“Monday, March 12. We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our necessary average.  Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much, and now with hands as well as feet pretty well useless.  We did 4 miles this morning in 4 hours 20 min.—­we may hope for 3 this afternoon 7 x 6 = 42.  We shall be 47 miles from the depot.  I doubt if we can possibly do it.  The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and our physical condition running down.  God help us!  Not a breath of favourable wind for more than a week, and apparently liable to head winds at any moment.”

“Wednesday, March 14. No doubt about the going downhill, but everything going wrong for us.  Yesterday we woke to a strong northerly wind with temp. -37 deg..  Couldn’t face it, so remained in camp till 2, then did 51/4 miles.  Wanted to march later, but party feeling the cold badly as the breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and as the sun sank the temp. fell.  Long time getting supper in dark.

“This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed another cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W. by S. or W.S.W., blew through our wind-clothes and into our mitts.  Poor Wilson horribly cold, could [not] get off ski for some time.  Bowers and I practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last we were all deadly cold.  Then temp. now mid-day down -43 deg. and the wind strong.  We must go on, but now the making of every camp must be more difficult and dangerous.  It must be near the end, but a pretty merciful end.  Poor Oates got it again in the foot.  I shudder to think what it will be like to-morrow.  It is only with greatest pains rest of us keep off frost-bites.  No idea there could be temperatures like this at this time of year with such winds.  Truly awful outside the tent.  Must fight it out to the last biscuit, but can’t reduce rations.”

[Illustration:  A BLIZZARD CAMP—­E.  A. Wilson, del.]

“Friday, March 16, or Saturday, 17. Lost track of dates, but think the last correct.  Tragedy all along the line.  At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn’t go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag.  That we could not do, and we induced him to come on, on the afternoon march.  In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles.  At night he was worse and we knew the end had come.

“Should this be found I want these facts recorded.  Oates’ last thoughts were of his mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death.  We can testify to his bravery.  He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects.  He did not—­would not—­give up hope till the very end.  He was a brave soul.  This was the end.  He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning—­yesterday.  It was blowing a blizzard.  He said, ’I am just going outside and may be some time.’  He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since.