Wild and McIlroy, who went out to
secure them, had rather an exciting time on some very loose, rotten
ice, three killer-whales in a lead a few yards away poking up their
ugly heads as if in anticipation of a feast.
Next day, December 26, we started off again at 1 a.m. "The surface was
much better than it has been for the last few days, and this is the
principal thing that matters. The route, however, lay over very
hummocky floes, and required much work with pick and shovel to make it
passable for the boat-sledges. These are handled in relays by eighteen
men under Worsley. It is killing work on soft surfaces."
At 5 a.m. we were brought up by a wide open lead after an
unsatisfactorily short march. While we waited, a meal of tea and two
small bannocks was served, but as 10 a.m. came and there were no signs
of the lead closing we all turned in.
It snowed a little during the day and those who were sleeping outside
got their sleeping-bags pretty wet.
At 9.30 p.m. that night we were off again. I was, as usual,
pioneering in front, followed by the cook and his mate pulling a small
sledge with the stove and all the cooking gear on. These two, black as
two Mohawk Minstrels with the blubber-soot, were dubbed "Potash and
Perlmutter." Next come the dog teams, who soon overtake the cook, and
the two boats bring up the rear.
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