There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down—­his fingers are badly blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent frost bites.  He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good sign.  I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the circumstances.  Oates gets cold feet.  One way and another, I shall be glad to get off the summit!  We are only about 13 miles from our ’Degree and half’ Depot and should get there to-morrow.  The weather seems to be breaking up.  Pray God we have something of a track to follow to the Three Degree Depot—­once we pick that up we ought to be right.

Wednesday, January 24.—­Lunch Temp. -8 deg..  Things beginning to look a little serious.  A strong wind at the start has developed into a full blizzard at lunch, and we have had to get into our sleeping-bags.  It was a bad march, but we covered 7 miles.  At first Evans, and then Wilson went ahead to scout for tracks.  Bowers guided the sledge alone for the first hour, then both Oates and he remained alongside it; they had a fearful time trying to make the pace between the soft patches.  At 12.30 the sun coming ahead made it impossible to see the tracks further, and we had to stop.  By this time the gale was at its height and we had the dickens of a time getting up the tent, cold fingers all round.  We are only 7 miles from our depot, but I made sure we should be there to-night.  This is the second full gale since we left the Pole.  I don’t like the look of it.  Is the weather breaking up?  If so, God help us, with the tremendous summit journey and scant food.  Wilson and Bowers are my standby.  I don’t like the easy way in which Oates and Evans get frostbitten.

Thursday, January 25.—­Temp.  Lunch -11 deg., Temp. night -16 deg..  Thank God we found our Half Degree Depot.  After lying in our bags yesterday afternoon and all night, we debated breakfast; decided to have it later and go without lunch.  At the time the gale seemed as bad as ever, but during breakfast the sun showed and there was light enough to see the old track.  It was a long and terribly cold job digging out our sledge and breaking camp, but we got through and on the march without sail, all pulling.  This was about 11, and at about 2.30, to our joy, we saw the red depot flag.  We had lunch and left with 9 1/2 days’ provisions, still following the track—­marched till 8 and covered over 5 miles, over 12 in the day.  Only 89 miles (geogr.) to the next depot, but it’s time we cleared off this plateau.  We are not without ailments:  Oates suffers from a very cold foot; Evans’ fingers and nose are in a bad state, and to-night Wilson is suffering tortures from his eyes.  Bowers and I are the only members of the party without troubles just at present.  The weather still looks unsettled, and I fear a succession of blizzards at this time of year; the wind is strong from the south, and this afternoon has been very helpful with the full sail.  Needless to say I shall sleep