THE POLAR JOURNEY $33 



tend to prefer the pemmican this way. Marched for 5 

 hours this morning over a slightly better surface covered 

 with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge capsized twice ; we 

 pulled on foot, covering about 5-i miles. We are two pony 

 marches and 4 miles about from our depot. Our fuel dread- 

 fully 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 trudg- 

 ing is heavy, and the wind pierces our worn garments. The 

 others, all of them, are unendingly 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. hunch. We did a little better 

 with help of wind yesterday afternoon, finishing 9^ miles 

 for the day, and 27 miles from depot. 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 something 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 



