tried to leap Punch across a gap. The poor beast fell in; eventually
we had to kill him--it was awful. I recalled all hands and pointed
out my road. Bowers and Oates went out on it with a sledge and worked
their way to the remaining ponies, and started back with them on the
same track. Meanwhile Cherry and I dug a road at the Barrier edge. We
saved one pony; for a time I thought we should get both, but Bowers'
poor animal slipped at a jump and plunged into the water: we dragged
him out on some brash ice--killer whales all about us in an intense
state of excitement. The poor animal couldn't rise, and the only
merciful thing was to kill it. These incidents were too terrible.

At 5 P.M. we sadly broke our temporary camp and marched back to the
one I had first pitched. Even here it seemed unsafe, so I walked
nearly two miles to discover cracks: I could find none, and we turned
in about midnight.

So here we are ready to start our sad journey to Hut Point. Everything
out of joint with the loss of the ponies, but mercifully with all
the party alive and well.

_Saturday, March_ 4, A.M.--We had a terrible pull at the start
yesterday, taking four hours to cover some three miles to march on the
line between Safety Camp and Fodder Depot. From there Bowers went to
Safety Camp and found my notes to Evans had been taken. We dragged on
after lunch to the place where my tent had been pitched when Wilson
first met me and where we had left our ski and other loads. All these
had gone. We found sledge tracks leading in towards the land and
at length marks of a pony's hoofs. We followed these and some ski
tracks right into the land, coming at length to the highest of the
Pram Point ridges. I decided to camp here, and as we unpacked I saw