returned. At the camp Evans got hold of the pony, but in a moment it
was off again, knocking Evans off his legs. Finally he was captured
and led forth once more between Oates and Anton. He remained fairly
well on the outward journey, but on the homeward grew restive again;
Evans, who was now leading him, called for Anton, and both tried to
hold him, but to no purpose--he dashed off, upset his load, and came
back to camp with the sledge. All these troubles arose after he had
made three journeys without a hitch and we had come to regard him as
a nice, placid, gritty pony. Now I'm afraid it will take a deal of
trouble to get him safe again, and we have three very troublesome
beasts instead of two. I have written this in some detail to show
the unexpected difficulties that arise with these animals, and the
impossibility of knowing exactly where one stands. The majority of
our animals seem pretty quiet now, but any one of them may break out
in this way if things go awry. There is no doubt that the bumping of
the sledges close at the heels of the animals is the root of the evil.

The weather has the appearance of breaking. We had a strongish
northerly breeze at midday with snow and hail storms, and now the wind
has turned to the south and the sky is overcast with threatenings of a
blizzard. The floe is cracking and pieces may go out--if so the ship
will have to get up steam again. The hail at noon made the surface
very bad for some hours; the men and dogs felt it most.

The dogs are going well, but Meares says he thinks that several are
suffering from snow blindness. I never knew a dog get it before, but
Day says that Shackleton's dogs suffered from it. The post-mortem
on last night's death revealed nothing to account for it. Atkinson
didn't examine the brain, and wonders if the cause lay there. There is
a certain satisfaction in believing that there is nothing infectious.