Wednesday, March 7.—­A little worse I fear.  One of Oates’ feet very bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave.  We still talk of what we will do together at home.

We only made 6 1/2 miles yesterday. (R. 49.) This morning in 4 1/2 hours we did just over 4 miles.  We are 16 from our depot.  If we only find the correct proportion of food there and this surface continues, we may get to the next depot [Mt.  Hooper, 72 miles farther] but not to One Ton Camp.  We hope against hope that the dogs have been to Mt.  Hooper; then we might pull through.  If there is a shortage of oil again we can have little hope.  One feels that for poor Oates the crisis is near, but none of us are improving, though we are wonderfully fit considering the really excessive work we are doing.  We are only kept going by good food.  No wind this morning till a chill northerly air came ahead.  Sun bright and cairns showing up well.  I should like to keep the track to the end.

Thursday, March 8.—­Lunch.  Worse and worse in morning; poor Oates’ left foot can never last out, and time over foot gear something awful.  Have to wait in night foot gear for nearly an hour before I start changing, and then am generally first to be ready.  Wilson’s feet giving trouble now, but this mainly because he gives so much help to others.  We did 4 1/2 miles this morning and are now 8 1/2 miles from the depot—­a ridiculously small distance to feel in difficulties, yet on this surface we know we cannot equal half our old marches, and that for that effort we expend nearly double the energy.  The great question is, What shall we find at the depot?  If the dogs have visited it we may get along a good distance, but if there is another short allowance of fuel, God help us indeed.  We are in a very bad way, I fear, in any case.

Saturday, March 10.—­Things steadily downhill.  Oates’ foot worse.  He has rare pluck and must know that he can never get through.  He asked Wilson if he had a chance this morning, and of course Bill had to say he didn’t know.  In point of fact he has none.  Apart from him, if he went under now, I doubt whether we could get through.  With great care we might have a dog’s chance, but no more.  The weather conditions are awful, and our gear gets steadily more icy and difficult to manage.  At the same time of course poor Titus is the greatest handicap.  He keeps us waiting in the morning until we have partly lost the warming effect of our good breakfast, when the only wise policy is to be up and away at once; again at lunch.  Poor chap! it is too pathetic to watch him; one cannot but try to cheer him up.

Yesterday we marched up the depot, Mt.  Hooper.  Cold comfort.  Shortage on our allowance all round.  I don’t know that anyone is to blame.  The dogs which would have been our salvation have evidently failed. [46] Meares had a bad trip home I suppose.

This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came from W.N.W. as we broke camp.  It rapidly grew in strength.  After travelling for half an hour I saw that none of us could go on facing such conditions.  We were forced to camp and are spending the rest of the day in a comfortless blizzard camp, wind quite foul. (R. 52.)