Saturday, December 2.—­Camp 28.  Lat. 83 deg..  Started under very bad weather conditions.  The stratus spreading over from the S.E. last night meant mischief, and all day we marched in falling snow with a horrible light.  The ponies went poorly on the first march, when there was little or no wind and a high temperature.  They were sinking deep on a wretched surface.  I suggested to Oates that he should have a roving commission to watch the animals, but he much preferred to lead one, so I handed over Snippets very willingly and went on ski myself.  It was very easy work for me and I took several photographs of the ponies plunging along—­the light very strong at 3 (Watkins actinometer).  The ponies did much better on the second march, both surface and glide improved; I went ahead and found myself obliged to take a very steady pace to keep the lead, so we arrived in camp in flourishing condition.  Sad to have to order Victor’s end—­poor Bowers feels it.  He is in excellent condition and will provide five feeds for the dogs. (Temp. + 17 deg..) We must kill now as the forage is so short, but we have reached the 83rd parallel and are practically safe to get through.  To-night the sky is breaking and conditions generally more promising—­it is dreadfully dismal work marching through the blank wall of white, and we should have very great difficulty if we had not a party to go ahead and show the course.  The dogs are doing splendidly and will take a heavier load from to-morrow.  We kill another pony to-morrow night if we get our march off, and shall then have nearly three days’ food for the other five.  In fact everything looks well if the weather will only give us a chance to see our way to the Glacier.  Wild, in his Diary of Shackleton’s Journey, remarks on December 15, that it is the first day for a month that he could not record splendid weather.  With us a fine day has been the exception so far.  However, we have not lost a march yet.  It was so warm when we camped that the snow melted as it fell, and everything got sopping wet.  Oates came into my tent yesterday, exchanging with Cherry-Garrard.

The lists now:  Self, Wilson, Oates, and Keohane.  Bowers, P.O.  Evans, Cherry and Crean.

Man-haulers:  E. R. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, and Lashly.  We have all taken to horse meat and are so well fed that hunger isn’t thought of.

Sunday, December 3.—­Camp 29.  Our luck in weather is preposterous.  I roused the hands at 2.30 A.M., intending to get away at 5.  It was thick and snowy, yet we could have got on; but at breakfast the wind increased, and by 4.30 it was blowing a full gale from the south.  The pony wall blew down, huge drifts collected, and the sledges were quickly buried.  It was the strongest wind I have known here in summer.  At 11 it began to take off.  At 12.30 we got up and had lunch and got ready to start.  The land appeared, the clouds broke, and by 1.30 we were in bright sunshine.  We were off at 2 P.M., the land showing all round,