They had a terrible time from 80 deg. 30’ on to their last camp.  There Bill was very bad, and Birdie and the Owner had to do the camping.

And then, eleven miles from plenty, they had nine days of blizzard, and that was the end.

They had a good spread on their tent, and their ski-sticks were standing, but their ski were drifted up on the ground.

The tent was in excellent condition—­only down some of the poles there were some chafes.

They had been trying a spirit lamp when all the oil was gone.

At 88 deg. or so they were getting temperatures from -20 deg. to -30 deg..  At 82 deg., 10,000 feet lower, it was regularly down to -47 deg. in the night-time, and -30 deg. during the day:  for no explainable reason.

Bill’s and Birdie’s feet got bad—­the Owner’s feet got bad last.

It is all too horrible—­I am almost afraid to go to sleep now.

November 13.  Early morning. We came on just under seven miles with a very cold moist wind hurting our faces all the way.  We have left most of the provisions to pick up again.  We purpose going on thirteen miles to-morrow and search for Oates’ body, and then turn back and get the provisions back to Hut Point and see what can be done over in the west to get up that coast.

We hope to get two mules back to Hut Point.  If possible, we want to communicate with Cape Evans.

Atkinson has been quite splendid in this very trying time.

November 14.  Early morning. It has been a miserable march.  We had to wait some time after hoosh to let the mules get ahead.  Then we went on in a cold raw fog and some head wind, with constant frost-bites.  The surface has been very bad all day for the thirteen miles:  if we had been walking in arrowroot it would have been much like this was.  At lunch the temperature was -14.7 deg..

Then on when it was drifting with the wind in our faces and in a bad light.  What we took to be the mule party ahead proved to be the old pony walls 26 miles from One Ton.  There was here a bit of sacking on the cairn, and Oates’ bag.  Inside the bag was the theodolite, and his finnesko and socks.  One of the finnesko was slit down the front as far as the leather beckets, evidently to get his bad foot into it.  This was fifteen miles from the last camp, and I suppose they had brought on his bag for three or four miles in case they might find him still alive.  Half-a-mile from our last camp there was a very large and quite unmistakable undulation, one-quarter to one-third of a mile from crest to crest:  the pony walls behind us disappeared almost as soon as we started to go down, and reappeared again on the other side.  There were, I feel sure, other rolls, but this was the largest.  We have seen no sign of Oates’ body.

About half an hour ago it started to blow a blizzard, and it is now thick, but the wind is not strong.  The mules, which came along well considering the surface, are off their feed, and this may be the reason.