The three poor beasts had
to be left on their floe for the moment, well fed. None of our party
had had sleep the previous night and all were dog tired. I decided we
must rest, but turned everyone out at 8.30 yesterday morning. Before
breakfast we discovered the ponies had drifted away. We had tried
to anchor their floe with the Alpine rope, but the anchors had
drawn. It was a sad moment. At breakfast we decided to pack and
follow the Barrier edge: this was the position when I last wrote,
but the interruption came when Bowers, who had taken the binoculars,
announced that he could see the ponies about a mile to the N.W. We
packed and went on at once. We found it easy enough to get down
to the poor animals and decided to rush them for a last chance of
life. Then there was an unfortunate mistake: I went along the Barrier
edge and discovered what I thought and what proved to be a practicable
way to land a pony, but the others meanwhile, a little overwrought,
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.
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