The work goes on very steadily—­the men are making crampons and ski boots of the new style.  Evans is constructing plans of the Dry Valley and Koettlitz Glacier with the help of the Western Party.  The physicists are busy always, Meares is making dog harness, Oates ridding the ponies of their parasites, and Ponting printing from his negatives.

Science cannot be served by ‘dilettante’ methods, but demands a mind spurred by ambition or the satisfaction of ideals.

Our most popular game for evening recreation is chess; so many players have developed that our two sets of chessmen are inadequate.

Friday, July 14.—­We have had a horrible fright and are not yet out of the wood.

At noon yesterday one of the best ponies, ‘Bones,’ suddenly went off his feed—­soon after it was evident that he was distressed and there could be no doubt that he was suffering from colic.  Oates called my attention to it, but we were neither much alarmed, remembering the speedy recovery of ‘Jimmy Pigg’ under similar circumstances.  Later the pony was sent out for exercise with Crean.  I passed him twice and seemed to gather that things were well, but Crean afterwards told me that he had had considerable trouble.  Every few minutes the poor beast had been seized with a spasm of pain, had first dashed forward as though to escape it and then endeavoured to lie down.  Crean had had much difficulty in keeping him in, and on his legs, for he is a powerful beast.  When he returned to the stable he was evidently worse, and Oates and Anton patiently dragged a sack to and fro under his stomach.  Every now and again he attempted to lie down, and Oates eventually thought it wiser to let him do so.  Once down, his head gradually drooped until he lay at length, every now and again twitching very horribly with the pain and from time to time raising his head and even scrambling to his legs when it grew intense.  I don’t think I ever realised before how pathetic a horse could be under such conditions; no sound escapes him, his misery can only be indicated by those distressing spasms and by dumb movements of the head turned with a patient expression always suggestive of appeal.  Although alarmed by this time, remembering the care with which the animals are being fed I could not picture anything but a passing indisposition.  But as hour after hour passed without improvement, it was impossible not to realise that the poor beast was dangerously ill.  Oates administered an opium pill and later on a second, sacks were heated in the oven and placed on the poor beast; beyond this nothing could be done except to watch—­Oates and Crean never left the patient.  As the evening wore on I visited the stable again and again, but only to hear the same tale—­no improvement.  Towards midnight I felt very downcast.  It is so very certain that we cannot afford to lose a single pony—­the margin of safety has already been far overstepped, we are reduced to face the circumstance that we must keep all the animals alive or greatly risk failure.