FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION 181 



patch of smooth snow towards Observation Hill, and made in 

 this direction. As we were not more than sixty feet above 

 sea-level, I judged this to be four miles off, which turned out 

 to be the case, though it took us nearly two days to reach it. 



We pulled in relays, doing one and a quarter miles with 

 the light sledge in less than an hour, and then returning for 

 the heavy sledge with some knowledge of the conditions 

 ahead. Twenty-five minutes took us back to the other sledge, 

 and sixty-five minutes more with the heavy sledge brought 

 our whole equipment one and a quarter miles nearer Hut 

 Point. 



Bad sandy patches still annoyed us, but the ice was 

 gradually becoming more level as we penetrated further south. 

 In the afternoon we did a longer relay, with less sand but 

 more snow. We had to cross several creeks, and had some 

 upsets, but at the end of our day's work a climb to a 

 pinnacle showed up smooth sea-ice no great distance ahead in 

 the direction of Tent Island. Six hours' hard work — largely 

 hand-hauling — had only given us three miles of progress. 

 However, we were able to enjoy the chocolate provided by 

 Evans in honour of his own birthday, and we christened the 

 camp Birthday Camp in consequence. 



I feel that I cannot more fittingly describe the last few 

 days of our First Journey than by transcribing my sledge 

 diary. The style is " choppy," but if the reader will picture 

 the conditions under which the journal was written he will 

 perhaps excuse lapses. We were now coasting the breaking 

 Barrier edge, just where Bowers's party had gone adrift a week 

 before (see p. 197). It was getting very cold, and we had 

 been sledging six weeks — over really awful surfaces since mid- 

 February — and were feeling stale and in need of some com- 

 fortable rest at night. 



"... Friday, March 10. — I am writing this on the morn- 

 ing of the 1 ith, after a rotten night. The tent is flapping and 

 C. S. W. wears a worried look as the icy aluminium pot 

 sticks to his finger. I have filled the cooker with powdered 

 snow. There is drift everywhere, an eighth of an inch thick 

 in C. S. W.'s bag, who got out to survey the scene. I have 

 a blistered ear, and am wet everywhere owing to perspiration. 

 There is no joy in us, though sounding merry. I slept on 

 the outside, where Debenham has slept hitherto. However, 



