And now Bill was feeling terribly responsible for both of us.  He kept on saying that he was sorry, but he had never dreamed it was going to be as bad as this.  He felt that having asked us to come he was in some way chargeable with our troubles.  When leaders have this kind of feeling about their men they get much better results, if the men are good:  if men are bad or even moderate they will try and take advantage of what they consider to be softness.

The temperature on the night of July 7 was -59 deg..

On July 8 we found the first sign that we might be coming to an end of this soft, powdered, arrowrooty snow.  It was frightfully hard pulling; but every now and then our finnesko pierced a thin crust before they sank right in.  This meant a little wind, and every now and then our feet came down on a hard slippery patch under the soft snow.  We were surrounded by fog which walked along with us, and far above us the moon was shining on its roof.  Steering was as difficult as the pulling, and four hours of the hardest work only produced 11/4 miles in the morning, and three more hours 1 mile in the afternoon—­and the temperature was -57 deg. with a breeze—­horrible!

In the early morning of the next day snow began to fall and the fog was dense:  when we got up we could see nothing at all anywhere.  After the usual four hours to get going in the morning we settled that it was impossible to relay, for we should never be able to track ourselves back to the second sledge.  It was with very great relief that we found we could move both sledges together, and I think this was mainly due to the temperature which had risen to -36 deg..

This was our fourth day of fog in addition to the normal darkness, and we knew we must be approaching the land.  It would be Terror Point, and the fog is probably caused by the moist warm air coming up from the sea through the pressure cracks and crevasses; for it is supposed that the Barrier here is afloat.

I wish I could take you on to the great Ice Barrier some calm evening when the sun is just dipping in the middle of the night and show you the autumn tints on Ross Island.  A last look round before turning in, a good day’s march behind, enough fine fat pemmican inside you to make you happy, the homely smell of tobacco from the tent, a pleasant sense of soft fur and the deep sleep to come.  And all the softest colours God has made are in the snow; on Erebus to the west, where the wind can scarcely move his cloud of smoke; and on Terror to the east, not so high, and more regular in form.  How peaceful and dignified it all is.

That was what you might have seen four months ago had you been out on the Barrier plain.  Low down on the extreme right or east of the land there was a black smudge of rock peeping out from great snow-drifts:  that was the Knoll, and close under it were the cliffs of Cape Crozier, the Knoll looking quite low and the cliffs invisible, although they are eight hundred feet high, a sheer precipice falling to the sea.