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
four figures approaching. They proved to be Evans and his party. They
had ascended towards Castle Rock on Friday and found a good camp site
on top of the Ridge. They were in good condition. It was a relief
to hear they had found a good road up.
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