“When I swung the thermometer this morning I looked and looked again, but unmistakably the temperature was +33 deg.F., above freezing point (out of the sun’s direct rays) for the first time since we came down here.  What this means to us nobody can conceive.  We try to treat it as a huge joke, but our wretched condition might be amusing to read of it later.  We are wet through, our tents are wet, our bags which are our life to us and the objects of our greatest care, are wet; the poor ponies are soaked and shivering far more than they would be ordinarily in a temperature fifty degrees lower.  Our sledges—­the parts that are dug out—­are wet, our food is wet, everything on and around and about us is the same—­wet as ourselves and our cold, clammy clothes.  Water trickles down the tent poles and only forms icicles in contact with the snow floor.  The warmth of our bodies has formed a snow bath in the floor for each of us to lie in.  This is a nice little catchwater for stray streams to run into before they freeze.  This they cannot do while a warm human lies there, so they remain liquid and the accommodating bag mops them up.  When we go out to do the duties of life, fill the cooker, etc., for the next meal, dig out or feed the ponies, or anything else, we are bunged up with snow.  Not the driving, sandlike snow we are used to, but great slushy flakes that run down in water immediately and stream off you.  The drifts are tremendous, the rest of the show is indescribable.  I feel most for the unfortunate animals and am thankful that poor old Victor is spared this.  I mended a pair of half mitts to-day, and we are having two meals instead of three.  This idleness when one is simply jumping to go on is bad enough for most, but must be worse for Captain Scott.  I feel glad that he has Dr. Bill (Wilson) in his tent; there is something always so reassuring about Bill, he comes out best in adversity."[216]

“Thursday, December 7.  Camp 30.  The storm continues and the situation is now serious.  One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day, so that we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals.  That is not the worst; with the help of the dogs we could get on, without doubt.  The serious part is that we have this morning started our Summit rations—­that is to say, the food calculated from the Glacier Depot has been begun.  The first supporting party can only go on a fortnight from this date and so forth."[217]

[Illustration:  A PONY CAMP ON THE BARRIER]

[Illustration:  THE DOG TEAMS LEAVING THE BEARDMORE GLACIER]

This day was just as warm, and wetter—­much wetter.  The temperature was +35.5 deg., and our bags were like sponges.  The huge drifts had covered everything, including most of the tent, the pony walls and sledges.  At intervals we dug our way out and dug up the wretched ponies, and got them on to the top again.  “Henceforward our full ration will be 16 oz. biscuit, 12 oz. pemmican, 2 oz. butter,