152 WITH SCOTT : THE SILVER LINING 



We now began to get among crevasses, though few were 

 visible through the thick sheet of snow. Quite suddenly 

 I slipped in to the thigh, and sounding with the ice-axe just 

 in front found two inches of snow over the crevasse and very 

 little more behind me. I was evidently standing in a narrow 

 bridge. At the same time Evans called out that he was over 

 another about fifteen feet behind, so that for a few moments 

 things were rather involved. He got back on to firmer 

 ground and hauled me back, and when we saw the surface 

 begin to cave in bodily we decided, in Evans' graphic language, 

 to "give it a miss." 



We seemed to be in the least impossible part of the pass, 

 and I could see plenty worse ahead. So I decided to abandon 

 this route and continue down the Ferrar to Butter Point, and 

 so reach the Koettlitz Glacier vid the Piedmont Glacier. 



During our absence Wright had also slipped into a cre- 

 vasse while fixing the stake nearest Cathedral Rocks. We 

 inspanned after lunch, and moved down the glacier to our 

 old camp at the mouth of the Ferrar. 



The morning of February 13 was bright and clear. We 

 could see no change in the sea-ice filling New Harbour where 

 we had crossed it a fortnight before. 1 therefore headed 

 south-east towards Butter Point. Here we had an experience 

 that might have ended our journey prematurely. 



We got along at a good rate for two miles, when Evans 

 drew my attention to something black sticking up in the ice 

 just ahead. 



We had noticed an unusual creaking sound, which I put 

 down to ice crystals falling, but this strange object demanded 

 investigation. I ran forward a little, and the black spike was 

 obviously the back fin of a killer whale. The creaking was 

 really a warning that the bay ice was on the move. Meanwhile 

 the ice I was on moved off with a jolt, a mark of attention 

 from the killer which we did not appreciate. However, I 

 jumped the three-foot crack which resulted, and we hastened 

 to the fixed ice nearly two miles south. It was a case of 

 "festina lente" We could not drag the heavy sledges more 

 than two miles an hour, and were continually crossing cracks 

 where the oozy snow and creaking showed how insecure 

 was our passage. Soon after we reached the Butter Point 

 piedmont the whole bay ice moved off in great floes to the 



