It is desirable that the body should work, feed and sleep at regular hours, and this is too often forgotten when sledging.  But just now we found we were unable to fit 8 hours marching and 7 hours in our sleeping-bags into a 24-hour day:  the routine camp work took more than 9 hours, such were the conditions.  We therefore ceased to observe the quite imaginary difference between night and day, and it was noon on Friday (July 7) before we got away.  The temperature was -68 deg. and there was a thick white fog:  generally we had but the vaguest idea where we were, and we camped at 10 P.M. after managing 13/4 miles for the day.  But what a relief.  Instead of labouring away, our hearts were beating more naturally:  it was easier to camp, we had some feeling in our hands, and our feet had not gone to sleep.  Birdie swung the thermometer and found it only -55 deg..  “Now if we tell people that to get only 87 degrees of frost can be an enormous relief they simply won’t believe us,” I remember saying.  Perhaps you won’t but it was, all the same:  and I wrote that night:  “There is something after all rather good in doing something never done before.”  Things were looking up, you see.

Our hearts were doing very gallant work.  Towards the end of the march they were getting beaten and were finding it difficult to pump the blood out to our extremities There were few days that Wilson and I did not get some part of our feet frost-bitten.  As we camped, I suspect our hearts were beating comparatively slowly and weakly.  Nothing could be done until a hot drink was ready—­tea for lunch, hot water for supper.  Directly we started to drink then the effect was wonderful:  it was, said Wilson, like putting a hot-water bottle against your heart.  The beats became very rapid and strong and you felt the warmth travelling outwards and downwards.  Then you got your foot-gear off—­puttees (cut in half and wound round the bottom of the trousers), finnesko, saennegrass, hair socks, and two pairs of woollen socks.  Then you nursed back your feet and tried to believe you were glad—­a frost-bite does not hurt until it begins to thaw.  Later came the blisters, and then the chunks of dead skin.

Bill was anxious.  It seems that Scott had twice gone for a walk with him during the Winter, and tried to persuade him not to go, and only finally consented on condition that Bill brought us all back unharmed:  we were Southern Journey men.  Bill had a tremendous respect for Scott, and later when we were about to make an effort to get back home over the Barrier, and our case was very desperate, he was most anxious to leave no gear behind at Cape Crozier, even the scientific gear which could be of no use to us and of which we had plenty more at the hut.  “Scott will never forgive me if I leave gear behind,” he said.  It is a good sledging principle, and the party which does not follow it, or which leaves some of its load to be fetched in later is seldom a good one:  but it is a principle which can be carried to excess.