hills which were
well-known landmarks--a hitherto untrodden route--but the going was by no
means bad. Bitingly cold for faces and finger-tips, still, no weights to
impede us. We camped for lunch after covering seven miles, for the light
was bad, but it improved surprisingly whilst we were eating our meal.
Accordingly, we put on our crampons about 3 p.m. and struck camp,
securely packing the two green tents on the sledges, and casting a
careful eye round the loads, tightened a strap here, hitched there, and
then led by Scott we made a careful descent to the precipitous edge of
the ice cap which overlays the promontory. We got well down to a part
that seemed to overhang the sea and, to our delight, found a good
solid-looking ice-sheet below us which certainly extended as far as
Glacier Tongue. The drop here was twenty-five feet or so and Taylor and I
were lowered over the cornice in an Alpine rope, then Wright and then the
sledges, after that the remainder of the party. An ash-pole was driven
into the snow and the last few members sent down in a bowline at one end
of the rope whilst we below eased them down with the other part. The two
parts of the Alpine rope working round the pole cut deeply into the
over-hanging snow and brought a shower of ice crystals pouring over the
heads and shoulders of whoever was sitting in the bowline. It was a good
piece of work getting everything down safely, and I admired Scott's
decision to go over; a more nervous man would have fought shy because,
once down on the sea ice there was little chance of our getting back and
we had got to fight our way forward to Cape Evans somehow.

When Taylor and I got first down we were greeted with a weird and
wonderful sight: constant drifts of snow had formed a great overhang and
the ice cliff was wreathed in a mass of snowy curtains and folds which
took all manner of fantastic turns and shapes. A fresh wind was blowing
continuously that made it most unpleasant for those above, and it was a
relief to us all when the last man was passed down in safety, it was
Scott himself.

We quickly harnessed up again and swung out over the sea ice towards
Glacier Tongue, the cliffs of which stood out in a hard, white line to
the northward, a couple of miles away. Arrived at the Tongue, Bowers and
I clambered up a ten-foot cliff face by standing on Wright's and Crean's
shoulders. We then reached down and hauled up the sledges and the others,
harnessed up again, and p