suffered absolute agonies in forcing my way along, and eventually I could
only push myself by means of a ski-stick, for I could not step out
properly. I somehow waddled on ski until one day I fainted when striving
to start a march. Crean and Lashly picked me up, and Crean thought I was
dead. His hot tears fell on my face, and as I came to I gave a weak kind
of laugh.

They rigged the camp up once more and put me in my bag, and then those
two gallant fellows held a short council of war. I endeavoured to get
them to leave me when they came in with their suggestions, but it was
useless to argue with them, and I now felt that I had shot my bolt. I
vainly tried to persuade them to leave me in my sleeping-bag with what
food they could spare, but they put me on the sledge, bag and all, and
strapped me as comfortably as they could with their own sleeping-bags
spread under me to make for greater ease.

How weary their marches must have been--ten miles of foot slogging each
day. I could see them from the sledge by raising my head--how slowly
their legs seemed to move--wearily but nobly they fought on until one day
a blizzard came and completely spoilt the surface. The two men had been
marching nearly 1500 miles, their strength was spent, and great though
their hearts were, they had now to give up. In vain they tried to move
the sledge with my wasted weight upon it--it was hopeless.

Very seriously and sadly they re-erected our tent and put me once again
inside. I thought I was being put into my grave. Outside I heard them
talking, low notes of sadness, but with a certain thread of determination
running through what they said. They were discussing which should go and
which should stay. Crean had done, if anything, the lighter share of the
work, as already explained, and he therefore set out to march thirty-five