of us, unchecked by land, flows uninterruptedly northwards towards the
Ross Sea. Only where the stream presses against the Bluff, White Island
and, most important of all, Cape Crozier, and rubs itself against the
nearly stationary ice upon which we were travelling, pressures and
rendings take place, forming some nasty crevasses. It was intended to
steer nearly east until this line was crossed some distance north of
White Island, and then steer due south.

It is most difficult on a large snow surface to say whether it is flat.
Certainly there are plenty of big crevasses for several miles in this
neighbourhood, though they are generally well covered, and we found only
very small ones on this outward journey. I am inclined to think there are
also some considerable pressure waves. As we came up to Camp 5 we
floundered into a pocket of soft snow in which one pony after another
plunged deeper and deeper until they were buried up to their bellies and
could move no more. I suppose it was an old crevasse filled with soft
snow, or perhaps one of the pressure-ridge hollows which had been
recently drifted up. My own pony somehow got through with his sledge to
the other side, and every moment I expected the ground to fall below us
and a chasm to swallow us up. The others had to be unharnessed and led
out. The only set of snow-shoes was then put on to Bowers' big pony and
he went back and drew the stranded sledges out. Beyond we pitched our
camp.

On February 3-4 we marched for ten miles to Camp 6. In the last five
miles we crossed several crevasses, our first; and I heard Oates ask some
one what they looked like. "Black as hell," he said, but we saw no more
just now, for this march carried us beyond the line of pressure which
runs between White Island and Cape Crozier. This halt was called Corner
Camp, as we turned here and marched due south. Corner Camp will be heard