384 THE END OF THE WINTER 



the vapour over the dogs that one could not see one 

 team from the next, though the sledges were being 

 driven close to one another. 



On the 12th it was - 61'6 F., with a breeze dead 

 against us. This was undeniably bitter. It was easy 

 to see that the temperature was too much for the dogs; 

 in the morning, especially, they were a pitiful sight. 

 They lay rolled up as tightly as possible, with their 

 noses under their tails, and from time to time one could 

 see a shiver run through their bodies; indeed, some of 

 them were constantly shivering. We had to lift them 

 up and put them into their harness. I had to admit 

 that with this temperature it would not pay to go on; 

 the risk was too great. We therefore decided to drive 

 on to the depot in 80 S., and unload our sledges there. 

 On that day, too, we made the awkward discovery that 

 the fluid in our compasses had frozen, rendering them 

 useless. The weather had become very thick, and we 

 could only guess vaguely the position of the sun. Our 

 progress under these circumstances was very doubtful; 

 possibly we were on the right course, but it was just as 

 probable nay, more so that we were off it. The best 

 thing we could do, therefore, was to pitch our camp, 

 and wait for a better state of things. We did not 

 bless the instrument-maker who had supplied those 

 compasses. 



It was 10 a.m. when we stopped. In order to have a 

 good shelter for the long day before us, we decided to 



