114 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [February 



this hard surface? If so, we should have little difficulty in reach- 

 ing the Beardmore Glacier next year. 



We turn out of our sleeping-bags about 9 P.M. Somewhere 

 about 1 1.30 I shout to the Soldier ' How are things? ' There is 

 a response suggesting readiness, and soon after figures are busy 

 amongst sledges and ponies. It is chilling work for the fingers 

 and not too warm for the feet. The rugs come off the animals, 

 the harness is put on, tents and camp equipment are loaded on 

 the sledges, nosebags filled for the next halt; one by one the 

 animals are taken off the picketing rope and yoked to the sledge. 

 Oates watches his animal warily, reluctant to keep such a nervous 

 creature standing in the traces. If one is prompt one feels im- 

 patient and fretful whilst watching one's more tardy fellows. 

 Wilson and Meares hang about ready to help with odds and 

 ends. Still we wait: the picketing lines must be gathered up, 

 a few pony putties need adjustment, a party has been slow 

 striking their tent. With numbed fingers on our horse's bridle 

 and the animal striving to turn its head from the wind one 

 feels resentful. At last all is ready. One says ' All right, 

 Bowers, go ahead,' and Birdie leads his big animal forward, 

 starting, as he continues, at a steady pace. The horses have got 

 cold and at the word they are off, the Soldier's and one or two 

 others with a rush. Finnesko give poor foothold on the slippery 

 sastrugi, and for a minute or two drivers have some difficulty in 

 maintaining the pace on their feet. Movement is warming, and 

 in ten minutes the column has settled itself to steady marching. 



The pace is still brisk, the light bad, and at intervals one or 

 another of us suddenly steps on a slippery patch and falls prone. 

 These are the only real incidents of the march for the rest it 

 passes with a steady tramp and slight variation of formation. 

 The weaker ponies drop a bit but not far, so that they are soon 

 up in line again when the first halt is made. We have come to 

 a single halt in each half march. Last night it was too cold to 

 stop long and a very few minutes found us on the go again. 



As the end of the half march approaches I get out my whistle. 

 Then at a shrill blast Bowers wheels slightly to the left, his tent 

 mates lead still farther out to get the distance for the picket 

 lines; Oates and I stop behind Bowers and Evans, the two 

 other sledges of our squad behind the two other of Bowers'. 



