After camping, two of us went out to explore farther.  The prospect from the tent was not encouraging, but we might possibly find things better than we expected.  We were lucky to find the going so fine as it was on the glacier; we had left our crampons behind at the Butcher’s Shop, and if we had found smooth ice, instead of a good, firm snow surface, such as we now had, it would have caused us much trouble.  Up —­ still up, among monsters of crevasses, some of them hundreds of feet wide and possibly thousands of feet deep.  Our prospects of advancing were certainly not bright; as far as we could see in the line of our route one immense ridge towered above another, concealing on their farther sides huge, wide chasms, which all had to be avoided.  We went forward —­ steadily forward —­ though the way round was both long and troublesome.  We had no rope on this time, as the irregularities were so plain that it would have been difficult to go into them.  It turned out, however, at several points, that the rope would not have been out of place.  We were just going to cross over one of the numerous ridges —­ the surface here looked perfectly whole —­ when a great piece broke right under the back half of Hanssen’s ski.  We could not deny ourselves the pleasure of glancing down into the hole.  The sight was not an inviting one, and we agreed to avoid this place when we came on with our dogs and sledges.  Every day we had occasion to bless our ski.  We often used to ask each other where we should now have been without these excellent appliances.  The usual answer was:  Most probably at the bottom of some crevasse.  When we first read the different accounts of the aspect and nature of the Barrier, it was clear to all of us, who were born and bred with ski on our feet, that these must be regarded as indispensable.  This view was confirmed and strengthened every day, and I am not giving too much credit to our excellent ski when I say that they not only played a very important part, but possibly the most important of all, on our journey to the South Pole.  Many a time we traversed stretches of surface so cleft and disturbed that it would have been an impossibility to get over them on foot.  I need scarcely insist on the advantages of ski in deep, loose snow.

After advancing for two hours, we decided to return.  From the raised ridge on which we were then standing, the surface ahead of us looked more promising than ever; but we had so often been deceived on the glacier that we had now become definitely sceptical.  How often, for instance, had we thought that beyond this or that undulation our trials would be at an end, and that the way to the south would lie open and free; only to reach the place and find that the ground behind the ridge was, if possible, worse than what we had already been struggling with.  But this time we seemed somehow to feel victory in the air.  The formations appeared to promise it, and yet —­ had we been so often deceived by these formations