all went well till we had come thirteen and a half miles. Then Hanssen
had to cross a crevasse a yard wide, and in doing it he was unlucky
enough to catch the point of his ski in the traces of the hindmost
dogs, and fall right across the crevasse. This looked unpleasant. The
dogs were across, and a foot or two on the other side, but the sledge
was right over the crevasse, and had twisted as Hanssen fell, so that
a little more would bring it into line with the crevasse, and then,
of course, down it would go. The dogs had quickly scented the fact that
their lord and master was for the moment incapable of administering a
"confirmation," and they did not let slip the golden opportunity. Like
a lot of roaring tigers, the whole team set upon each other and fought
till the hair flew. This naturally produced short, sharp jerks at the
traces, so that the sledge worked round more and more, and at the same
time the dogs, in the heat of the combat, were coming nearer and nearer
to the brink. If this went on, all was irretrievably lost. One of us
jumped the crevasse, went into the middle of the struggling team, and,
fortunately, got them to stop. At the same time, Wisting threw a line
to Hanssen and hauled him out of his unpleasant position -- although,
I thought to myself, as we went on: I wonder whether Hanssen did not
enjoy the situation? Stretched across a giddy abyss, with the prospect
of slipping down it at any moment -- that was just what he would
like. We secured the sledge, completed our seventeen miles, and camped.

From 81deg. S. we began to erect beacons at every nine kilometres. The
next day we observed the lowest temperature of the whole of this
journey: -30.1deg. F The wind was south-south-east, but not very
strong. It did not feel like summer, all the same. We now adopted the
habit which we kept up all the way to the south -- of taking our lunch
while building the beacon that lay half-way in our day's march. It
was nothing very luxurious -- three or four dry oatmeal biscuits, that