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Edward VII. Plateau--the only objects that broke the monotony of the
great white glittering waste that stretches from the Beardmore Glacier
Head to the South Pole. A light wind was blowing from the South, and
little whirls of fine snow, as fine as dust, would occasionally sweep
round the tents and along the sides of the sledge runners, streaming away
almost like smoke to the Northward. Inside the tents breathing heavily
were our eight sleeping figures--in these little canvas shelters soon
after 4 a.m. the sleepers became restless and occasionally one would
wake, glance at one's watch, and doze again. Exactly at 5 a.m. our leader
shouted "Evans," and both of us of that name replied, "Right-o, sir."

Immediately all was bustle, we scrambled out of our sleeping-bags, only
the cook remaining in each tent. The others with frantic haste filled the
aluminium cookers with the gritty snow that here lay hard and windswept.
The cookers filled and passed in, we, gathered socks, finnesko, and
putties off the clothes lines which we had rigged between the ski which
struck upright in the snow to save them from being drifted over in the
night. The indefatigable Bowers swung his thermometer in the shade until
it refused to register any lower, glanced at the clouds, made a note or
two in his miniature meteorological log book, and then blew on his
tingling fingers, noted the direction of the wind, and ran to our tent.
Inside all had lashed up their bags and converted them into seats, the
primus stove burnt with a curious low roar, and peculiar smell of
paraffin permeated the tent. By the time we had changed our footgear the
savoury smell of the pemmican proclaimed that breakfast was ready. The
meal was eaten with the same haste that had already made itself apparent.

A very short smoke sufficed, and Captain Scott gave the signal to strike
camp. Out went everything through the little round door, down came both
tents, all was packed in a jiffy on the two 12-foot sledges, each team
endeavouring to be first, and in an incredibly short space of time both
teams swung Southward, keeping step, and with every appearance of perfect
health. But a close observer, a man trained to watch over men's health,
over athletes training, perhaps, would have seem something amiss.

The two teams, in spite of the Christmas spirit, and the "Happy
Christmas" greetings, they exchanged to begin with, soon lost their
springy step, the sledges dragged more slowly, a