The morning of December 5 saw us breaking camp at eight o'clock, and proceeding south down an icy slope to the main glacier. Soon, however, the ice slope gave place to a snow slope, and after a time the snow was replaced by blue ice split by so many cracks and crevasses that it was impossible for Socks to continue to drag the sledge without our risking his life in one of the many holes. Snow-blindness was still troubling me so much that I stayed in camp after lunch was over, while Marshall and Adams went on to spy out a good route for us to follow. They found that there was more cracked-up blue ice ahead of us, and--what was much more remarkable--they also discovered a bird, brown in colour with a white line under each wing, which had flown just over their heads and had disappeared to the south. Such an incident was wonderfully strange in latitude 83° 40′ south, and what this bird was I am unable to say, for both Adams and Marshall were sure that it was not a skua-gull, which was the only bird I could imagine venturing so far south. Our camp for that night was pitched under a wonderful pillar of granite, and as pieces of granite, from the size of a hazel-nut to great boulders weighing thirty tons or more, were lying all around, we felt that at any moment a great piece of rock might come hurtling upon us. On one snow slope, indeed, we could see the fresh track of a fallen rock, but as it was impossible to spread a tent on the blue ice we were compelled to camp, for half a mile of crevassed ice lay between us and the snow slope to the south-south-west, and we were too tired to march any farther. We left a depot at this spot, and then, refreshed by sleep, we divided up our load and managed to get the whole lot over the crevasses in three journeys. But it was an awful job, for every step was a venture, and one felt that at any moment our journey towards the Pole might come to a permanent close. Having, however, succeeded in crossing this particularly dangerous half-mile, my companions (leaving me to rest with one eye entirely blocked up by snow-blindness) went back for Socks, and early in the afternoon we were once more camped upon snow. During the rest of that day we had a wonderful view of the mountains which rose up in peaks and ranges, but the going was exceedingly heavy and our progress was consequently very slow. He, however, who hopes to go into the unexplored spots of the world must harden himself to labour, and find causes for cheerfulness in conditions which are at the best only comparatively cheering. For instance, on the following afternoon we were congratulating ourselves that if the crevasses were as frequent as ever, the light, at any rate, was better than it had been during the morning, when suddenly we heard a shout of "Help" from Wild, who was following us with Socks.