suffered as much as the ponies. He had felt that every time he re-entered
his tent (which was also Captain Scott's) that he took in more wet snow
and helped to increase the general discomfort. This being the case when
he went out to the ponies, he stopped out, and kept his vigil crouching
behind a drifted up pony-wall. We others could not help laughing at him,
after the blizzard, when he wrung the icy water out of his clothing. His
personal bag was in a fearful state, his sodden tobacco had discoloured
everything, and as he squeezed his spare socks and gloves a stream of
nicotine-stained water flowed out. I am unable to reproduce his
observations on the subject--they were dry, picturesque, and to the
point, and even our bluejackets, who were none too particular about
language, looked at Oates with undisguised astonishment at the length and
variety of his emergency vocabulary.

December 7 showed no change: the blizzard was continuous, food our only
comfort. Personally I read Atkinson's copy of "Little Dorrit," for it
sufficed nothing to despair; we could not move, and one had to be
patient.

Next day we had less wind, but it snowed most of the day. We did, all the
same, get glimpses of the sun and one of the land. Dug out all sledges
and hauled them clear, then tried the surface, and to Scott's and our own
surprise my party hauling on ski dragged the sledge with four big men
sitting on it over the surface as much as we chose.

I had thought it beyond our power, it is true. We then returned to camp.
Without ski one sank more than knee deep in the snow. The horses were
quite unable to progress, sinking to their bellies, so no start was made.
We shifted our tent and re-spread it on new snow well trampled down. This
brief respite from our sleeping-bags freed our cramped limbs. Weather