the keen air, and the crisp surface was so easy to negotiate after my
former Barrier visits with a heavy sledge dragging one back, but the very
easiness I was enjoying made me think of Amundsen and his dogs.

If the Norwegians could glide along like this, it would be "good-bye" to
our hopes of planting Queen Alexandra's flag first at the South Pole. As
a matter of fact, while I was then making my way along to overtake the
motors, Amundsen and his Polar party were beyond the 80th parallel,
forcing their way Southward and hourly increasing their distance from us
and from Captain Scott, who had not even started. Yes, Amundsen was over
150 miles farther South, and his sledge runners were slithering over the
snow, casting its powdered particles aside in beautiful little clouds
while I was rapidly overhauling the motors with their labouring, sorely
taxed custodians, Day, Lashly, and Hooper. It seems very cruel to say
this, but there's no good in shutting one's eyes to Truth, however
unpleasantly clad she may be. I caught the motors late in the afternoon
after running nine miles; they had only done three miles whilst I had
been doing fifteen. We continued crawling along with our loads, stopping
to cool the engines every few minutes, it seemed, but at 11 p.m. they
overheated to such an extent that we stopped for the night. I was fairly
done, but not too tired to enjoy the supper which Hooper cooked, with its
many luxuries produced by him. Hooper had informed Bowers of my birthday,
and obtained all kinds of good things, which we despatched huddled
together in our tents; for it was about 20 degrees below zero when we
turned in well after midnight.

We intentionally lay in our bags until 8.30 next morning, but didn't get
those dreadful motors to start until 10.45 a.m. Even then they only gave
a few sniffs before breaking down and stopping, so that we could not
advance perceptibly until 11.30. We had troubles all day, and were forced