awaiting us.  My job kept me in camp next day to adjust theodolites, but the rest of the party went out to bring the final relay of depot stores from the “Terra Nova.”  During the following days we relayed the depot stuff along to a position near the edge of the Barrier, and whilst so engaged most of us found time to visit Hut Point.  While Captain Scott was selecting the position for dumping a quantity of compressed fodder bales the remainder of the party dug the snow out of the old hut left by the Discovery in 1904.  It looked a very deserted place, and the difference between the two winter quarters, Hut Point and Cape Evans, was amazing.  One could quite understand the first expedition here selecting Hut Point for its natural harbour, but for comfort and freedom from unwelcome squalls and unpleasant gusts of wind commend me to Cape Evans.  Never in my life had I seen anything quite so dreary and desolate as this locality.  Practically surrounded by high hills, little sunshine could get to the hut, which was built in a hollow.  Of course, we saw the place at its worst, for the best summer months had passed.  The hut itself had been erected as a magnetic observatory and it contrasted shabbily with our 50-ft by 25-ft. palace.  We did not finish clearing the snow away, although with so many willing workers we made considerable progress.  In parts the midsummer sun had melted the snow, which in turn had re-frozen into blue ice, and this we found troublesome because the slender woodwork of the hut would not stand any heavy pick work.

We christened the place on the Barrier edge Fodder Camp, and it was the general opinion that we could risk leaving the bales of hay here until the depot stuff had been taken south.  Accordingly, all the more important stores were relayed on January 29 to a position two miles in from the Barrier edge.  Whilst doing this relay work I went in with Meares to Hut Point to bring out some 250 lb. of dog biscuit, and our dogs, being very fresh, scented a seal, took charge of the light sledge, and, in spite of all the brakeing and obstructing Meares and I put up, the dogs went wildly forward until they reached the seal.  The second they came to it Meares and I found ourselves in the midst of a snapping, snarling, and biting mixture, with the poor seal floundering underneath.  While we were beating the dogs off the seal bit Meares in the leg; he looked awfully surprised and showed great forbearance in not giving the seal one for himself with the iron-shod brake stick.  I never saw anybody less vicious in nature than “Mother” Meares:  he never knocked the dogs about unless it was absolutely necessary.  Even Osman, the wild wolf-like king-dog, showed affection for him.