I06 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [February 



Impressions 



The seductive folds of the sleeping-bag. 



The hiss of the primus and the fragrant steam of the cooker 

 issuing from the tent ventilator. 



The small green tent and the great white road. 



The whine of a dog and the neigh of our steeds. 



The driving cloud of powdered snow. 



The crunch of footsteps which break the surface crust. 



The wind blown furrows. 



The blue arch beneath the smoky cloud. 



The crisp ring of the ponies' hoofs and the swish of the fol- 

 lowing sledge. 



The droning conversation of the march as driver encourages 

 or chides his horse. 



The patter of dog pads. 



The gentle flutter of our canvas shelter. 



Its deep booming sound under the full force of a blizzard. 



The drift snow like finest flour penetrating every hole and 

 corner flickering up beneath one's head covering, pricking 

 sharply as a sand blast. 



The sun with blurred image peeping shyly through the 

 wreathing drift giving pale shadowless light. 



The eternal silence of the great white desert. Cloudy 

 columns of snow drift advancing from the south, pale yellow 

 wraiths, heralding the coming storm, blotting out one by one 

 the sharp-cut lines of the land. 



The blizzard, Nature's protest the crevasse, Nature's pit- 

 fall that grim trap for the unwary no hunter could conceal 

 his snare so perfectly the light rippled snow bridge gives no 

 hint or sign of the hidden danger, its position unguessable till 

 man or beast is floundering, clawing and struggling for foothold 

 on the brink. 



The vast silence broken only by the mellow sounds of the 

 marching column. 



Friday, February 3, 8 A.M. Camp 5. Roused the camp at 

 10 P.M. and we started marching at 12.30. At first surface bad, 

 but gradually improving. We had two short spells and set up 

 temporary camp to feed ourselves and ponies at 3.20. Started 

 again at 5 and marched till 7. In all covered 9 miles. Surface 



