an accident happened through the collapse of a snow-bridge the

first sledge would most probably suffer. For the same reason most of

the food and other indispensable articles had been carried on the rear

sledge.

All the dogs which had perished were big and powerful; Basilisk,

Ginger Bitch, Shackleton, Castor, Franklin and John Bull. We had fully

anticipated that those at least would come back alive, at the expense of

the six dogs in my sledge.

A silent farewell!--and we started back, aiming to reach our

camping-ground on December 12 before a snowstorm intervened, as several

things had been left there which would be of use to us in our straitened

stances. The weather still held good and there were no signs of

approaching snow or wind. So Mertz went ahead on skis, while we plodded

slowly up the hills and dashed recklessly down them. During the descents

I sat on the sledge and we slid over long crevassed slopes in a wild

fashion, almost with a languid feeling that the next one would probably

swallow us up. But we did not much care then, as it was too soon after

losing our friend.

At 2.30 A.M. on December 15 the discarded sledge and broken spade came

into sight. On reaching them, Mertz cut a runner of the broken sledge

into two pieces which were used in conjunction with his skis as a

framework on which to pitch the spare tent-cover; our only tent and

poles having been lost. Each time the makeshift shelter was erected,

these props had to be carefully lashed together at the apex, which stood

four feet from the ground. Inside, there was just room for two one-man

sleeping-bags on the floor. However, only one man at a time could move

about and neither of us could ever rise above a sitting posture. Still,

it was a shelter which protected us from the bad weather, and, with

plenty of snow blocks piled around it, was wonderfully resistant to the

wind.

When we retired to rest, it was not to sleep but to think out the best

plan for the return journey.

It was obvious that a descent to the frozen sea would be dangerous on

account of the heavily crevassed nature of the falling glacier, delay

would undoubtedly be caused and our distance from the Hut would be

increased. To decide definitely for the sea-ice would be to take other

risks as well, since, from the altitude at which we were placed, we

could not be sure that the floe-ice which covered the sea would provide

a good travelling surface. In any case it was likely to be on the point

of breaking up, for the season was nearing midsummer. On the other hand,

there was on the sea-ice a chance of obtaining seals for food.

After due consideration we resolved to follow the shorter route,

returning inland over the plateau, for it was reckoned that if the

weather were reasonable we might win through to Winter Quarters with

one and a half weeks' rations and the six dogs which still remained,

provided we ate the dogs to eke out our provisions. Fortunately neither

the cooker nor the kerosene had been lost.

George, the poorest of the dogs, was killed and partly fed to the

others, partly kept for ourselves. The meat was roughly fried on the lid

of the aluminium cooker, an operation which resulted in little more than

scorching the surface. On the whole it was voted good though it had a

strong, musty taste and was so stringy that it could not be properly

chewed.

As both mugs and spoons had been lost, I made two pannikins out of tins

in which cartridges and matches had been packed, and Mertz carved wooden

spoons out of a portion of the broken sledge. At this camp he also

spliced the handle of the broken shovel which had been picked up, so as

to make it temporarily serviceable.

It was midsummer, and therefore we found it easier to drag the sledge

over the snow at night when the surface was frozen hard. Camp was not

finally broken until 6 P.M., when the long and painful return journey

commenced.

For fourteen miles the way led up rising snow slopes to the north-west

until an elevation of two thousand five hundred feet had been reached.

After that, variable grades and flat country were met. Though the sledge

was light, the dogs required helping and progress was slow. The midnight

sun shone low in the south, and we tramped on through the morning hours,

anxious to reduce the miles which lay ahead.

Early on December 16 the sky became rapidly overcast. The snowy land and

the snowy sky merged to form an enclosed trap, as it seemed to us, while

showers of snow fell. There were no shadows to create contrast; it was

impossible to distinguish even the detail of the ground underfoot.

We stumbled over unseen ridges of the hard neve, our gaze straining

forward. The air was so still that advantage was taken of the calm to

light the primus and melt some snow in the lee of the sledge. The water,

to which were added a few drops of primus alcohol, helped to assuage our

thirst.

The erection of the makeshift tent was a long and tedious operation, and

so, on our return marches, we never again took any refreshment during

the day's work excepting on this occasion.

At 6 A.M., having done twenty miles and ascended to an elevation of

about two thousand five hundred feet, we pitched camp.

There was very little sleep for me that day for I had an unusually bad

attack of snow-blindness. During the time that we rested in the bags

Mertz treated one of my eyes three times, the other twice with zinc

sulphate and cocaine.

On account of the smallness of the tent a great deal of time was

absorbed in preparations for "turning in" and for getting away from each

camp. Thus, although we rose before 6 P.M. on December 16, the start was

not made until 8.30 P.M., notwithstanding the fact that the meal was of

the "sketchiest" character.

On that night ours was a mournful procession; the sky thickly clouded,

snow falling, I with one eye bandaged and the dog Johnson broken down

and strapped on top of the load on the sledge. There was scarcely a

sound; only the rustle of the thick, soft snow as we pushed on, weary

but full of hope. The dogs dumbly pressed forward in their harness,

forlorn but eager to follow. Their weight now told little upon the

sledge, the work mainly falling upon ourselves. Mertz was tempted to

try hauling on skis, but came to the conclusion that it did not pay and

thenceforth never again used them.

Close to the Magnetic Pole as we were, the compass was of little use,

and to steer a straight course to the west without ever seeing anything

of the surroundings was a difficult task. The only check upon the

correctness of the bearing was the direction in which trended the old

hard winter sastrugi, channelled out along a line running almost north

and south. The newly fallen snow obliterated these, and frequent halts

had to be called in order to investigate the buried surface.

At 2 A.M. on the 17th we had only covered eleven miles when we stopped

to camp. Then Mertz shot and cut up Johnson while I prepared the supper.

Johnson had always been a very faithful, hard-working and willing beast,

with rather droll ways of his own, and we were sorry that his end should

come so soon. He could never be accused of being a handsome dog, in fact

he was generally disreputable and dirty.

All the dogs were miserable and thin when they reached the stage of

extreme exhaustion. Their meat was tough, stringy and without a vestige

of fat. For a change we sometimes chopped it up finely, mixed it with a

little pemmican, and brought all to the boil in a large pot of water. We

were exceedingly hungry, but there was nothing to satisfy our appetites.

Only a few ounces were used of the stock of ordinary food, to which was

added a portion of dog's meat, never large, for each animal yielded

so very little, and the major part was fed to the surviving dogs. They

crunched the bones and ate the skin, until nothing remained.

A fresh start was made at 7.30 P.M. and a wretched, trying night was

spent, when we marched without a break for twelve and a half hours.

Overhead there was a dense pall of nimbus from which snow fell at

intervals. None of the dogs except Ginger gave any help with the load,

and Mary was so worn out that she had to be carried on the sledge. Poor

Mary had been a splendid dog, but we had to kill her at the camp in the

morning.

After a run of eighteen and a half miles we halted at 8 A.M. on December

18.

At 5.30 P.M. a light south-easter blew and snow fell from an overcast

sky. Soon after a start was made, it became apparent that a descent was

commencing. In this locality the country had been swept by wind, for

none of the recent snow settled on the surface. The sastrugi were high

and hard, and over them we bumped, slipping and falling in the uncertain

light. We could not endure this kind of travelling for long and resolved

to camp shortly after midnight, intending to go on when the day had

advanced further and the light was stronger.

"December 19.--Up at noon and tried a few more miles in the snow-glare.

Later in the afternoon the sky began to break and we picked our way with

less difficulty. Camped at 5 P.M., having done only twelve miles one

thousand and fifty yards since the morning of December 18.

"Up at 8 P.M. again, almost calm and sun shining. Still continuing a

westerly course we dropped several hundred feet, marching over rough,

slippery fields of sastrugi."

In the early morning hours of the 20th the surface changed to ice and

occasional crevasses appeared. It was clear that we had arrived at the

head of the Ninnis Glacier above the zone of serac we had traversed

on the outward journey. It was very satisfactory to know this; to be

certain that some landmark had been seen and recognized.

Soon after this discovery we came near losing Haldane, the big grey

wolf, in a crevasse. Miserably thin from starvation the wretched dogs

no longer filled their harness. As we pulled up Haldane, after he had

broken into a deep, sheer-walled crevasse, his harness slipped off just

as he reached the top. It was just possible to seize hold of his hair at

that moment and to land him safely, otherwise we should have lost many

days' rations.

He took to the harness once more but soon became uncertain in his

footsteps, staggered along and then tottered and fell. Poor brutes! that

was the way they all gave in--pulling till they dropped.

We camped at 4 A.M., thinking that a rest would revive Haldane. Inside

the tent some snow was thawed, and we drank the water with an addition

of a little primus spirit. A temperature reading showed-1 degree F.

Outside, the hungry huskies moaned unceasingly until we could bear to

hear them no longer. The tent was struck and we set off once more.

Haldane was strapped on the sledge as he could not walk. He had not

eaten the food we had given him, because his jaws seemed too weak to

bite. He had just nursed it between his paws and licked it.

Before the dogs became as weak as this, great care had to be taken in

tethering them at each camp so as to prevent them from gnawing the wood

of the sledge, the straps or, in fact, anything at all. Every time we

were ready for a fresh start they seemed to regain their old strength,

for they struggled and fought to seize any scraps, however useless, left

on the ground.

The day's march was completed at 10.30 A.M. and fourteen and a half

miles lay behind.

"We were up again at 11.20 P.M. Sky clear; fifteen-mile breeze from the

south-south-east and the temperature 3 degrees F. By midnight there was

a thirty-mile wind and low, flying drift.

"December 21.--The night-march was a miserable one. The only thing which

helped to relieve it was that for a moment Dixson Island was miraged up

in the north, and we felt that we had met an old friend, which means

a lot in this icy desolation. The surface was furrowed by hard, sharp

sastrugi.

"We camped at 9 A.M. after only eleven miles. Haldane was finished off

before we retired.

"We were up again at 9 P.M., and when a start was made at 11 P.M. there

was a strong south-south-east wind blowing, with low drift; temperature,

zero Fahr.

"December 22.--The surface of hard, polished sastrugi caused many falls.

The track was undulating, rising in one case several hundred feet and

finally falling in a long slope.

"Pavlova gave in late in the march and was taken on the sledge.

"Camped at 6.40 A.M. in a forty-mile wind with low drift. Distance

marched was twelve miles one thousand four hundred yards.

"Before turning in, we effected sundry repairs. Mertz re-spliced the

handle of the shovel which had broken apart and I riveted the broken

spindle of the sledge-meter. The mechanism of the latter had frozen

during the previous day's halt, and, on being started, its spindle had

broken off short. It was a long and tedious job tapping at the steed

with a toy hammer, but the rivet held miraculously for the rest of the

journey.

"Up at 11.30 P.M., a moderate breeze blowing, overcast sky, light snow

falling."

On December 28 an uphill march commenced which was rendered very heavy

by the depth of the soft snow. Pavlova had to be carried on the sledge.

Suddenly, gaping crevasses appeared dimly through the falling snow which

surrounded us like a blanket. There was nothing to do but camp, though

it was only 4.30 A.M., and we had covered but five miles one thousand

two hundred and thirty yards.

Pavlova was killed and we made a very acceptable soup from her bones. In

view of the dark outlook, our ration of food had to be still further cut

down. We had no proper sleep, hunger gnawing at us all the time, and the

question of food was for ever in our thoughts. Dozing in the fur bags,

we dreamed of gorgeous "spreads" and dinner-parties at home. Tramping

along through the snow, we racked our brains thinking of how to make the

most of the meagre quantity of dogs' meat at hand.

The supply of kerosene for the primus stove promised to be ample, for

none of it had been lost in the accident. We found that it was worth

while spending some time in boiling the dogs' meat thoroughly. Thus a

tasty soup was prepared as well as a supply of edible meat in which the

muscular tissue and the gristle were reduced to the consistency of a

jelly. The paws took longest of all to cook, but, treated to lengthy

stewing, they became quite digestible.

On December 24 we were up at 8 A.M. just as the sun commenced to gleam

through clouds. The light was rather bad, and snow fell as the track

zigzagged about among many crevasses; but suddenly the sun broke forth.

The sledge was crossing a surface of deep snow which soon became so

sticky that the load would scarcely move. At last a halt was made after

four miles, and we waited for the evening, when the surface was expected

to harden.

A small prion visited us but went off in a moment. It is very remarkable

how far some Antarctic sea-birds may wander inland, apparently at such

a great distance from anything which should interest them. We were then

more than one hundred miles south of the open sea. As the bird flew

away, we watched it until it disappeared in the north, wishing that we

too had wings to cross the interminable plateau ahead.

Lying in the sleeping-bag that day I dreamt that I visited a

confectioner's shop. All the wares that were displayed measured feet in

diameter. I purchased an enormous delicacy just as one would buy a bun

under ordinary stances. I remember paying the money over the counter,

but something happened before I received what I had chosen. When I

realized the omission I was out in the street, and, being greatly

disappointed, went back to the shop, but found the door shut and "early

closing" written on it.

Though a good daily average had been maintained on the march whenever

conditions were at all favourable, the continuance of bad weather

and the undoubtedly weaker state in which we found ourselves made it

imperative to dispense with all but the barest necessities. Thus

the theodolite was the only instrument retained, and the camera,

photographic films (exposed and unexposed), hypsometer, thermometers,

rifle, ammunition and other sundries were all thrown away. The frame

of the tent was made lighter by constructing two poles, each four

feet high, from the telescopic theodolite legs, the heavier pieces of

sledge-runner being discarded.

We were up at 11 P.M. on December 24, but so much time was absorbed in

making a dog-stew for Christmas that it was not till 2.80 A.M. that we

got under way. We wished each other happier Christmases in the future,

and divided two scraps of biscuit which I found in my spare kit-bag;

relics of better days.

The surface was a moderately good one of undulating, hard sastrugi, and,

as the course had been altered to north-west, the southerly wind helped

us along. The sun shone brightly, and only for the wind and the low

drift we might have felt tolerably comfortable. On our right, down

within the shallow depression of the Ninnis Glacier, the low outline of

Dixson Island, forty miles to the north, could be seen miraged up on the

horizon.

The tent was raised at 9.30 A.M. after a run of eleven miles one hundred

and seventy-six yards. An ounce each of butter was served out from our

small stock to give a festive touch to the dog-stew.

At noon I took an observation for latitude, and, after taking a bearing

on to Dixson Island, computed that the distance in an air-line to Winter

Quarters was one hundred and sixty miles.

"December 26.--Got away at 2 A.M.; the surface undulating and hummocky

with occasional beds of soft snow. Sun shining, wind ranged between

thirty and forty miles per hour with much low drift; cold; camped about

noon having done ten miles five hundred and twenty-eight yards.

"We have reached the western side of the Ninnis Glacier. Ahead are

rising slopes, but we look forward to assistance from the wind in the

ascent.

"I was again troubled with a touch of snow-blindness, but it responded

to the usual treatment.

"At 11 P.M. we were at it again,but what with preparing dog-stew, packing

up within the limited area of the tent and experimenting with a sail, it

was five hours before the march commenced.

"The sail was the tent-cover, attached to the top of one ski lashed

vertically as a mast and secured below to the other ski, lashed across

the sledge as a boom."

A start was made at 4 A.M. on the 27th in a thirty-mile wind accompanied

by low drift. The surface was smooth but grew unexpectedly soft at

intervals, while the ascent soon began to tell on us. Though the work

was laborious, notwithstanding some aid from the sail, the bright

sunlight kept up our spirits, and, whenever a halt was called for a few

minutes' spell, the conversation invariably turned upon the subject of

food and what we should do on arrival on board the 'Aurora'.

At noon the sledge-meter showed nine miles one thousand four hundred

yards, and we agreed to halt and pitch camp.

The wind had fallen off considerably, and in the brilliant sunshine it

was comparatively warm in the tent. The addition of the heat from

the primus stove, kept burning for an unusually long time during the

preparation of the meat, caused a thaw of drift-snow which became lodged

on the lee side of the tent. Thus we had frequently to put up with

an unwelcome drip. Moisture came from the floor also, as there was no

floor-cloth, and the sleeping-bags were soon very wet and soggy. As soon

as the cooking was finished, the tent cooled off and the wet walls froze

and became stiff with icy cakes.

At this time we were eating largely of the dogs' meat, to which was

added one or two ounces of chocolate or raisins, three or four ounces

of pemmican and biscuit mixed together, and, as a beverage, very dilute

cocoa. The total weight of solid food consumed by each man per day was

approximately fourteen ounces. Our small supply of butter and glaxo was

saved for emergency, while a few tea-bags which remained were boiled

over and over again.

The march commenced on December 28 at 3 A.M. in a thirty-mile wind

accompanied by light drift. Overhead there was a wild sky which augured

badly for the next few days. It was cold work raising the sail, and we

were glad to be marching.

Our faithful retainer Ginger could walk no longer and was strapped on

the sledge. She was the last of the dogs and had been some sort of a

help until a few days before. We were sad when it came to finishing her

off.

On account of the steep up grade and the weight of Ginger on the sledge,

we camped at 7.15 A.M. after only four miles one thousand two hundred

and thirty yards.

We had breakfast off Ginger's skull and brain. I can never forget the

occasion. As there was nothing available to divide it, the skull was

boiled whole. Then the right and left halves were drawn for by the old

and well-established sledging practice of "shut-eye," after which we

took it in turns eating to the middle line, passing the skull from one

to the other. The brain was afterwards scooped out with a wooden spoon.

On sledging journeys it is usual to apportion all food-stuffs in as

nearly even halves as possible. Then one man turns away and another,

pointing to a heap, asks "Whose?" The reply from the one not looking is

"Yours" or "Mine" as the case may be. Thus an impartial and satisfactory

division of the rations is made.

After the meal I went on cooking more meat so as to have a supply in

readiness for eating. It was not till 2 P.M. that the second lot was

finished. The task was very trying, for I had to sit up on the floor of

the tent for hours in a cramped position, continually attending to the

cooker, while Mertz in his Sleeping-bag was just accommodated within the

limited space which remained. The tent was too small either to lie down

during the operation or to sit up comfortably on a sleeping-bag.

At 9.30 P.M. Mertz rose to take a turn at the cooking, and at 11 P.M. I

joined him at "breakfast."

At this time a kind of daily cycle was noted in the weather. It was

always calmest between 4 P.M. and 6 P.M. During the evening hours the

wind increased until it reached a maximum between four and six o'clock

next morning, after which it fell off gradually.

We were away at 2.30 A.M. on the 29th in a thirty-mile wind which raised

a light drift. The sail was found to be of great assistance over a

surface which rose in terraces of fifty to one hundred feet in height,

occurring every one to one and a half miles. This march lasted for six

hours, during which we covered seven miles five hundred and twenty-eight

yards.

On December 30 the ascent continued and the wind was still in the

"thirties." After several hours we overtopped the last terrace and stood

on flat ground--the crest of a ridge.

Tramping over the plateau, where reigns the desolation of the outer

worlds, in solitude at once ominous and weird, one is free to roam in

imagination through the wide realm of human experience to the bounds of

the great Beyond. One is in the midst of infinities--the infinity of the

dazzling white plateau, the infinity of the dome above, the infinity of

the time past since these things had birth, and the infinity of the time

to come before they shall have fulfilled the Purpose for which they were

created. We, in the midst of the illimitable, could feel with Marcus

Aurelius that "Of life, the time is a point."

By 9 A.M. we had accomplished a splendid march of fifteen miles three

hundred and fifty yards, but the satisfaction we should have felt at

making such an inroad on the huge task before us was damped by the fact

that I suddenly became aware that Mertz was not as cheerful as usual.

I was at a loss to know the reason, for he was always such a bright and

companionable fellow.

At 10.15 P.M. the sky had become overcast, snow was falling and a strong

wind was blowing. We decided to wait for better conditions.

On New Year's Eve at 5.30 A.M. the wind was not so strong, so we got up

and prepared for the start.

Mertz said that he felt the dogs' meat was not doing him much good and

suggested that we should give it up for a time and eat a small ration

of the ordinary sledging food, of which we had still some days'

supply carefully husbanded. I agreed to do this and we made our first

experiment on that day. The ration tasted very sweet compared with dogs'

meat and was so scanty in amount that it left one painfully empty.

The light was so atrocious for marching that, after stumbling along for

two and a half miles, we were obliged to give up the attempt and camp,

spending the day in sleeping-bags.

In the evening at 9.30 P.M. the sun appeared for a brief moment and the

wind subsided. Another stage was therefore attempted but at considerable

cost, for we staggered along in the bewildering light, continually

falling over unseen sastrugi. The surface was undulating with a tendency

to down grades. Two sets of sastrugi were found crossing one another,

and, in the absence of the sun, we could not be sure of the course, so

the camp was pitched niter five miles.

"January 1, 1913.--Outside, an overcast sky and falling snow. Mertz was

not up to his usual form and we decided not to attempt blundering along

in the bad light, believing that the rest would be advantageous to him.

"He did not complain at all except of the dampness of his sleeping-bag,

though when I questioned him particularly he admitted that he had pains

in the abdomen. As I had a continuous gnawing sensation in the stomach,

I took it that he had the same, possibly more acute.

"After New Year's Day he expressed a dislike to biscuit, which seemed

rather strange. Then he suddenly had a desire for glaxo and our small

store was made over to him, I taking a considerable ration of the dogs'

meat in exchange.

"It was no use, however, for when we tried to cover a few more miles

the exertion told very heavily on him, and it was plain that he was in a

more serious condition than myself.

"January 2.--The same abominable weather. We eat only a few ounces of

chocolate each day.

"January 3.--In the evening the sky broke and the sun looked through the

clouds. We were not long in packing up and getting on the way. The night

was chilly and Mertz got frost-bitten fingers, so camp was pitched after

four miles one thousand two hundred and thirty yards.

"January 4.--The sun was shining and we had intended rising at 10 A.M.,

but Mertz was not well and thought that the rest would be good for him.

I spent the time improving some of the gear, mending Mertz's clothing

and cooking a quantity of the meat.

"January 5.--The sky was overcast, snow was falling, and there was

a strong wind. Mertz suggested that as the conditions were so bad we

should delay another day.

"Lying in the damp bags was wretched and was not doing either of us any

good, but what was to be done? Outside, the conditions were abominable.

My companion was evidently weaker than I, and it was apparently quite

true that he was not making much of the dogs' meat.

"January 6.--A better day but the sky remained overcast. Mertz agreed to

try another stage."

The grade was slightly downhill and the wind well behind. Unfortunately

the surface was slippery and irregular and falls were frequent. These

told very much upon my companion until, after consistently demurring,

he at last consented to ride on the sledge. With the wind blowing behind

us, it required no great exertion to bring the load along, though it

would often pull up suddenly against sastrugi. After we had covered two

and a half miles, Mertz became so cold through inaction in the wind that

there was nothing to do but pitch the tent.

Mertz appeared to be depressed and, after the short meal, sank back into

his bag without saying much. Occasionally, during the day, I would ask

him how he felt, or we would return to the old subject of food. It

was agreed that on our arrival on board the 'Aurora' Mertz was to make

penguin omelettes, for we had never forgotten the excellence of those we

had eaten just before leaving the Hut.

Reviewing the situation, I found that we were one hundred miles

south-east of Winter Quarters where food and plenty awaited us. At

the time we had still ordinary rations for several days. How short a

distance it would seem to the vigorous, but what a lengthy journey for

the weak and famished!

The skin was peeling off our bodies and a very poor substitute remained

which burst readily and rubbed raw in many places. One day, I remember,

Mertz ejaculated, "Just a moment," and, reaching over, lifted from my

ear a perfect skin-cast. I was able to do the same for him. As we never

took off our clothes, the peelings of hair and skin from our bodies

worked down into our under-trousers and socks, and regular clearances

were made.

During the evening of the 6th I made the following note in my diary:

"A long and wearisome night. If only I could get on; but I must stop

with Xavier. He does not appear to be improving and both our chances are

going now."

"January 7.--Up at 8 A.M., it having been arranged last night that we

would go on to-day at all costs, sledge-sailing, with Xavier in his bag

on the sledge." It was a sad blow to me to find that Mertz was in a weak

state and required helping in and out of his bag. He needed rest for a

few hours at least before he could think of travelling. "I have to turn

in again to kill time and also to keep warm, for I feel the cold very

much now."

"At 10 A.M. I get up to dress Xavier and prepare food, but find him in a

kind of fit." Coming round a few minutes later, he exchanged a few words

and did not seem to realize that anything had happened. "... Obviously

we can't go on to-day. It is a good day though the light is bad, the

sun just gleaming through the clouds. This is terrible; I don't mind for

myself but for others. I pray to God to help us."

"I cook some thick cocoa for Xavier and give him beef-tea; he is better

after noon, but very low--I have to lift him up to drink."

During the afternoon he had several more fits, then became delirious and

talked incoherently until midnight, when he appeared to fall off into a

peaceful slumber. So I toggled up the sleeping-bag and retired worn out

into my own. After a couple of hours, having felt no movement from my

companion, I stretched out an arm and found that he was stiff.

My comrade had been accepted into "the peace that passeth all

understanding." It was my fervent hope that he had been received where

sterling qualities and a high mind reap their due reward. In his life we

loved him; he was a man of character, generous and of noble parts.

For hours I lay in the bag, rolling over in my mind all that lay behind

and the chance of the future. I seemed to stand alone on the wide shores

of the world--and what a short step to enter the unknown future!

My physical condition was such that I felt I might collapse in a moment.

The gnawing in the stomach had developed there a permanent weakness, so

that it was not possible to hold myself up in certain positions. Several

of my toes commenced to blacken and fester near the tips and the nails

worked loose.

Outside, the bowl of chaos was brimming with drift-snow and I wondered

how I would manage to break and pitch camp single-handed. There appeared

to be little hope of reaching the Hut. It was easy to sleep on in the

bag, and the weather was cruel outside. But inaction is hard to brook,

and I thought of Service's lines:

Buck up, do your damndest and fight,

It's the plugging away that will win you the day.

If I failed to reach the Hut it would be something done to reach some

prominent point likely to catch the eye of a search party, where a cairn

might be erected and our diaries cached. And so I commenced to modify

the sledge and camping gear to meet fresh requirements.

The sky remained clouded, but the wind fell off to a calm which lasted

for several hours. I took the opportunity to set to work on the sledge,

sawing it in halves with a pocket tool. A mast was made out of one of

the rails of the discarded half of the sledge and a spar was cut

from the other rail. The sledge-meter, very much battered, was

still serviceable. Lastly, the load was cut down to a minimum by the

elimination of all but the barest necessities.

Late on the evening of the 8th I took the body of Mertz, wrapped up

in his sleeping-bag, outside the tent, piled snow blocks around it and

raised a rough cross made of the two half-runners of the sledge.

On January 9 the weather was overcast and fairly thick drift was flying

in a wind reaching about fifty miles an hour. As certain matters still

required attention and my chances of re-erecting the tent were rather

doubtful, if I had decided to move on, the start was delayed.

"I read the Burial Service over Xavier this afternoon. As there is

little chance of my reaching human aid alive. I greatly regret inability

at the moment to set out the detail of coastline met with for three

hundred miles travelled and observations of glacier and ice-formations,

etc.; the most of which latter are, of course, committed to my head.

"The approximate location of the camp is latitude 68 degrees 2' S.,

longitude 145 degrees 9' E. This is dead reckoning, as the theodolite

legs have been out of action for some time, splinted together to form

tent-props. I believe the truth lies nearer latitude 67 degrees 57' S.,

longitude 145 degrees 20' E., as the wind must have drifted us to the

north."

During the afternoon I cut up Mertz's burberry jacket and roughly sewed

it to a large canvas clothes-bag, making a sail which could be readily

set or furled, so as to save delay in starting out or in camping.

January 10 was an impossible day for travelling on account of thick

drift and high wind. I spent part of the time in reckoning up the amount

of food remaining and in cooking the rest of the dogs' meat; the last

device enabling me to leave behind some of the kerosene, of which there

was still a good supply. Late in the afternoon the wind fell and the

sun peered amongst the clouds just as I was in the middle of a long job

riveting and lashing the broken shovel.

It was on January 11--a beautiful, calm day of sunshine--that I set out

over a good surface with a slight down grade. From the start my feet

felt lumpy and sore. They had become so painful after a mile of walking

that I decided to make an examination of them on the spot, sitting in

the sun on the sledge. The sight of my feet gave me quite a shock, for

the thickened skin of the soles had separated in each case as a complete

layer, and abundant watery fluid had escaped into the socks. The new

skin underneath was very much abraded and raw.

I did what appeared to be the best thing under the stances: smeared

the new skin with lanoline, of which there was a good store, and with

bandages bound the skin soles back in place, as they were comfortable

and soft in contact with the raw surfaces. Outside the bandages I wore

six pairs of thick woollen socks, fur boots and a crampon over-shoe

of soft leather. Then I removed most of my clothing and bathed in

the glorious heat of the sun. A tingling sensation seemed to spread

throughout my whole body, and I felt stronger and better.

When the day commenced with ideal weather I thought I would cover a

long distance, but at 5.30 P.M., after six and a quarter miles, I felt

nerve-worn and had to camp, "so worn that had it not been a delightful

evening, I should not have found strength to erect the tent."

Though the medical outfit was limited, there were a fair number of

bandages and on camping I devoted much time to tending raw patches all

over the body, festering fingers and inflamed nostrils.

High wind and much drift put travelling out of the question on January

12, and in any case my feet needed a rest.

"January 13.--The wind subsided and the snow cleared off at noon. The

afternoon was beautifully fine. Descended hard ice-slopes over many

crevasses--almost all descent--but surface cut my feet up; at 8 P.M.

camped, having done five and three-quarter miles--painful feet--on

camping find feet worse than ever; things look bad but shall persevere.

It is now 11 P.M. and the glacier is firing off like artillery--appears

to send up great jets of imprisoned air."

During the march Aurora Peak showed up to the west, about twenty miles

away, across the Mertz Glacier. I felt happy at thus fixing my position,

and at the sight of the far plateau which led onwards to Winter

Quarters.

The glacier was the next obstacle to advance. To the south-west it

descended from the plateau in immense broken folds. Pressing northward

it was torn into the jumbled crush of serac-ice, sparkling beneath

an unclouded sun. The idea of diverging to the west and rounding the

ice-falls occurred to me, but the detours involved other difficulties,

so I strove to pick out the best track across the valley.

A high wind which blew on the morning of the 14th diminished in strength

by noon and allowed me to get away. The sun was so warm that the

puckered ice underfoot was covered with a film of water and in some

places small trickles ran away to disappear into crevasses.

Though the course was downhill to the Mertz Glacier, the sledge required

a good deal of pulling owing to the wet runners. At 9 P.M., after

travelling five miles, I pitched camp in the bed of the glacier.

Between 9.30 P.M. and 11 P.M. the "cannonading" heard on the previous

night recommenced. The sounds, resembling the explosions of heavy guns,

usually started higher up the glacier and ended down towards the sea.

When I first heard them, I put my head outside the tent to see what was

going on. The reports came at random from every direction, but there was

no visible evidence as to how they were produced. Without a doubt they

had something to do with the re-freezing and splitting of the ice owing

to the evening chill; but the sounds seemed far too loud to be explained

by this cause alone.

January 15--the date on which all the summer sledging parties were due

at the Hut! It was overcast and snowing early in the day, and in a few

hours the sun broke out and shone warmly. The travelling was so heavy

over a soft snowy surface, partly melting, that I gave up, after one

mile, and camped.

At 7 P.M. the surface had not improved, the sky was thickly obscured and

snow fell. At 10 P.M. the snow was coming down heavily, and, since there

were many crevasses in the vicinity, I resolved to wait.

On the 16th at 2 A.M. the snow was as thick as ever, but at 5 A.M. the

atmosphere lightened and the sun appeared.

Without delay I broke camp. A favourable breeze sprang up, and with sail

set I managed to proceed through the snowy "deluge" in short stages. The

snow clung in lumps to the runners, which had to be scraped frequently.

I passed some broken ridges and sank into several holes leading down to

crevasses out of which it was possible to scramble easily.

After laboriously toiling up one long slope, I was just catching my

breath at the top and the sledge was running easily when I noticed

that the surface beneath my feet fell away steeply in front. I suddenly

realized that I was on the brink of a great blue hole like a quarry. The

sledge was following of its own accord and was rapidly gaining speed,

so I turned and, exerting every effort, was just able to hold it back

by means of the hauling-line from the edge of the abyss. I should think

that there must have been an interval of quite a minute during which I

held my ground without being able to make it budge. Then it slowly came

my way, and the imminent danger was past.

The day's march was an extremely hard five miles. Before turning in

I had an extra supper of jelly soup, made by boiling down some of the

dogs' sinews, strengthened with a little pemmican. The acute enjoyment

of eating under these circumstances compensates in a slight measure for

the suffering of starvation.

January 17 was another day of overcast weather and falling snow. Delay

meant a reduction in the ration which was low enough already, so there

was nothing to do but go on.

When I got away at 8 A.M. I found that the pulling was easier than it

had been on the previous day. Nevertheless I covered only two miles and

had to consider myself fortunate in not winding up the whole story then

and there. This is what happened, following the account in my diary.

"Going up a long, fairly steep slope, deeply covered with soft snow,

broke through lid of crevasse but caught myself at thighs, got out,

turned fifty yards to the north, then attempted to cross trend of

crevasse, there being no indication of it; a few moments later found

myself dangling fourteen feet below on end of rope in crevasse--sledge

creeping to mouth--had time to say to myself, 'so this is the end,'

expecting the sledge every moment to crash on my head and all to go to

the unseen bottom--then thought of the food uneaten on the sledge; but

as the sledge pulled up without letting me down, thought of Providence

giving me another chance." The chance was very small considering my

weak condition. The width of the crevasse was about six feet, so I hung

freely in space, turning slowly round.

A great effort brought a knot in the rope within my grasp, and, after a

moment's rest, I was able to draw myself up and reach another, and, at

length, hauled myself on to the overhanging snow-lid into which the rope

had cut. Then, when I was carefully climbing out on to the surface, a

further section of the lid gave way, precipitating me once more to the

full length of the rope.

Exhausted, weak and chilled (for my hands were bare and pounds of snow

had got inside my clothing) I hung with the firm conviction that all was

over except the passing. Below was a black chasm; it would be but the

work of a moment to slip from the harness, then all the pain and toil

would be over. It was a rare situation, a rare temptation--a chance to

quit small things for great--to pass from the petty exploration of a

planet to the contemplation of vaster worlds beyond. But there was all

eternity for the last and, at its longest, the present would be but

short. I felt better for the thought.

My strength was fast ebbing; in a few minutes it would be too late. It

was the occasion for a supreme attempt. New power seemed to come as I

addressed myself to one last tremendous effort. The struggle occupied

some time, but by a miracle I rose slowly to the surface. This time I

emerged feet first, still holding on to the rope, and pushed myself out,

extended at full length, on the snow--on solid ground. Then came the

reaction, and I could do nothing for quite an hour.

The tent was erected in slow stages and I then had a little food. Later

on I lay in the sleeping-bag, thinking things over. It was a time when

the mood of the Persian philosopher appealed to me:

Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,

Why fret about them if To-day be sweet?

I was confronted with this problem: whether it was better to enjoy life

for a few days, sleeping and eating my fill until the provisions gave

out, or to "plug on" again in hunger with the prospect of plunging at

any moment into eternity without the great luxury and pleasure of food.

And then an idea presented itself which greatly improved my prospects.

It was to construct a ladder from alpine rope; one end of which was to

be secured to the bow of the sledge and the other to be carried over

my left shoulder and loosely attached to the sledge harness. Thus, if

I fell into a crevasse again, it would be easy for me, even though

weakened by starvation, to scramble out again by the ladder, provided

the sledge was not also engulphed.

Notwithstanding the possibilities of the rope ladder, I could not sleep

properly at all; my nerves had been so overtaxed. All night considerable

wind and drift continued.

On the 19th it was overcast and light snow was falling. I resolved "to

go ahead and leave the rest to Providence."

As they wallowed through the deep snow my feet and legs kept breaking

through into space. Then I went right under, but the sledge was held

back and the ladder "proved trumps." A few minutes later I was down

again, but I emerged again without much exertion, half-smothered with

snow. Faintness overcame me and I stopped to camp, though only a short

distance had been covered.

All around me was a leaden glare, the snow clouds "corralling" me in.

The sun had not shown up for some days and I was eager to see it once

more, not only that it might show up the landscape, but for its cheerful

influence and life-giving energy. A few days previously my condition had

been improving, but now it was going back.

During the night of the 18th loud booming noises, sharp cracks and

muffled growls issued form the neighbouring crevasses and kept waking

me up. At times one could feel a vibration accompanying the growling

sounds, and I concluded that the ice was in rapid motion.

The sun at last appeared on the 19th, and I was off by 8.30 A.M. The

whole surface was a network of crevasses, some very wide. Along one

after another of these I dragged the sledge until a spot was reached

where the snow-bridge looked to be firm. Here I plunged across, risking

the consequences.

After three hours' marching nothing serious had happened and I found

myself on safer ground with a "pimply" surface visible ahead, close

under the slopes of the highlands. Once on this I became over-reliant,

and in consequence sank several times into narrow fissures.

At 1 P.M. the Mertz Glacier was at last crossed and I had reached the

rising hills on its western side. Overlooking the camp, five hundred

feet above the glacier, were beetling, crevassed crags, but I could

trace out a good road, free from pitfalls, leading to the plateau, at an

elevation of three thousand feet.

To lighten my load for the climb I threw away alpine rope, finnesko

crampons, sundry pairs of worn crampons and socks, while I rubbed a

composition on the sledge-runners which prevented them from sticking to

wet snow.

January 20 was a wretched day; overcast, with wind and light drift.

In desperation I got away at 2 P.M. in a wind which proved to be of

considerable assistance. I could see nothing of my surroundings; one

thing was certain, and that was that the ascent had commenced and every

foot took me upward. The day's work amounted to about two and a half

miles.

On the 21st the sun shone brightly and there was a good following wind.

Through deep snow I zigzagged up for three miles before deciding to

camp.

Wind and drift prevailed early on the 22nd but fell away towards noon,

and I was then favoured with a glorious sunny day. Away to the north

was a splendid view of the open sea; it looked so beautiful and friendly

that I longed to be down near it. Six miles had been covered during

the day, but I felt very weak towards the end on account of the heavy

pulling.

During the early hours of the 23rd the sun was visible, but about 8 A.M.

the clouds sagged low, the wind rose and everything became blotted out

in a swirl of driving snow.

I wandered on through it for several hours, the sledge capsizing at

times owing to the strength of the wind. It was not possible to keep an

accurate course, for even the wind changed direction as the day wore

on. Underfoot there was soft snow which I found comfortable for my sore

feet, but which made the sledge drag heavily at times.

When camp was pitched at 4 P.M. I reckoned that the distance covered in

a straight line had been three and a half miles.

Erecting the tent single-handed in the high wind was a task which

required much patience and some skill. The poles were erected first

and then the tent was gathered up in the proper form and taken to the

windward side of the legs where it was weighted down. The flounce on the

windward side was got into position and piled up with snow blocks. Other

blocks of snow had previously been placed in a ring round the legs in

readiness to be tumbled on to the rest of the flounce when the tent was

quickly slipped over the apex of the poles. In very windy weather it was

often as much as two hours after halting before I would be cosy within

the shelter of the tent.

High wind and dense driving snow persisted throughout the 24th and I

made five and a half miles, sitting on the sledge most of the time with

the sail up.

The blizzard continued on the 25th, but after the trying experience of

the previous two days, I did not feel well enough to go on. Outside, the

snow fell in "torrents," piled up round the tent and pressed in until it

was no bigger than a coffin, of which it reminded me.

I passed most of the day doctoring myself, attending to raw and inflamed

places. Tufts of my beard and hair came out, and the snowy floor of the

tent was strewn with it at every camp.

"January 26.--I went on again in dense, driving snow. There was no need

of the sail. The wind, which was behind, caught the sledge and bundled

it along so that, though over a soft surface of snow, the travelling was

rapid. The snow was in large, rounded grains, and beat on the tent like

hail. Altogether nine miles were covered.

"January 27.--Blizzard-bound again. The previous day's exertions were

too much for me to undertake the same again without a long rest.

"January 28,--In the morning the wind had moderated very much but the

sky remained overcast and snow continued to fall. It was a long job

digging the tent out. Soon after the start the sun gleamed and the

weather improved. The three-thousand-foot crest of the plateau had been

crossed and I was bearing down rapidly on Commonwealth Bay, the vicinity

of which showed up as a darker patch on the clouds of the north-west

horizon.

"The evening was fine and I really began to feel that Winter Quarters

were approaching. To increase my excitement Madigan Nunatak came into

view for a time in the clear, evening light. Distance covered, over

eight miles."

The calm of the previous evening was broken again, and I started on the

morning of January 29 in considerable drift and a fairly strong wind.

After going five miles I had miraculous good fortune.

I was travelling along on an even down grade and was wondering how long

the two pounds of food which remained would last, when something dark

loomed through the drift a short distance away to the right. All sorts

of possibilities fled through my mind as I headed the sledge for it. The

unexpected happened--it was a cairn of snow erected by McLean, Hodgeman

and Hurley, who had been out searching for us. On the top of the mound

was a bag of food, left on the chance that it might be picked up, while

in a tin was a note stating the bearing and distance of the mound from

Aladdin's Cave (E. 30 degrees S., distance twenty-three miles), that the

Ship had arrived at the Hut and was waiting, that Amundsen had reached

the Pole, and that Scott was remaining another year in Antarctica.

It was rather a singular fact that the search party only left this mound

at eight o'clock on the morning of that very day (January 29). It was

about 2 P.M. when I found it. Thus, during the night of the 28th, our

camps had been only about five miles apart.

With plenty of food, I speedily felt stimulated and revived, and

anticipated reaching the Hut in a day or two, for there was then not

more than twenty-three miles to cover. Alas, however, there was to be

another delay. I was without crampons--they had been thrown away on the

western side of Mertz Glacier--and in the strong wind was not able to

stand up on the slippery ice of the coastal slopes. The result was that

I sat on the sledge and ran along with the wind, nibbling at the food

as I went. The sledge made so much leeway that near the end of the day,

after fourteen miles, I reckoned that I had been carried to the east of

Aladdin's Cave. The course was therefore changed to the west, but the

wind came down almost broadside-on to the sledge, and it was swept away.

The only thing to do was to camp.

On the 30th I cut up the box of the theodolite and into two pieces

of wood stuck as many screws and tacks as I could procure from the

sledge-meter. In the repair-bag there were still a few ice-nails which

at this time were of great use. Late in the day the wind fell off, and

I started westward over the ice-slopes with the pieces of nail-studded

wood lashed to my feet.

After six miles these improvised crampons broke up, and the increasing

wind got me into difficulties. Finally, the sledge slipped sideways into

a narrow crevasse and was caught by the boom (which crossed from side to

side at the lower part of the mast). I was not strong enough for the job

of extricating it straight away, and by the time I had got it safely on

the ice, the wind had increased still more. So I pitched camp.

The blizzard was in full career on January 31 and I spent all day and

until late at night trying to make the crampons serviceable, but without

success.

On February 1 the wind and drift subsided late in the afternoon, and I

clearly saw to the west the beacon which marked Aladdin's Cave.

At 7 P.M. I reached this haven within the ice, and never again was I to

have the ordeal of pitching the tent. Inside the cave were three oranges

and a pineapple which had been brought from the Ship. It was wonderful

once more to be in the land of such things!

I waited to mend one of the crampons and then started off for the Hut;

but a blizzard had commenced. To descend the five miles of steep icy

slopes with my miserable crampons, in the weak state in which I found

myself, would only have been as a last resort. So I camped in the

comfortable cave and hoped for better weather next day.

The high wind, rising to a hurricane at times, continued for a whole

week with dense drift until the 8th. I spent the long hours making

crampons of a new pattern, eating and sleeping. Eventually I became so

anxious that I used to sit outside the cave for long spells, watching

for a lull in the wind.

At length I resolved to go down in the blizzard, sitting on the sledge

as long as possible, blown along by the wind. I was making preparations

for a start when the wind suddenly decreased and my opportunity had

come.

In a couple of hours I was within one mile and a half of the Hut. There

was no sign of the Ship lying in the offing, but I comforted myself

with the thought that she might be still at the anchorage and have swung

inshore so as to be hidden by the ice-cliffs, or on the other hand that

Captain Davis might have been along the coast to the east searching

there.

But even as I gazed about seeking for a clue, a speck on the north-west

horizon caught my eye and my hopes went down. It looked like a distant

ship; it might well have been the 'Aurora'. Well, what matter! the long

journey was at an end-a terrible chapter of my life was finished!

Then the rocks around Winter Quarters began to come into view, part

of the basin of the boat harbour appeared, and lo! there were human

figures! They almost seemed unreal--I was in a dream--but after a brief

moment one of them saw me and waved an arm, I replied, there was a

commotion and they all ran towards the Hut. Then they were lost, for

the crest of the first steep slope hid them. It almost seemed to me that

they had run away to hide.

Minutes passed, and I slowly went along with the sledge. Then a head

rose over the brow of the hill and there was Bickerton, breathless after

a long run. I expect he considered for a while which one of us it was.

Soon we had shaken hands and he knew all in a few brief words, and I

learned that the Ship had left earlier in the day. Madigan, McLean,

Bage and Hodgeman arrived, and then a new-comer--Jeffryes. Five men had

remained behind to make a search for our party, and Jeffryes was a new

wireless operator brought down by Captain Davis.

We were soon at the Hut where I found that full preparations had been

made for wintering a second year. The weather was calm and the Ship was

no distance away so I decided to recall her by wireless. The masts at

the Hut had been re-erected during the summer, and on board the 'Aurora'

Hannam was provided with a wireless receiving set. Jeffryes had arranged

with Hannam to call up at 8, 9 and 10 P.M. for several evenings while

the 'Aurora' was "within range" in case there were any news of my party.

A message recalling the Ship was therefore sent off and repeated at

frequent intervals till past midnight.

Next morning there was a forty-mile wind when we went outside, but away

across Commonwealth Bay to the west the 'Aurora' could be seen close to

the face of the ice-cliffs. She had returned in response to the call and

was steaming up and down, waiting for the wind to moderate.

We immediately set to work getting all the records, instruments and

personal gear ready to be taken down to the boat harbour in anticipation

of calm weather during the day.

The wind chose to continue and towards evening was in the sixties, while

the barometer fell. During the afternoon Hodgeman went across to the

western ridge and saw that the Ship was still in the Bay. The sea was so

heavy that the motor-boat could never have lived through it.

That night Jeffryes sent another message, which we learned afterwards

was not received, in which Captain Davis was given the option of

remaining until calm weather supervened or of leaving at once for the

Western Base. I felt that the decision should be left to him, as he

could appreciate exactly the situation of the Western Base and what the

Ship could be expected to do amid the ice at that season of the year.

The time was already past when, according to my written instructions

left for him on arrival at Commonwealth Bay, the 'Aurora' should sail

west to relieve Wild and his party.

On the morning of the 10th there was no sign of the Ship and evidently

Captain Davis had decided to wait no longer, knowing that further delay

would endanger the chances of picking up the eight men who had elected

to winter on the shelf-ice one thousand five hundred miles to the

west. At such a critical moment determination, fearless and swift, was

necessary, and, in coming to his momentous decision, Captain Davis acted

well and for the best interests of the Expedition.

A long voyage lay before the 'Aurora' through many miles of ice-strewn

sea, swept by intermittent blizzards and shrouded now in midnight

darkness. We still fostered the hope that the vessel's coal-supply would

be sufficient for her to return to Adelie Land and make an attempt to

pick us up. But it was not to be.

The long Antarctic winter was fast approaching and we turned to meet it

with resolution, knowing that if the 'Aurora' failed us in early March,

that the early summer of the same year would bring relief.

CHAPTER XIV THE QUEST OF THE SOUTH MAGNETIC POLE

Dr. R. BAGE

Send me your strongest, those who never fail.

I'm the Blizzard, King of the Southern Trail!

Sledging song.

On the afternoon of November 10, at Aladdin's Cave, after a convivial

hoosh, Webb, Hurley and I said good-bye to Dr. Mawson's party and

made off south for the eleven and three-quarter mile cave where our

Supporting Party, Murphy, Hunter and Laseron, were waiting for us. At

7 P.M. we started almost at a run over the smooth ice, to the

accompaniment of hearty cheers from Dr. Mawson, Ninnis, and Mertz; two

of whom we were never to see again.

Half a mile of this easy going, and we were on snow for the first time

with a loaded sledge. Uphill snow, too, and the wind rising, so it was

no small relief when we finally made the Cathedral Grotto at 11.30 P.M.,

and found Murphy's tent pitched alongside it. The wind by this time

was about forty-five miles per hour and, it being nearly dusk, the

crevasses--a five-mile belt--had been fairly difficult to negotiate.

We soon had the cave clear of snow, had a good meal and then slept

the sleep of the just, feeling well content with the first day's

work--eleven and a half miles from home at an altitude of one thousand

nine hundred feet. We were off at last on a search for the Magnetic

Pole.

On the morrow some time was spent in rearranging the loads. Finally,

both parties moved off south into heavy wind and fairly thick drift.

What with the ground rising steadily, the pressure of the wind and our

lack of condition, two and a quarter hours of solid work realized only

two and a quarter miles; so we decided to camp.

All the night it blew hard, between seventy and eighty miles per hour,

and next day it was still blowing and drifting heavily. Our tent was

a good deal smaller than Murphy's, and, as Webb and Hurley are

both six-footers, we always had to put all gear outside when the

sleeping-bags were down. This is really a good thing when the weather is

bad, as one is not tempted to stay in the bag all the time.

Early in the afternoon as we were all feeling hungry and had been in

bags long enough to feel cold, although the weather was quite warm (10

degrees F.), we rolled bags, and, when our frozen burberrys were once

fairly on, quite enjoyed ourselves. After a boil-up and a few minutes'

"run" round in the drift and wind, we did some stitching on our light

drill tent, which was making very heavy weather of it, although pitched

close under the lee of Murphy's strong japara tent. A little reading,

some shouted unintelligible conversation with the other tent, another

boil-up, and, last but not least, a smoke, found us quite ready for

another sleep.

Next day (November 13), the wind having dropped to thirty-five miles

per hour, we set out about 11 A.M. in light drift. The sky was still

overcast, so the light was very trying. In the worst fogs at home one

can at any rate see something of the ground on which one is treading;

in Adelie Land, even when the air was clear of snow, it was easy to bump

against a four-foot sastruga without seeing it. It always reminded me

most of a fog at sea: a ship creeping "o'er the hueless, viewless deep."

When 6 P.M. arrived we had only covered five and a half miles, but

were all thoroughly exhausted and glad to camp. Lunch had been rather

barbarously served in the lee of the sledge. First came plasmon biscuit,

broken with the ice-axe into pieces small enough to go into the mouth

through the funnel of a burberry helmet; then followed two ounces of

chocolate, frozen rather too hard to have a definite taste; and finally

a luscious morsel--two ounces of butter, lovingly thawed-out in the

mouth to get the full flavour. Lunches like these in wind and drift are

uncomfortable enough for every one to be eager to start again as soon as

possible.

By nine o'clock that night the wind had increased to a full gale. We

were in camp all the 14th and the 15th, the wind rising to eighty-five

miles per hour with very heavy drift during the small hours of the 15th.

This was its maximum, and by the afternoon it was down to about seventy

miles per hour with a clear sky and light drift. We donned our burberrys

(I should like to give Hurley's "Ode to a Frozen Burberry") and dug out

our sledges, both of which were completely buried in a ramp forty yards

long; the shovel projecting nine inches above the surface.

While we were engaged on this work, I overheard the following

conversation being shouted in the Supporting Party's tent:

FIRST VOICE. I'm hungry. Who will go out and get the food-bag?

SLEEPY VOICE. The food-weights ** are in the cooker.

FIRST VOICE. No they're not.

SLEEPY VOICE. Saw them there yesterday, must be somewhere in the tent.

FIRST VOICE. No they're not... I ate them last night.

** Until amounts were known by experience, rations were weighed by a

small balance whose various weights were small calico bags filled with

chocolate.

The exercise, a good hoosh and above all the clear sky made us take a

less morbid view of the fact that we were six days out from the Hut and

only nineteen and a half miles away.

Early on the 16th we could hear above the roar of the wind the drift

still hissing against the tent, but it had diminished by nine o'clock

breakfast.

By common consent it was agreed that our loads were too heavy for the

conditions under which we were working. I accordingly decided to drop

one hundred-pound bag. We had already saved nearly one week's food for

three men and had not yet worked up our full sledging appetites. The

bag was raised to the top of a six-foot snow mound, a thermograph being

placed alongside. As we now seemed to be on plateau snow, I thought it

wise to leave behind my heavy boots and Swiss crampons.

By 4 P.M. the wind had decreased to a light breeze. Work was very slow

on a steeper up grade, and at six o'clock clouds came up quickly

from the south-east and snow began to fall, so we camped at 7.30 P.M.

thoroughly tired out. At twenty-four and a half miles the altitude was

three thousand two hundred feet.

The snow was a false alarm. It ceased at 9 P.M. and the wind subsided to

a dead calm!!

Good headway was being made against a strong breeze next day, when

it was noticed that two gallons of kerosene were missing off the

supporters' sledge. While Murphy and Laseron went back two miles

to recover them, Webb secured a magnetic declination and I took sun

observations for time and azimuth.

We were off early on the 18th and for the first time were able to

appreciate the "scenery." Glorious sunshine overhead and all around

brilliant snow, dappled by livid shadows; very different from the

smooth, soft, white mantle usually attributed to the surface of

Antarctica by those in the homeland. Here and there, indeed, were

smooth patches which we called bowling-greens, but hard and slippery as

polished marble, with much the same translucent appearance. Practically

all the country, however, was a jumbled mass of small, hard sastrugi,

averaging perhaps a foot in height, with an occasional gnarled old

veteran twice as high. To either side the snow rolled away for miles.

In front, we made our first acquaintance with the accursed next ridge,

which is always ahead of you on the plateau. Generally we passed from

one ridge to another so gradually that we could never say for certain

just when we had topped one; still the next ridge was always there.

The weather had lately been colder with the increased altitude. The

temperature in daily range varied from -10 degrees F. to 9 degrees F.

It was so hot in the sun, on the 18th, that lunching inside the tent was

unbearable. We preferred its shadow outside in the breeze.

Wearing a minimum of clothes, we marched along gaily during the

afternoon. The country changed in a wonderful manner, the sastrugi

gradually becoming smaller and finally disappearing. The surface was so

soft that a bamboo would easily penetrate it for a foot. Evidently it

was fairly old and laid down in calm weather, for excavations showed

that it became more compact without any hard wind-swept layers marking

successive snowfalls.

It was proved that we were commencing a descent of one thousand five

hundred feet down the north side of a valley feeding the Mertz Glacier.

In order to explain the surface, smooth and unruffled by any wind, the

question arose as to whether it is possible that there is a cushion

of dead air more or less permanently over the north side of this

depression.

On the soft surface we were able to dispense with crampons. Hitherto, it

had been impossible to haul over a slippery surface in finnesko. Now we

felt as light as air and were vastly cheered when some one calculated

that the six of us were saving I don't know how many thousand

foot-pounds of work every mile. With a run of twelve miles we were

forty-two miles from Winter Quarters.

Another splendid day on the 19th. We had lunch in a curious cup-shaped

hollow, estimated to be two miles wide and one hundred and fifty feet

deep. Webb obtained here an approximate dip of 88 degrees 44',** a very

promising increase from the Hut (87 degrees 27').

** At the South Magnetic Pole the dip is 90 degrees.

[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]

Map showing track of the southern sledging party from the Main Base

Snow-blindness had now begun to make itself felt for the first time. I

for one had my first experience of it that afternoon. During the halt

at lunch I put on yellow goggles in place of the smoked ones I had been

wearing, and in a quarter of an hour the change of colour had 'settled'

my eyes for the time being.

The afternoon was very hot. The thermometer stood at 10 degrees F. at

4 P.M., but the still air made it almost insupportable. By the time

the load was hauled up out of the basin, we were streaming with

perspiration.

Before halting, we sighted a dark, distant ridge, thirty miles away,

and the course was corrected by its bearing. Our extravagant hopes of

finding a permanently calm region had been dwindling for the last few

miles, as a hard bottom, a few inches under the surface, had become

evident. They were finally dispelled by a south-west wind springing up

during the night.

As every one was beginning to feel the hard work after another

oppressive afternoon on the 20th, we decided to have an easy march next

day and to build our first depot. Of course we had hoped to have been

farther out before sending back the supporting party, but the weather

had settled the question.

On the 21st, taking things as easily as a thirty-five mile wind would

permit, we pulled on, up and down small undulations till 4 P.M. when we

encountered a small rise, with the next ridge a considerable distance

ahead. The depot was to be built here.

Webb at once proceeded to take full magnetic declination, time and

azimuth observations, Laseron recording for him. Murphy put in a

miserable hour over the primus melting snow. He was rather snow-blind

and his eyes must have contributed a good deal of water to the pot. The

water was poured into food-bags filled with snow, which were buried,

encircled by wire slings, in holes. Here they froze, making excellent

holdfasts for the depot flag. Depot flags had been exercising our

ingenuity for months before the start, ordinary forms being destroyed by

the wind in a few hours. Webb had finally built the perfect flag of

the wind-vane type: a V of pieces of blackened Venesta board with light

struts at the back and a piece of aeroplane tubing at the apex which

slipped over the bamboo pole. The pole, of two bamboos, stood sixteen

feet from the ground and was provided with two sets of flexible steel

stays. Close by, Hurley and Hunter had built a snow mound ten feet in

diameter and ten feet in height, finished off with a capping of snow

blocks wrapped in black bunting.

Next day it was blowing a little harder and the sky was overcast, snow

falling all day. What bad light means can be gathered from the fact that

Laseron on crawling out of the tent in the morning raised an alarm that

our tent had been blown away in the night. It turned out that our tent

was hidden by a mound which he could not see, though only about ten

yards from it.

I had been given the option of relieving the supporting party of any of

their gear I coveted and I used it freely. The sledgemeter was the first

thing commandeered, ours, made by Correll, having developed some slight

complaint in its interior. Their cooker, being in good condition, was

also taken. We all cast longing eyes at the roomy wind-proof tent but

finally decided that it was too heavy--forty pounds as against our own

of twenty-six pounds, including tent and poles.

At 7 P.M. we said good-bye to our supporters, Hurley exposed the last

plate of his big reflex camera, which they carried back to the Hut, and

a few minutes later Webb, Hurley, and I were standing alone watching

three black specks disappearing in the drift; a stiff wind helping them

along in great style. We were left to our own resources now, for better

or for worse. "Weird" is how I described my feelings in the diary.

The same night it blew a hurricane and only dropped to sixty miles per

hour during the 23rd, compelling us to remain in camp. Not an ideal

birthday for Webb, but we made the most of it. I quote from my diary:

"Turned out and rolled bags at 3 P.M. for lunch, for which we opened a

wee tin of bacon ration brought for the occasion. Had some extra lumps

of sugar (collared from the eleven-mile cave) in our tea. After the wine

had been round (i.e. after a special second cup of tea), I gave Eric

a pair of stockings from Murphy, and then 'Hoyle' and I smoked a cigar

each which Webb produced. Dinner at 7 was also a special affair as we

had the remains of the bacon ration in the hoosh, with great effect.

Also an extra strong brew of cocoa boiled quite smooth. Burberrys on and

a stroll outside in the wind for a yard or two to get up a circulation;

then into bag where I am smoking a plebeian pipe which is very tame

after the glories of the day, especially as I suspect my tobacco of

being a bit damp."

Such was the first of the two "auspicious occasions" we had on the

journey.

After going carefully through the gear, we discarded a pickaxe, one

pair of big spiked boots and some odd clothing. We also decided, as

the probability of leisure was not great, to leave our reading matter

behind. It was with regret that I added my little 'Virginibus Puerisque'

to the small pile of "rejects." The load now amounted to seven hundred

and forty-eight pounds in all. Not many days after, the floor-cloth

(eight pounds) was left behind, as the japara sail afforded ample

protection from damp in the low temperatures of the plateau.

The dip-circle, which was to yield the most important result of our

journey, was housed after much thought on a conveniently shaped kerosene

tray between the tins of oil. Four light leather straps, buckled

tightly, made a solid mass of tray, oil tins, and dip-circle; very safe,

and easy to undo.

My orders were to proceed inland, due south, taking magnetic,

geographical, meteorological, and such other observations as were

possible, returning to the Hut not later than January 15. Dr. Mawson had

left it to my discretion, in the event of any great change occurring in

the declination, to go either true or magnetic south.

At the Hut and up to about sixty miles south of it, the declination had

proved fairly constant, but now at the Southern Cross Depot, as we

had christened the sixty-seven-mile camp, the compass, from pointing a

little to the east of south, had travelled to 40 degrees east of

south, so that it became obvious that there was considerable magnetic

disturbance in the country over which we were travelling. Whether

we went south or south-east seemed unlikely to affect the value of

geographical and other information we might gather, while Webb was of

the opinion that the best magnetic results would be obtained by

marching directly towards the Magnetic Pole, particularly if there were

disturbances over the intervening area. For these reasons the course was

maintained magnetic south.

At 11 A.M. on Sunday, November 24, we moved off to the south-east in a

wind of fifty miles an hour. The light was bad, and steering had to be

done by sastrugi and wind. However, momentary glimpses of the sun served

to check the course. The lunch camp was five miles from the depot, and

a good mound with a top of black bunting was left there. At almost every

halt, thus far on our journey, the snow cut for pitching the tent had

been gathered up into a mound which, in addition to forming a landmark,

could often be used as a back-mark for checking the course. Our depot

thus had a mound four miles on the southern and five miles on the

northern side of it. It was not marked as well as I had hoped, but under

the circumstances we could not do better. Moreover, at intervals during

the day, some very distinctive snow ramps had appeared in the valley,

some five miles to the north-east, and their position was fixed relative

to the course.

Our hopes for a good afternoon were disappointed, as the wind and drift

came up again as strong as ever. The surface, too, grew worse; nothing

but sastrugi eighteen inches to thirty inches high and very close

together. We were marching a little to the east of the wind, and the

sledge was continually blown sideways, making considerable leeway. By

8.30 P.M. it was blowing sixty miles per hour, so we halted, thoroughly

tired out, having hauled our one-third of a ton eight and three-quarter

miles.

When it is blowing hard, the end of the day's march is not the end of

the day's work. As soon as a camping spot has been chosen, the sledge

is pulled round head to wind. The straps round the load are loosened

carefully, the shovel and tent removed and the straps retightened. One

man starts breaking out chunks of snow, experimenting until he finds a

place where large pieces come away readily. Lumps of forty pounds are

the handiest and quickest, but often only smaller ones can be obtained.

These are arranged in a circle round the tent-site, while the man with

the tent places it on the ground pointing upwind, the bottom of the

poles being just where the middle windward leg will be, and makes a hole

for that leg.

When everything is ready, all three catch hold of the tent, one man

crawling half into it, gripping hard the leather loop on the windward

leg. The others sort out and grip their two side legs. "All ready? Up!"

It almost takes one's breath away, the roar and the flap! The side legs

are quickly separated as the tent rises, and before it can blow over,

the leeward legs are more or less in position, taking the strain. The

centre man is throwing all his weight on to the leather loop, while the

other two outside each holds down his windward pole with one hand and

with the other pulls blocks of snow on to the skirt to windward. Once

this is done, the rest is simple: cutting holes in just the right

positions for the other legs, pulling out the skirt and making it snug

all round. Then in goes the floor-cloth, and, by the time that is

spread out properly, the primus and cooker are passed in. The cooker is

dissected and the two water vessels passed out to be filled with snow.

The cook will have hard work to get the primus started if he does not

shield the spirit flame from the wind, which blows through the tent, by

putting the whole lamp inside the big cooker lid.

In come the pots filled with lumps of snow. The food tank is placed just

outside the entrance, and the proper food-bags for the meal are passed

in to the cook, the tank being retied to keep out drift. The cooker

will now be going at full pressure, and the cook is ready to receive

the gear. Sleeping-bags, "computation bag," hypsometer, "meat block" (a

three-inch-square paper pad on which meteorological notes were taken);

clothes-bag opened, three ditty-bags passed in and bag retied; a final

temperature taken and aneroid read; sledge anchored securely by tow-rope

to the ice-axe, and a final look round to see all gear is safely

strapped down and snow-tight.

In calm weather, camping is a very different thing. On a fine day, half

an hour after the halt would usually find us carefully scraping the last

of the hoosh out of our pannikins, ready for the cocoa.

At the seventy-six-mile camp we tried the experiment of a break-wind.

The tent was so small and light that it was necessary to protect it in

the heavy winds. Hurley and I took about three-quarters of an hour to

build the first one, but later we improved, getting into the knack of

hewing snow with a sharp-pointed shovel.

That night in bag I wrote: "The result of the breakwind is that for once

we have the wind bluffed. It is blowing seventy-five miles per hour--a

full hurricane--but all the viciousness is taken out of the flapping and

there will be no damage done to the tent by morning."

The wind was too strong for travelling early in the day (November 25).

While outside we suddenly observed two snow petrels. It was hard to

realize that they had actually flown seventy-six miles inland to a

height of two thousand four hundred and fifty feet. I dashed inside for

the fishingline; Hurley got out the camera. They were a beautiful sight,

hovering with outspread wings just above the snow, tipping it with their

feet now and then, to poise without a flutter in a sixty-five-mile gale.

Hurley secured a couple of "snaps" at the expense of badly frost-bitten

hands. Just as I arrived with the line hooked and baited, the birds flew

away to the north-east; our visions of fresh meat went with them. The

line was always ready after this.

Towards evening the wind dropped suddenly to twenty miles per hour.

Our camp was stationed on the southern side of the large valley we had

entered on the 18th, and we could identify the ridge crossed on that

date, blue and dim, forty miles away to the north. To the north-east

could be seen a distinct dip in the skyline, indicating the bed of the

valley, on whose northern side the dip met the higher skyline in a

steep bluff, twenty-five miles off. This bluff under the glasses was of

heavily crevassed, blue ice.

The wind did not rise again much until 10 P.M., when we had moved on

seven and a half miles, rising about three hundred feet over several

ridges and practically losing our view to the north.

A steady breeze on the 26th, and, on the whole, good light, allowed us

to make twelve miles.

Each day, now, Webb took an approximate magnetic dip and declination in

the lee of the break-wind. This was necessary in order to get some

idea of local disturbances. Also, it gave us some vague idea as to the

direction in which lay the South Magnetic Pole. For instance, at the

eighty-three-and-three-quarter-mile camp, the needle showed the Pole to

be 18 degrees east of true south, while at our lunch camp that day, six

miles farther on, it was given as 50 degrees east of south. The dip was

so great that our prismatic compass would not set closer than about 15

degrees, but the long compass needle of the dip-circle, though of course

sluggish, continued to give excellent results.

Under these conditions it is obvious that the magnetic needle is quite

useless for steering purposes. The sun compass proved itself a more than

efficient substitute. On a snowfield there is usually a total absence of

landmarks of any kind, so the direction of wind, sastrugi, or perhaps

a low cloud is found with the sun-compass, frequently checked, and the

course kept accordingly. On camping we would generally carefully note

the direction in which the sledge was left, in case the next day proved

overcast. Thus we would march in the morning by the wind's direction

till the sun, gleaming through the clouds for a few moments, enabled us

to use the compass again.

Sastrugi, only six inches high, seen on the 26th, showed the effects of

wind-erosion exquisitely. In an individual case the windward end of a

sastruga might be completely undercut for six or nine inches, leaving

a hard crust, sometimes only one-eighth of an inch in thickness and a

couple of inches wide. This would sag downwards under its own weight in

a fine curve till the tip rested on the snow beneath. It is marvellous

how such a delicate structure can withstand the heavy wind.

November 27 proved a very hard day. The wind kept up sixty miles per

hour all the time, so that, after taking four hours to do four and

three-quarter miles, we were all thoroughly exhausted. It was not a

great run, but the century was hoisted--one hundred and three-quarter

miles by sledge-meter; altitude two thousand nine hundred feet. There

was a mild celebration that night over a square of butter-scotch and

half an ounce of chocolate, besides the regular hoosh and cocoa.

Next day the light was very bad and the wind fifty miles per hour.

Observations were therefore made inside the tent. Webb, Hurley and

the instrument occupied all available space, while I spent three hours

digging a shaft eight feet deep in the snow, taking temperatures every

foot. It appeared that the mean annual temperature of the snow was

approximately -16 degrees F.

The dip was 88 degrees 54'; certainly rather too large a rise from 88

degrees 20' of twenty miles back. The declination had actually changed

about 80 degrees in the last ten miles. This one-hundred-mile station

was badly disturbed. From the evidence, it is possible that a subsidiary

"pole" or area of almost vertical dip may exist close by this spot to

the west or south-west.

Going straight up wind into a "blow" which varied from forty to fifty

miles per hour, we were able to make eight miles after the previous

day's rest. At lunch a hole was dug five feet square and two feet deep.

It served three purposes. First, it gave a good shelter for a longitude

observation; secondly, with the mast, yard and floor-cloth we converted

it into a shelter snug enough to house the primus and to lunch

comfortably; and thirdly, a mound was left as a back-mark which was

picked up on the return journey.

By experience we found that a warm lunch and a rest enabled one to "peg"

along a good deal farther than would otherwise be possible.

The "scenery" in the afternoon became if possible more desolate--very

few new sastrugi, the surface appearing generally old and pitted. In

some places it was rotten and blown away, disclosing coarse granulated

substrata. At the top of one ridge the snow merged into neve split into

small crevasses, nine inches wide and four or five yards apart. The camp

was pitched, here, at 11 P.M. The latitude was 68 degrees 32' S., and we

saw the midnight sun for the first time that summer, about one-quarter

of its rim remaining above the horizon.

A full hurricane came up and kept between fifty and sixty miles per hour

all day on the 30th. Before moving off, Webb found that the magnetic

needle had "waltzed" back 60 degrees since the one-hundred-mile camp,

now pointing 80 degrees east of south. Still, to allow the needle to

makeup its mind, we steered into the wind at 2 P.M., losing the neve and

meeting very rough country. By 6 P.M., with four miles to our credit, we

were nearly played out. It was being discussed whether we should go

on when the discovery was made that the theodolite legs were missing;

probably having slipped out in one of the numerous capsizes of the

sledge.

The solemn rites of "shut-eye" determined that Webb was to stay and make

camp while Hurley and I retraced our steps. It was no easy matter to

follow the trail, for on hard snow the sledge runners leave no mark,

and we had to watch for the holes of the crampon-spikes. About two and

a half miles back, the legs were found, and there only remained a hard

"plug" against the wind to camp and hoosh.

While we were lying half-toggled into the sleeping-bags, writing our

diaries, Hurley spent some time alternately imprecating the wind and

invoking it for a calm next day. As he said, once behind a break-wind

one could safely defy it, but on the march one is much more humble.

Whether it was in honour of Queen Alexandra's birthday, or whether

Hurley's pious efforts of the evening before had taken effect, December

1 turned out a good day. By noon, the wind had dropped sufficiently for

us to hoist the Jack and Commonwealth Ensign for the occasion.

After four miles of battling, there came into sight a distinct ridge,

ten miles to the west and south--quite the most definitely rising ground

observed since leaving the coast. In one place was a patch of immense

crevasses, easily visible to the naked eye; in another, due south, were

black shadows, and towards these the course was pointed.

At a point more than one hundred and twenty-five miles from the sea, a

skua gull paid an afternoon call, alighting a few yards from the track.

I immediately commenced to stalk it with a fishing-line, this time all

ready and baited with pemmican. However, it was quite contemptuous,

flying off to the south-south-east as far as we could follow it. Was it

taking a short cut to the Ross Sea?

December 2 saw us through "Dead-Beat Gully" to a rise, in sight of the

shadows towards which we had been steering. Two miles away they appeared

like the edge of the moon seen through a large telescope. The

shadows were due to large mounds of snow on the south side of a steep

escarpment. Three main prominences were cross-connected with regular

lines of hillocks, giving the impression of a subdivided town-site. The

low evening sun threw everything up in the most wonderful relief.

On the morning of the 3rd we were in a valley running west-north-west

and east-south-east. The southern side rose steeply and from it

projected three large mounds, about two hundred feet from the bottom of

the valley, into which they fell just like tailings-heaps from a mine.

They were christened "The Nodules."

Going due south uphill over neve we found ourselves in a regular network

of crevasses. They were about ten feet wide and well bridged. Most

noticeable were "hedges" of ice up to six feet in height on either side

of the crevasses which ran southward. It was now nearly calm and

in every crack and chink in the snow-bridges beautiful fern-like

ice-crystals were seen. These must have been just forming, as a very

light puff of wind was seen to destroy many of them.

We spent three hours exploring the locality. On nearing the top of the

ridge, roped together, we found that the crevasses were becoming much

wider, while the "hedges" were disappearing. The centre "nodule" was

found to be immediately north or to the leeward of the intersection of

two crevasses, each about forty feet wide. The bridge of one crevasse

had dropped some thirty feet for a length of eighty yards. Doubtless, an

eddy from this hole accounts for the deposit of snow and, by accretions,

for the erection of the nodule. Webb went down at the end of the alpine

rope and found the bridge below quite solid.

For about half a mile the summit of the slope was practically level,

three hundred feet above the bed of the valley. The surface was still of

neve, intersected by canals forty, sixty and eighty feet wide, in which

the snow-bridge was generally four or five feet from the brink.

On the south-west horizon, perhaps twenty miles away, was a salient

crest streaked by three dark vertical bars; evidently another crevassed

area.

Returning to the sledge, we toggled-on and worked it up over the top of

the ridge, much regretting that time would not allow us to examine the

other two large "nodules." Hurley was in the lead, lengthening his line

by thirty feet of alpine rope, but even then all three of us and the

sledge were often on the lid of a crevasse. Luckily, the lids were

fairly sound, and none of us went in beyond the waist. Finally, the

trail emerged on to ordinary sastrugi once more, where a halt was made

for lunch. We were all glad to have seen the place, but I think none of

us has any wish to see another like it.

That night, after following the magnetic needle towards the south-east,

we were fairly on the plateau at one hundred and forty miles, with

an altitude of four thousand four hundred feet. The dip, however, had

steadily decreased, standing now at 88 degrees 30'. There was some

consolation in the hope that a big, sudden rise was stored up for us

somewhere along the way ahead.

December 4 and 5 were fine days, giving only twenty-two miles, as we

met with a rough surface; a large quantity of very hard, razor-backed

sastrugi, generally about two feet high, like groined vaulting inverted,

on a small scale. Sledge and sledge-meter both had a very rough passage.

The sledge, for instance, balances itself on the top of a sastruga for a

moment, with an ominous bend in the runners, crashes down the slope and

jams its bow into the next one, from which it has to be lifted clear.

During this run the needle again misbehaved itself, changing its

direction some 85 degrees in ten miles, but by the night of the 5th

we were getting past the disturbed locality and the dip had increased

considerably.

For the first time on the trip the wind veered round to the south-east.

Snow had fallen overnight (December 5) and had drifted in long ramps

diagonally across the sastrugi. In two and a half hours we covered two

and a quarter miles, blindly blundering in an uncertain light among

crests and troughs and through piles of soft, new snow. Then we stopped;

Webb filling in the afternoon with a full set of dip observations.

That night the break-wind played its one possible trick. Waking on the

8th, we found that the heavy snowfall, with only a moderate wind, had

drifted us up. Of course Hurley and I, who slept on the 'outsides,' had

known it most of the night. Before we could extricate ourselves from the

bags Webb had to turn out from the middle to dig away the drift which

was weighing down the walls of the tent on top of us.

It was hopeless weather for travelling. In the afternoon a snow cave was

dug, seven feet deep and enlarged to seven feet square at the bottom.

The whole was covered with mast, yard and sail. It was very snug from

the outward aspect, but we soon found that there were two objections to

the "Sarcophagus," as it was named. There was very little light except a

ghastly blue half-tone filtering through the snow, and the place was not

over warm, surrounded by walls at a much lower temperature than that of

the surface.

Webb commenced a declination "quick-run," consisting of half-hourly

observations of the direction in which the compass was pointing. In

ordinary latitudes, during the day, the compass needle moves over a

few minutes of arc, but here, being so close to the Magnetic Pole, its

movement is greatly magnified, the range being about 5 degrees on

this occasion. Webb carried on readings till midnight, and at 4 A.M.,

December 9, I turned out, being relieved at 8 A.M. by Hurley, who

carried on until the twenty-four hours were completed. This observation

should be especially valuable when it is compared with continuous

magnetic records obtained at the same time at Winter Quarters and by the

Scott expedition at McMurdo Sound.

It was not till 1.30 P.M. on December 10 that the sixty-mile wind had

subsided sufficiently for us to get away. Every yard of our quota of

seven miles was hard going. A fine example of a typical old sastruga was

passed on the way. In order to secure a photograph of it, Hurley had

to waste eighteen films before he could persuade one to pull into place

correctly. The film-packs had been carefully kept in an airtight tin,

but the cold was too much for them. The tags which should pull each film

round from the back to the front of the pack usually tore away with a

small piece of film. In fact, out of one hundred and twenty films only

forty-five exposures were made.

On the 11th a good deal of "piecrust" cut down the day's march to eight

and a half miles. Sledge runners are usually supported by this surface,

but one's feet break through in a most annoying and tiring manner. The

drift eased off for a few hours and we managed to dry some of our gear.

At the Sarcophagus, things which had all been wet enough before became

saturated with drift which turned to ice. Felt mitts are perhaps the

worst in this respect, and it is no exaggeration to say that you could

easily brain a man with one after it had been worn in drift for a couple

of days.

That night I decided that one more day must see us at our depot.

Allowing three days' grace for contingencies, there were thirty-one days

for us to attain our farthest southerly point and back to the Hut.

On the 12th we planned to reach a spot for the depot, two hundred

miles out, and by 11.30 P.M. came on a fine site at one hundred and

ninety-nine and three-quarter miles; altitude four thousand eight

hundred and fifty feet, latitude 69 degrees 83.1' south; longitude

140 degrees 20' east. Everything possible was left behind, the

sledge-decking being even cut away, until only three light bamboo slats

remained. A pile, including ten days' food and one gallon of kerosene,

was placed on a small mound to prevent it being drifted over. A few

yards distant rose a solid nine-foot cairn surmounted by a black

canvas-and-wire flag, six feet higher, well stayed with steel wire.

I took on food for seventeen days, three days more than I intended to

be out, partly so that we could keep on longer if we found we could

make very fast time, and also as a safeguard against thick weather when

returning to the depot.

Late in the evening we set off against a stiff breeze. The sledge ran

lightly for three and a half miles, and we camped. The depot showed up

well in the north-west as a bright golden spot in the low midnight sun.

Next day the piecrust was so bad that, despite the lessened load, we

only covered twelve miles. The surface was smoothly polished, and we

either crashed through it from four inches to a foot or else slipped and

came down heavily on knees, elbow, or head. New finnesko were largely

responsible for such an accident.

At 11 P.M. a remarkable ramp, five chains long, was passed. On its

windward side was a tangled cluster of large sastrugi. They made one

imagine that the wind, infuriated at finding a block of snow impeding

its progress, had run amok with a giant gouge, endeavouring to pare it

down. Every now and then, the gouge, missing its aim, had taken great

lateral scoops from the surface, leaving trenches two and three feet

deep.

In bags that night we had a talk (not the first by any means) over

our prospects. Up to the one hundred-and-seventy-four-mile camp, four

hundred miles seemed dimly possible, but now we saw we would be lucky to

reach three hundred miles. Moreover, the dip at this spot was 89 degrees

11', practically what it had been ever since one hundred and fifty

miles. Sixty-five miles for nothing! How far for the other forty-nine

minutes which were needed for a vertical dip and the South Magnetic

Pole? This problem was insoluble, so each toggled himself into his bag

in a rather depressed state of mind.

December 16 was a glorious day; only a fifteen-mile wind, and for ten

miles an improved surface. There was no drift, consequently opportunity

was taken to turn the sleeping bags inside out. They needed it, too. The

upper parts were not so bad as they had been propped open occasionally,

but the lower halves were coated with solid ice. For the first time for

weeks we did not wear burberrys, as the weather was so warm. Fourteen

miles was the total work, the previous day's being twelve.

All three of us were having trouble with snow-blindness; the "zinc and

cocaine" tabloids being in great demand.

Latitude 70 degrees south was passed on the 17th and we were another

fourteen miles to the good. The dip was on the increase 89 degrees 25'

and the declination swung to 40 degrees east of the magnetic meridian.

At two hundred and fifty-six miles the altitude was five thousand five

hundred feet.

The temperature was getting lower; the minimum being -21 degrees F.

on the night of the 17th, rising to a maximum of 3 degrees F. on the

following day.

There was dead calm and a regular heat wave on December 19. As the sun

rose higher and higher, the tent became absolutely oppressive. The rime

coating the walls inside thawed and water actually trickled into our

finnesko. Usually we awoke to find them frozen hard, just as we had

shaped them on the previous night, but on this particular morning they

were pathetically limp and wet. The temperature inside the tent was 66

degrees F., heated, of course, by the sun's rays which raised our black

bulb thermometer to 105 degrees F. We were not used to this sort of

thing and struggled out hurriedly for a breath of fresh air.

Once into harness, we began to feel the effects of exertion. By degrees

we got rid of our clothing, but unfortunately soon came to bedrock in

that respect, as the underclothing was sewn on and immovable. At lunch

time, with the thermometer at -2 degrees F. in the shade, we reluctantly

dressed knowing how soon we would cool off. About 9 P.M. clouds moved

over rapidly from the south-east and the landscape faded into the blank,

shadowless nothing of an overcast day. The camp was pitched at two

hundred and eighty-three miles amidst a jumble of ramps and sastrugi.

The dip had seen fit to rise to 89 degrees 35'.

In the morning the wind was doing thirty miles per hour, which certainly

seemed to be the normal thing. It fell to a nice sailing breeze, but,

at the time, we were not very appreciative of anything as the course

was uphill. Again, it was to be the last day's run, so we were "all out"

when the halt came after a good fifteen miles--the longest day's march

on the outward journey. Nevertheless, Webb unpacked the theodolite after

hoosh and took an altitude of the sun at midnight.

On December 21 the load on the sledge was stripped down to tent,

dip-circle, theodolite, cooker and a little food. For two and a half

miles we went south-east over rising ground until the sledge-meter

showed three hundred and one miles.

While Hurley and I pitched the tent, Webb built a breakwind for his

instrument fifty yards away. Then followed a long set of magnetic

observations. About 5 P.M. the magnetic work was interrupted; the

theodolite replacing the dip-circle on the legs, while I took a

longitude shot. I was seeing double, being slightly snow-blind, and had

some difficulty in choosing the correct combination from the assortment

of suns and cross-wires visible in the telescope. Setting the vertical

and horizontal wires simultaneously on the sun was beyond me; Webb

taking the observations for the true meridian, which also checked my

longitude shot.

Magnetic work under these conditions is an extremely uncomfortable

operation. Even a light wind will eddy round the break-wind, and it is

wind which makes low temperatures formidable. Nearly all the work has to

be done with bare fingers or thin instrument-gloves, and the time

taken is far greater than in temperate climates, owing to the fingers

constantly "going" and because of the necessity of continually freeing

the instrument from the condensed moisture of the breath. Considering

that the temperature was -12 degrees F. when he had finished his four

hours' work, it may be imagined that Webb was ready for his hot tea. The

dip proved to be 89 degrees 43.5', that is, sixteen and a half minutes

from the vertical. The altitude was just over five thousand nine hundred

feet, in latitude 70 degrees 36.5' south and longitude 148 degrees 10'

east.

After lunch the Union Jack and the Commonwealth Ensign were hoisted and

three cheers given for the King--willing but rather lonesome away out

there! We searched the horizon with glasses but could see nothing save

snow, undulating in endless sastrugi. To the south-east the horizon

was limited by our old enemy, "the next ridge," some two miles away.

We wondered what could be beyond, although we knew it was only the same

featureless repetition, since one hundred and seventy-five miles on the

same course would bring us to the spot where David, Mawson and Mackay

had stood in 1909.

After Hurley had taken a photograph of the camp, the tent was struck and

the sledge repacked. At last the sail was rigged, we gave a final glance

back and turned on the homeward trail.

My diary of that night sums up: "We have now been exactly six weeks on

the tramp and somehow feel rather sad at turning back, even though

it has not been quite a Sunday school picnic all along. It is a great

disappointment not to see a dip of 90 deg., but the time is too short

with this 'climate.' It was higher than we expected to get, after the

unsatisfactory dips obtained near the two-hundred-mile depot. The rate

of increase since that spot has been fairly uniform and indicates that

90 degrees might be reached in another fifty to sixty miles, if the same

rate held, and that means at least another week. It's no good thinking

about it for 'orders are orders.' We'll have our work cut out to get

back as it is. Twenty-five days till we are overdue. Certainly we have

twenty-three days' food, eight days' with us, ten days' at two hundred

miles, and five days' at sixty-seven miles, so with luck we should not

go hungry, but Webb wants to get five more full sets of dips if possible

on the way back, and this means two and a half days."

That night the minimum thermometer registered its lowest at -25 degrees

F. It was December 21 and Midsummer Day, so we concluded that the spot

would be a very chilly one in the winter.

At this juncture we were very short of finnesko. The new ones we had

worn since the two-hundred-mile camp had moulted badly and were now

almost "bald." The stitching wears through as soon as the hair comes off

and frequent mending is necessary.

We rose earlier than usual on the 22nd, so as to get more advantage from

the wind, which each evening had always tended to die down somewhat.

With forty-two square feet of sail, the twenty-mile wind was too much

for us, the sledge capsizing on the smallest pretext. Instead of

hanging the yard from the top of the mast, we placed it across the load,

reversing the sail and hooking the clews over the top of the mast. Three

or four pieces of lampwick at intervals served as reefing-points by

which the area of the sail could be quickly cut down by bunching the

upper part as much as was necessary.

During the day we frequently saw our tracks in patches of snow left

during a previous snowfall, but they were much eroded, although only

three days old. After sledging in Adelie Land it is hard to realize

that on certain parts of the Ross Barrier tracks a year old may remain

visible.

After passing the two-hundred-and-eighty-three-mile mound, the

sledge-meter became very sickly. Spoke after spoke had parted and we

saw that nothing we could do would make it last very much longer. As we

intended in one place to make a cross-country run of seventy miles, so

as to cut off the detour to the "Nodules," the meter was carried on the

sledge. We had now the mounds to check distances.

On December 23 we were lucky enough to catch sight of the

two-hundred-and-sixty-nine-mile mound and later the one at two hundred

and sixty-one miles, though there was a good deal of drift. The day's

run was twenty and a half miles.

A thing which helped us unexpectedly was that, now with the wind behind,

we found it unnecessary to wear the stiff, heavy, frozen, burberry

trousers. Thick pyjama trousers took their place in all except the worst

weather.

At our old two-hundred-and-forty-nine-mile camp, Webb took a complete

set of magnetic observations and another time-shot for watch-rate. It

was late when these were over, so we did only two and a half miles more,

halting for Christmas Eve, well content with a run of fourteen miles in

addition to a set of observations.

On Christmas Day the country was very rough, making sailing difficult.

Still, eighteen and a half miles were left behind. The wind was

practically along the sastrugi and the course was diagonal to both. As

the sledge strikes each sastruga, it skids northwards along it to the

discomfort of the wheelers and the disgust of the leader.

For Christmas dinner that night we had to content ourselves

with revising the menu for the meal which was to celebrate the

two-hundred-mile depot. But now it was all pretty well mapped out,

having been matured in its finer details for several days on the march.

Hors d'oeuvre, soup, meat, pudding, sweets and wine were all designed,

and estimates were out. Would we pick up the depot soon enough to

justify an "auspicious occasion"?

Next day the wind was due south at thirty miles per hour. Dodging big

ramps and overturning on sastrugi, at the same time dragging well

upwind of the course to save leeway, twelve miles went by without the

two-hundred-and-fifteen-mile mound coming into sight. Finally, a search

with the glasses through falling snow revealed it a good two miles back.

As we particularly wanted some photos of the ramps at this camp, we made

across to it and had lunch there, Hurley exposing the last of the films.

At two hundred and nine miles "Lot's Wife" appeared--a tall, thin mound

which Hurley had erected during a lunch-camp on the way out.

On the 27th, with a thirty-five-mile wind and a good deal of drift, we

did not see the two-hundred-and-three-mile mound until we almost ran

into it. By three o'clock the great event occurred--the depot was found!

We determined to hold the Christmas feast. After a cup of tea and a bit

of biscuit, the rest of the lunch ration was put aside.

Webb set up his instrument in the lee of the big mound and commenced a

set of observations; I sorted out gear from the depot and rearranged the

sledge load; Hurley was busy in the tent concocting all kinds of dishes.

As the tableware was limited to three mugs and the Nansen cooker, we had

to come in to deal with each course the moment it was ready. Aiming at a

really high-class meal, Hurley had started by actually cleaning out the

cooker.

The absence of reindeer-hair and other oddments made everything taste

quite strange, though the basis was still the same old ration with a

few remaining "perks." After the "raisin gliders," soup and a good stiff

hoosh, Webb finished his observations while I recorded for him. It is

wonderful what sledging does for the appetite. For the first week of

the journey, the unaccustomed ration was too much for us; but now when

Hurley announced "Pudding!" we were all still ravenous. It was a fine

example of ye goode olde English plum-pudding, made from biscuit

grated with the Bonsa-saw, fat picked out of the pemmican, raisins and

glaxo-and-sugar, all boiled in an old food-bag.

This pudding was so filling that we could hardly struggle through a

savoury, "Angels on runners," and cocoa. There was a general recovery

when the "wine" was produced, made from stewed raisins and primus

alcohol; and "The King" was toasted with much gusto. At the first sip,

to say the least, we were disappointed. The rule of "no heel taps"

nearly settled us, and quite a long interval and cigars, saved up for

the occasion by Webb, were necessary before we could get courage enough

to drink to the Other Sledging Parties and Our Supporting Party.

The sun was low in the south when, cigars out and conversation lagging,

we finally toggled in for the finest sleep of the whole journey.

The cook, under a doubtful inspiration, broke forth, later on, into a

Christmas Carol:

I've dined in many places but never such as these-

It's like the Gates of Heaven when you find you've lost the keys.

I've dined with kings and emperors, perhaps you scarce believe;

And even they do funny things when round comes Christmas Eve.

I've feasted with iguanas on a lonely desert isle;

Once in the shade of a wattle by a maiden's winsome smile.

I've "grubbed" at a threepenny hash-house, I've been at a

counter-lunch,

Reclined at a clap-up cafe where only the "swankers" munch.

In short, I've dined from Horn to Cape and up Alaska-way

But the finest, funniest dinner of all was on that Xmas Day.

For the first ten miles on the afternoon of the 28th, the sail was

reefed down to prevent the sledge overrunning us on smooth patches. Not

far past the one-hundred-and-ninety-mile mound, which was missed in the

drift, we picked up some of the outward tracks--a bas-relief of three

footsteps and a yard of sledge-meter track, raised half an inch and

undercut by the wind. It was not very much, but quite a comfort when one

is navigating in blinding weather.

At 11.30 P.M. we had marched twenty-one miles, and both light and

surface were improving, so I proposed making a long run of it. Hurley

and Webb eagerly agreed, and we had a preparatory hoosh. Ten miles

scudded by monotonously without a sign of the mounds around the

one-hundred-and-seventy-mile camp. As we were in the vicinity of a point

where we had determined to diverge from our outward track, a course

was laid direct for the one-hundred-and-thirteen-mile mark. The

sledge-meter, which had been affixed, made its presence evident from

time to time by ringing like a cash register, as still another broken

spoke struck the forks. We would halt for a moment and extract the

remains. Out of the original thirty-six wire spokes, only twelve wire

and one wooden one remained. At 11.30 A.M. on December 29, a halt was

called and the sledge-meter was then lying over on its side with a

helpless expression. It indicated twenty-two miles, making, so we

thought, a total of forty-three miles in the twenty-two and a quarter

hours since leaving the depot. Observations for position next day proved

that in its dying effort it exaggerated the truth; the total run being

41.6 miles.

We were now well ahead of schedule time, there being four and a half

days' surplus food; above what was probably required to reach the

sixty-seven-and-a-half-mile depot. It was decided to hold three days of

this and to use one and a half days food as a bonus during the coming

week, as long as we were ahead of our necessary distance. The sledging

ration is quite enough to live on, but for the whole of the journey

we had felt that we could have done more distance on a slightly larger

ration. This may be partly explained by our comparatively high altitude.

Next morning the sledge-meter was cut away and stuck in the snow. It

looked very forlorn sitting askew in its forks, with a pair of worn-out

finnesko hanging over it.

After twelve miles with a favourable wind, Webb took more observations;

Hurley and I recording by turns. There were several small holes in the

tent which needed mending, and I experimented with adhesive plaster from

the medical kit with great success. Heated over a fusee and pressed hard

down between the bottoms of mugs, held outside and inside, the patches

adhered well and made a permanent job.

Early on December 31, 1912, snow was falling. The light gave Hurley an

attack of snow-blindness and a miserable day. Crampons were worn to give

some security to the foothold on the uneven track. The position, after

a trudge of fifteen miles, was estimated at five miles east of the

one-hundred-and-twenty-three-mile mound.

On New Year's Day, 1913, the wind was fresher and the surface improved.

Estimation placed us to the north of one hundred and thirteen miles, but

we were not hopeful in the light falling snow of seeing a mound. Soon,

however, the snow ceased, and Webb made out a hillock two miles ahead.

It was identified as the one at one hundred and nine miles.

It had been my turn to be snowblind. I was so bad that the only thing to

do was to camp or ride on the sledge. The trail changed here to straight

downwind, so Webb and Hurley undertook the job, hauling the sledge

with me as a passenger for three and a half miles to the

one-hundred-and-five-mile mound. It must have been a trying finish to a

run of twenty miles.

In spite of the spell, which was a sleepless one, I was no better in

the morning and again had to ride. The others pulled away for five miles

with a good helping wind, but in a provoking light. The camp was made

where the one-hundred-mile mound was judged to be. We spent longer

over lunch, hoping that the clouds would clear. At last we moved on, or

rather _I_ was moved on. After two miles the surface became heavier. My

eyes were better now on account of the rest and a snow "poultice" Webb

had invented. I harnessed-in for five miles over light, unpacked snow,

with piecrust underneath. The day's work was twelve miles.

The snow-clouds broke at noon on January 3, and a reliable latitude was

obtained. It agreed with our reckoning. Persevering over the same trying

surface as on the previous day, we sighted the ninety-mile-mound in the

rear as a rift broke in the sky. We must have passed a few hundred yards

from it.

We were still eleven miles from the depot, so at breakfast on the 4th

the rations were reduced by one-half to give plenty of time to locate

our goal. On the 4th the sky was clear, but surface drift prevented

us from seeing any mounds till, in the afternoon, the ramps near the

sixty-seven-mile depot were discovered in fitful glimpses. They bore

too much to the north, so we altered course correspondingly to the west,

camping in rising wind and drift, with great hopes for the morrow.

A densely overcast sky on the 5th; light snow falling! We moved on two

miles, but not being able to see one hundred yards, camped again;

then walking as far as seemed safe in various directions. One could do

nothing but wait for clear weather. The clouds lightened at 6 P.M. and

again at 9 P.M., when altitudes of the sun were secured, putting us four

miles south of the depot.

With only one chronometer watch, one has to rely entirely on dead

reckoning for longitude, the rate of a single watch being very variable.

The longitude obtained on this occasion from our latest known rate

moved us several miles to the east of the depot, so I concluded that

our distances since the camp at ninety miles had been overestimated, and

that we were probably to the south-east of it. Accordingly, we shifted

four miles to the north-west, but by this time it had again clouded over

and nothing could be seen.

On the 6th the sky was still overcast, but a lucky peep at noon aligned

us on the exact latitude of the depot. We walked east and west, but it

snowed persistently and everything was invisible.

It is weary work waiting in the tent for weather to improve. During this

time Hurley amused himself and us by composing a Christmas carol on the

Christmas dinner; a fragment from which has already appeared. I whiled

away a whole afternoon, cutting up the remains of two cigars which had

refused to draw. Sliced up with a pair of scissors and mixed with a few

of Hurley's cigarettes, they made very good smoking tobacco.

On the 7th the sky was immovable, and we trekked four miles due east,

camped once more and walked about without finding our goal.

I now decided that if the weather did not improve by the morning, we

should have to dash for the north. It was a risk, but matters were

coming to a serious pass. On broaching the subject to Webb and Hurley,

they unconditionally agreed with me.

At 3 A.M. the sky cleared rapidly and we turned out and saw the ramps

plainly to the east. Webb set up the theodolite while Hurley and I paced

out a half-mile base-line to find out the intervening distance. Just

as we got to the end of it, however, the clouds came over again and the

ramps faded.

There was only one thing for it now, and that was to make a break for

the coast. Of food, there was one full day's ration with enough pemmican

for half a hoosh, six lumps of sugar and nine raisins, rather the worse

for wear, oil for two days, and, last but not least, a pint of alcohol.

After four days on half-rations we felt fairly fit, thanks no doubt to

the good meals of the previous week.

There were sixty-seven miles to go, and in case we did not happen on

the narrow descent to the Hut, the food was apportioned to last for

five days. Everything unessential was stripped off the sledge, including

dip-circle, thermometers, hypsometer, camera, spare clothing and most of

the medical and repair kits.

At 7 A.M. we set off on the final stage of the journey. The sky was

densely overcast and snow was falling, but there was a strong wind

almost behind. We would march for an hour by my wrist-watch, halt for

five minutes and on again till all agreed that we had covered ten miles;

when it was lunch time. Each man's share of this consisted of one-third

of a biscuit, one-third of an ounce of butter and a drink made of a

spoonful of glaxo-and-sugar and one of absolute alcohol, mixed in a mug

of lukewarm water. We could not afford oil enough to do much more than

thaw the water, but the alcohol warmed us splendidly, enabling us to get

a good rest.

After an hour's spell we started again, luckily seeing just enough of

the sun to check the course. The wind grew stronger in the afternoon and

several times dense fog-banks drove down on us. Meeting one steep rise,

we sidled round it for what seemed hours, but my chief memory of that

afternoon was of the clouds of the northern horizon. They were a deep

bluish-grey colour--a typical "water-sky"--but I have never seen clouds

moving so fast. It was like trying to steer by one particular phase in a

kaleidoscope. When all were satisfied that twenty miles had been covered

we camped.

Dinner consisted of a very watery hoosh, followed up by a mug of alcohol

and water. We were all very thankful for the forethought of Dr. Mawson

in providing absolute alcohol for lighting the primus, instead of

methylated spirit.

Breakfast on the 9th was of about the same consistency as dinner on the

night before, except that cocoa replaced the alcohol. In fact, breakfast

was possibly even more watery, as I was in charge of the food-bag and

surreptitiously decided to make the rations last six days instead of

five.

This was the worst day's march of the journey. The wind was booming

along at sixty miles per hour with dense drift and falling snow. What

made it worse was that it came from the south-east, forcing us to pull

partly across it. I was the upwind wheeler and had to hitch on to the

side of the sledge to reduce the leeway as much as possible. The sledge

was being continually jammed into big, old, invisible sastrugi and we

fell about in the wind until crampons became absolutely necessary.

At 4 P.M. we were disgusted to find that the wind had veered to

south-by-east. So for possibly several hours we had been doing Heaven

only knows how many times the amount of work necessary, and for any time

up to four hours might have been marching three points off our course.

Being blown straight downwind, the sledge made rapid progress, and about

6 P.M. a halt was called for lunch. This was over almost as soon as

it was begun, but we had a good rest, sheltering ourselves with the

floor-cloth from the wind which blew through the tent.