404 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [March 



and pemmlcan as last night — we pretend to prefer the pemmican 

 this way. Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly 

 better surface covered with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge cap- 

 sized twice; we pulled on foot, covering about 5^ miles. We 

 are two pony marches and 4 miles about from our depot. Our 

 fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier nearly done. It is 

 pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him; more hot 

 food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none of us 

 expected these terribly low temperatures, and of the rest of us 

 Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from his self- 

 sacrificing devotion in doctoring Oates' feet. We cannot help 

 each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We 

 get cold on the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind 

 pierces our warm garments. The others, all of them, are un- 

 endingly cheerful when in the tent. We mean to see the game 

 through with a proper spirit, but it's tough work to be pulling 

 harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long hours, and to 

 feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say ' God help 

 us ! ' and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though 

 outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, 

 not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of 

 running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this 

 time. 



Tuesday, March 6. — Lunch. We did a little better with 

 help of wind yesterday afternoon, finishing 93^ miles for the 

 day, and 27 miles from depot. (R.48.) But this morning 

 things have been awful. It was warm In the night and for the 

 first time during the journey I overslept myself by more than 

 an hour; then we were slow with foot gear; then, pulling with 

 all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance at rate 

 of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we had 

 to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is some- 

 thing less than 3^ miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining 

 now and the wind gone. Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on 

 the sledge when we are track-searching — he is wonderfully 

 plucky, as his feet must be giving him great pain. He makes 

 no complaint, but his spirits only come up in spurts now, and he 

 grows more silent in the tent. We are making a spirit lamp 

 to try and replace the primus when our oil is exhausted. It will 

 be a very poor substitute and we've not got much spirit. If 



