The small green tent and the great white road.

The whine of a dog and the neigh of our steeds.

The driving cloud of powdered snow.

The crunch of footsteps which break the surface crust.

The wind blown furrows.

The blue arch beneath the smoky cloud.

The crisp ring of the ponies’ hoofs and the swish of the following sledge.

The droning conversation of the march as driver encourages or chides his horse.

The patter of dog pads.

The gentle flutter of our canvas shelter.

Its deep booming sound under the full force of a blizzard.

The drift snow like finest flour penetrating every hole and corner—­flickering up beneath one’s head covering, pricking sharply as a sand blast.

The sun with blurred image peeping shyly through the wreathing drift giving pale shadowless light.

The eternal silence of the great white desert.  Cloudy columns of snow drift advancing from the south, pale yellow wraiths, heralding the coming storm, blotting out one by one the sharp-cut lines of the land.

The blizzard, Nature’s protest—­the crevasse, Nature’s pitfall—­that grim trap for the unwary—­no hunter could conceal his snare so perfectly—­the light rippled snow bridge gives no hint or sign of the hidden danger, its position unguessable till man or beast is floundering, clawing and struggling for foothold on the brink.

The vast silence broken only by the mellow sounds of the marching column.

Friday, February 3, 8 A.M.—­Camp 5.  Roused the camp at 10 P.M. and we started marching at 12.30.  At first surface bad, but gradually improving.  We had two short spells and set up temporary camp to feed ourselves and ponies at 3.20.  Started again at 5 and marched till 7.  In all covered 9 miles.  Surface seemed to have improved during the last part of the march till just before camping time, when Bowers, who was leading, plunged into soft snow.  Several of the others following close on his heels shared his fate, and soon three ponies were plunging and struggling in a drift.  Garrard’s pony, which has very broad feet, found hard stuff beyond and then my pony got round.  Forde and Keohane led round on comparatively hard ground well to the right, and the entangled ponies were unharnessed and led round from patch to patch till firmer ground was reached.  Then we camped and the remaining loads were brought in.  Then came the triumph of the snow-shoe again.  We put a set on Bowers’ big pony—­at first he walked awkwardly (for a few minutes only) then he settled down, was harnessed to his load, brought that in and another also—­all over places into which he had been plunging.  If we had more of these shoes we could certainly put them on seven out of eight of our ponies—­and after a little I think on the eighth, Oates’ pony, as certainly the ponies so shod would draw their loads over the soft snow patches without any difficulty.  It is trying to feel that so great a help to our work has been left behind at the station.