e been
picketed. The teams are pulling very well, Meares' especially. The
animals are getting a little fierce. Two white dogs in Meares' team
have been trained to attack strangers--they were quiet enough on board
ship, but now bark fiercely if anyone but their driver approaches the
team. They suddenly barked at me as I was pointing out the stopping
place to Meares, and Osman, my erstwhile friend, swept round and
nipped my leg lightly. I had no stick and there is no doubt that if
Meares had not been on the sledge the whole team, following the lead
of the white dogs, would have been at me in a moment.

Hunger and fear are the only realities in dog life: an empty stomach
makes a fierce dog. There is something almost alarming in the sudden
fierce display of natural instinct in a tame creature. Instinct
becomes a blind, unreasoning, relentless passion. For instance the
dogs are as a rule all very good friends in harness: they pull side
by side rubbing shoulders, they walk over each other as they settle
to rest, relations seem quite peaceful and quiet. But the moment food
is in their thoughts, however, their passions awaken; each dog is
suspicious of his neighbour, and the smallest circumstance produces
a fight. With like suddenness their rage flares out instantaneously
if they get mixed up on the march--a quiet, peaceable team which has
been lazily stretching itself with wagging tails one moment will become
a set of raging, tearing, fighting devils the next. It is such stern
facts that resign one to the sacrifice of animal life in the effort
to advance such human projects as this.

The Corner Camp. [Bearings: Obs. Hill < Bluff 86 deg.; Obs. Hill < Knoll
80 1/2 deg.; Mt. Terror N. 4 W.; Obs. Hill N. 69 W.]

_Saturday, February_ 4, 8 A.M., 1911.--Camp 6. A satisfactory night
march covering 10 miles and some hundreds of yards.

Roused party at 10, when it was blowing quite hard from the S.E.,
with temperature below zero. It looked as though we should have a
pretty cold start, but by the end of breakfast the wind had dropped
and the sun shone forth.

Started on a bad surface--ponies plunging a good deal for 2 miles or
so, Bowers' 'Uncle Bill' walking steadily on his snow-shoes. After this
the surface improved and the marching became steadier. We camped for
lunch after 5 miles. Going still better in the afternoon, except that
we crossed several crevasses. Oates' pony dropped his legs into two
of these and sank into one--odd