The signs of one impending were unmistakable
notwithstanding. Weary Willie did less well on February 25, and as the
surface became heavier, we had to camp after only doing eleven miles.
I thought best in view of the threatening appearance of the weather to
have a six hours' rest, and march into Safety Camp the same day, a
distance of eight miles. We found to our horror that Gran had dropped
the top cap of our primus at the last camp. Cold food stared us in face!
However, we did manage to melt some snow for a cheering drink by cutting
a piece of tin as near the shape of the cap as possible. Our biscuit was
finished owing to the ravages of my pony. Before turning in I saw some
specks to the N. and skipping my theodolite on its tripod, looked through
the telescope and saw two tents and a number of ski stuck up. [This was
Scott's man-hauling party together with Jimmy Pigg, going out to Corner
Camp.] This we concluded was either a man-hauling, or man and beast party
bound for Corner Camp. We overslept and so did not get away till the
afternoon. It was still very cloudy and threatening. I found that I had
steered considerably to the southward of the right direction in the fog,
and it is lucky we met with no crevasses off White Island. Safety Camp at
last appeared, and the last four miles seemed interminable. We had given
the animals their last feed before starting, not a particle remained, but
they stuck it.
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