_November 10. Early morning._ A perfect night for marching, but about

-20° and chilly for waiting about. The mules are going well, but Lal Khan

is thinning down a lot: Abdullah and Khan Sahib are also off their feed.

Their original allowance of 11 lbs. oats and oilcake has been reduced to

9 lbs., and they are not eating this. The dogs took another 300 lbs. off

them to-day, and pulled it very well. The surface has been splendidly

hard, which is most surprising. Wright does not think that there has been

an abnormal deposition of snow the last winter; he says it is about 1½

feet, which is much the same as last year. The mules are generally not

sinking in more than two inches, but in places, especially latterly, they

have been in five, or six. This is the first we have had this year of

crusts, and some of them to-day have been exceptionally big: two at lunch

must have lasted several seconds. The dogs seem to think the devil is

after them when one of these goes off, and put on a terrific spurt. It is

interesting to watch them snuffing in the hoof-marks of the mules, where

there is evidently some scent left. In these temperatures they are always

kicking their legs about at the halts. As the sun gained power this

morning a thick fog came up very suddenly. I believe this is a sign of

good weather.

[Illustration: THE DOG PARTY LEAVES HUT POINT--November 1, 1912]

_November 11. Early morning. One Ton Depôt._ Wright got a latitude sight

yesterday putting us six miles from One Ton, and our sledge-meter shows

5¾, and here we are. More frost-bite this morning, and it was pretty cold

starting in a fair wind and -7° temperature. We have continued this

really splendid surface, and now the sastrugi are pointing a little more

to the south of S.W. While there are not such big mounds, the surface

does not yet show any signs of getting bad. There were the most beautiful

cloud-effects as we came along--a deep black to the west, shading into

long lines of grey and lemon yellow round the sun, with a vertical shaft

through them, and a bright orange horizon. Now there is a brilliant

parhelion. Given sun, two days here are never alike. Whatever the

monotony of the Barrier may be, there is endless variety in the sky, and

I do not believe that anywhere in the world such beautiful colours are to

be seen.

I had a fair panic as we came up to the depôt. I did not see that one

body of the ponies had gone ahead of the others and camped, but ahead of

the travelling ponies was the depôt, looking very black, and I thought

that there was a tent. It would be too terrible to find that, though one

knew that we had done all that we could, if we had done something

different we could have saved them.

And then we find that the provisions we left here for them in the tank

are soaked with paraffin. How this has happened is a mystery, but I think

that the oil in the XS tin, which was very full, must have forced its way

out in a sudden rise of temperature in a winter blizzard, and though the

tin was not touching the tank, it has found its way in.

Altogether things seemed rather dismal, but a visit to the mules is

cheering, for they seem very fit as a whole and their leaders are

cheerful. There are three sacks of oats here--had we known it would have

saved a lot of weight--but we didn't, and we have plenty with what we

have brought, so they will be of little use to us. There is no compressed

fodder, which would have been very useful, for the animals which are

refusing the oats would probably eat it.

Gulab has a very bad chafe, but he is otherwise fit--and it does not seem

possible in this life to kill a mule because of chafing. It is a great

deal to know that he does not seem to be hurt by it, and pulls away

gallantly. Crean says he had to run a mile this morning with Rani. Marie

says he is inventing some new ways of walking, one step forward and one

hop back, in order to keep warm when leading Khan Sahib. Up to date we

cannot say that the Fates have been unkind to us.

_November 12. Early morning. Lunch_ 2.30 A.M. I am afraid our

sledge-meters do not agree over this morning's march. The programme is to

do thirteen miles a day if possible from here: that is 7½ before lunch

and 5½ afterwards. We could see two cairns of last year on our right as

we came along. We have got on to a softer surface now and there is bad

news of Lal Khan, and it will depend on this after-lunch march whether he

must be shot this evening or not. It was intended to shoot a mule two

marches from One Ton, but till just lately it had not been thought that

it must be Lal Khan. He is getting very slow, and came into camp with

Khan Sahib: the trouble of course is that he will not eat: he has hardly

eaten, they say, a day's ration since he left Hut Point, and he can't

work on nothing. It is now -16°, with a slight southerly wind.

_Nearly mid-day. 11-12 miles south of One Ton._ We have found them--to

say it has been a ghastly day cannot express it--it is too bad for words.

The tent was there, about half-a-mile to the west of our course, and

close to a drifted-up cairn of last year. It was covered with snow and

looked just like a cairn, only an extra gathering of snow showing where

the ventilator was, and so we found the door.

It was drifted up some 2-3 feet to windward. Just by the side two pairs

of ski sticks, or the topmost half of them, appeared over the snow, and a

bamboo which proved to be the mast of the sledge.

Their story I am not going to try and put down. They got to this point on

March 21, and on the 29th all was over.

Nor will I try and put down what there was in that tent. Scott lay in the

centre, Bill on his left, with his head towards the door, and Birdie on

his right, lying with his feet towards the door.

Bill especially had died very quietly with his hands folded over his

chest. Birdie also quietly.

Oates' death was a very fine one. We go on to-morrow to try and find his

body. He was glad that his regiment would be proud of him.

They reached the Pole a month after Amundsen.

We have everything--records, diaries, etc. They have among other things

several rolls of photographs, a meteorological log kept up to March 13,

and, considering all things, a great many geological specimens. _And they

have stuck to everything._ It is magnificent that men in such case should

go on pulling everything that they have died to gain. I think they

realized their coming end a long time before. By Scott's head was

tobacco: there is also a bag of tea.

Atkinson gathered every one together and read to them the account of

Oates' death given in Scott's Diary: Scott expressly states that he

wished it known. His (Scott's) last words are:

"For God's sake take care of our people."

Then Atkinson read the lesson from the Burial Service from Corinthians.

Perhaps it has never been read in a more magnificent cathedral and under

more impressive circumstances--for it is a grave which kings must envy.

Then some prayers from the Burial Service: and there with the floor-cloth

under them and the tent above we buried them in their sleeping-bags--and

surely their work has not been in vain.[291]

That scene can never leave my memory. We with the dogs had seen Wright

turn away from the course by himself and the mule party swerve

right-handed ahead of us. He had seen what he thought was a cairn, and

then something looking black by its side. A vague kind of wonder

gradually gave way to a real alarm. We came up to them all halted. Wright

came across to us. 'It is the tent.' I do not know how he knew. Just a

waste of snow: to our right the remains of one of last year's cairns, a

mere mound: and then three feet of bamboo sticking quite alone out of the

snow: and then another mound, of snow, perhaps a trifle more pointed. We

walked up to it. I do not think we quite realized--not for very long--but

some one reached up to a projection of snow, and brushed it away. The

green flap of the ventilator of the tent appeared, and we knew that the

door was below.

Two of us entered, through the funnel of the outer tent, and through the

bamboos on which was stretched the lining of the inner tent. There was

some snow--not much--between the two linings. But inside we could see

nothing--the snow had drifted out the light. There was nothing to do but

to dig the tent out. Soon we could see the outlines. There were three men

here.

Bowers and Wilson were sleeping in their bags. Scott had thrown back the

flaps of his bag at the end. His left hand was stretched over Wilson, his

lifelong friend. Beneath the head of his bag, between the bag and the

floor-cloth, was the green wallet in which he carried his diary. The

brown books of diary were inside: and on the floor-cloth were some

letters.

Everything was tidy. The tent had been pitched as well as ever, with the

door facing down the sastrugi, the bamboos with a good spread, the tent

itself taut and shipshape. There was no snow inside the inner lining.

There were some loose pannikins from the cooker, the ordinary tent gear,

the personal belongings and a few more letters and records--personal and

scientific. Near Scott was a lamp formed from a tin and some lamp wick

off a finnesko. It had been used to burn the little methylated spirit

which remained. I think that Scott had used it to help him to write up to

the end. I feel sure that he had died last--and once I had thought that

he would not go so far as some of the others. We never realized how

strong that man was, mentally and physically, until now.

We sorted out the gear, records, papers, diaries, spare clothing,

letters, chronometers, finnesko, socks, a flag. There was even a book

which I had lent Bill for the journey--and he had brought it back.

Somehow we learnt that Amundsen had been to the Pole, and that they too

had been to the Pole, and both items of news seemed to be of no

importance whatever. There was a letter there from Amundsen to King

Haakon. There were the personal chatty little notes we had left for them

on the Beardmore--how much more important to us than all the royal

letters in the world.

We dug down the bamboo which had brought us to this place. It led to the

sledge, many feet down, and had been rigged there as a mast. And on the

sledge were some more odds and ends--a piece of paper from the biscuit

box: Bowers' meteorological log: and the geological specimens, thirty

pounds of them, all of the first importance. Drifted over also were the

harnesses, ski and ski-sticks.

Hour after hour, so it seemed to me, Atkinson sat in our tent and read.

The finder was to read the diary and then it was to be brought

home--these were Scott's instructions written on the cover. But Atkinson

said he was only going to read sufficient to know what had happened--and

after that they were brought home unopened and unread. When he had the

outline we all gathered together and he read to us the Message to the

Public, and the account of Oates' death, which Scott had expressly wished

to be known.

We never moved them. We took the bamboos of the tent away, and the tent

itself covered them. And over them we built the cairn.

I do not know how long we were there, but when all was finished, and the

chapter of Corinthians had been read, it was midnight of some day. The

sun was dipping low above the Pole, the Barrier was almost in shadow. And

the sky was blazing--sheets and sheets of iridescent clouds. The cairn

and Cross stood dark against a glory of burnished gold.

* * * * *

_Copy of Note left at the Cairn, over the Bodies_

_November 12th, 1912._

Lat. 79° 50´ S.

This Cross and Cairn are erected over the bodies of Capt. Scott,

C.V.O., R.N.; Dr. E. A. Wilson, M.B., B.A. Cantab.; Lt. H. R.

Bowers, Royal Indian Marines. A slight token to perpetuate their

gallant and successful attempt to reach the Pole. This they did

on the 17th January 1912 after the Norwegian expedition had

already done so. Inclement weather and lack of fuel was the cause

of their death.

Also to commemorate their two gallant comrades, Capt. L. E. G.

Oates of the Inniskilling Dragoons, who walked to his death in a

blizzard to save his comrades, about 18 miles south of this

position; also of Seaman Edgar Evans, who died at the foot of the

Beardmore Glacier.

The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of

the Lord.

Relief Expedition.

(Signed by all members of the party.)

My diary goes on:

_Midnight, November 12-13._ I cannot think that anything which could be

done to give these three great men--for great they were--a fitting grave

has been left undone.

A great cairn has been built over them, a mark which must last for many

years. That we can make anything that will be permanent on this Barrier

is impossible, but as far as a lasting mark can be made it has been done.

On this a cross has been fixed, made out of ski. On either side are the

two sledges, fixed upright and dug in.

The whole is very simple and most impressive.

On a bamboo standing by itself is left the record which I have copied

into this book, and which has been signed by us all.

We shall leave some provisions here, and go on lightly laden to see if we

can find Titus Oates' body: and so give it what burial we can.

We start in about an hour, and I for one shall be glad to leave this

place.

I am very very sorry that this question of the shortage of oil has

arisen. We in the First Return Party were most careful with our

measurement--having a ruler of Wright's and a piece of bamboo with which

we did it: measuring the total height of oil in each case, and then

dividing up the stick accordingly with the ruler: and we were _always_

careful to take _a little less than we were entitled to_, which was

stated to me, and stated by Birdie in his depôt notes, to be one-third of

everything in the depôt.

How the shortage arose is a mystery. And they eleven miles from One Ton

and plenty!

Titus did not show his foot till about three days before he died. The

foot was then a great size, and almost every night it would be

frost-bitten again. Then the last day at lunch he said he could go on no

more--but they said he must: he wanted them to leave him behind in his

bag. That night he turned in, hoping never to wake: but he woke, and then

he asked their advice: they said they must all go on together. A thick

blizzard was blowing, and he said, after a bit, "Well, I am just going

outside, and I may be some time." They searched for him but could not

find him.

They had a terrible time from 80° 30´ on to their last camp. There Bill

was very bad, and Birdie and the Owner had to do the camping.

And then, eleven miles from plenty, they had _nine days of blizzard, and

that was the end._

They had a good spread on their tent, and their ski-sticks were standing,

but their ski were drifted up on the ground.

The tent was in excellent condition--only down some of the poles there

were some chafes.

They had been trying a spirit lamp when all the oil was gone.

At 88° or so they were getting temperatures from -20° to -30°. At 82°,

10,000 feet lower, it was regularly down to -47° in the night-time, and

-30° during the day: for no explainable reason.

Bill's and Birdie's feet got bad--the Owner's feet got bad last.

It is all too horrible--I am almost afraid to go to sleep now.

_November 13. Early morning._ We came on just under seven miles with a

very cold moist wind hurting our faces all the way. We have left most of

the provisions to pick up again. We purpose going on thirteen miles

to-morrow and search for Oates' body, and then turn back and get the

provisions back to Hut Point and see what can be done over in the west to

get up that coast.

We hope to get two mules back to Hut Point. If possible, we want to

communicate with Cape Evans.

Atkinson has been quite splendid in this very trying time.

_November 14. Early morning._ It has been a miserable march. We had to

wait some time after hoosh to let the mules get ahead. Then we went on in

a cold raw fog and some head wind, with constant frost-bites. The surface

has been very bad all day for the thirteen miles: if we had been walking

in arrowroot it would have been much like this was. At lunch the

temperature was -14.7°.

Then on when it was drifting with the wind in our faces and in a bad

light. What we took to be the mule party ahead proved to be the old pony

walls 26 miles from One Ton. There was here a bit of sacking on the

cairn, and Oates' bag. Inside the bag was the theodolite, and his

finnesko and socks. One of the finnesko was slit down the front as far as

the leather beckets, evidently to get his bad foot into it. This was

fifteen miles from the last camp, and I suppose they had brought on his

bag for three or four miles in case they might find him still alive.

Half-a-mile from our last camp there was a very large and quite

unmistakable undulation, one-quarter to one-third of a mile from crest to

crest: the pony walls behind us disappeared almost as soon as we started

to go down, and reappeared again on the other side. There were, I feel

sure, other rolls, but this was the largest. We have seen no sign of

Oates' body.

About half an hour ago it started to blow a blizzard, and it is now

thick, but the wind is not strong. The mules, which came along well

considering the surface, are off their feed, and this may be the reason.

Dimitri saw the Cairn with the Cross more than eight miles away this

morning, and in a good light it would be seen from much farther off.

_November 15. Early morning._ We built a cairn to mark the spot near

which Oates walked out to his death, and we placed a cross on it. Lashed

to the cross is a record, as follows:

Hereabouts died a very gallant gentleman, Captain L. E. G. Oates

of the Inniskilling Dragoons. In March 1912, returning from the

Pole, he walked willingly to his death in a blizzard to try and

save his comrades, beset by hardship. This note is left by the

Relief Expedition. 1912.

This was signed by Atkinson and myself.

We saw the cairn for a long way in a bad light as we came back to-day.

The original plan with which we started from Cape Evans was, if the Party

was found where we could still bear out sufficiently to the eastward to

have a good chance of missing the pressure caused by the Beardmore, to go

on and do what we could to survey the land south of the Beardmore: for

this was the original plan of Captain Scott for this year's sledging. But

as things are I do not think there can be much doubt that we are doing

right in losing no time in going over to the west of McMurdo Sound to see

whether we can go up to Evans Coves, and help Campbell and his party.

We brought on Oates' bag. The theodolite was inside.

A thickish blizzard blew all day yesterday, but it was clear and there

was only surface drift when we turned out for the night march. Then again

as we came along, the sky became overcast--all except over the land,

which remains clear these nights when everything else is obscured. We

noticed the same thing last year. Now the wind, which had largely

dropped, has started again and it is drifting. We have had wind and drift

on four out of the last five days.

_November 16. Early morning._ When we were ready to start with the dogs

it was blowing a thick blizzard, but the mules had already started some

time, when it was not thick. We had to wait until nearly 4 A.M. before we

could start, and came along following tracks. It is very warm and the

surface is covered with loose snow, but the slide in it seems good. We

found the mules here at the Cairn and Cross, having been able to find

their way partly by the old tracks.

I have been trying to draw the grave. Of all the fine monuments in the

world none seems to me more fitting; and it is also most impressive.

_November 17. Early morning._ I think we are all going crazy together--at

any rate things are pretty difficult. The latest scheme is to try and

find a way over the plateau to Evans Coves, trying to strike the top of a

glacier and go down it. There can be no good in it: if ever men did it,

they would arrive about the time the ship arrived there too, and their

labour would be in vain. If they got there and the ship did not arrive,

there is another party stranded. They would have to wait till February 15

or 20 to see if the ship was coming, and then there would be no

travelling back over the plateau: even if we could do it those men there

could not.

It was almost oppressively hot yesterday--but I'll never grumble about

heat again. It has now cleared a lot and we came along on the cairns

easily--but on a very soft downy surface, and the travelling has not been

fast. We bring with us the Southern Party's gear. The sledge, which was

the 10-foot which they brought on from the bottom of the glacier, has

been left.

_November 18. Early morning._ I am thankful to say that the plateau

journey idea has been given up.

Once more we have come along in thick, snowy weather. If we had not men

on ski to steer we could never keep much of a course, but Wright is

steering us very straight, keeping a check on the course by watching the

man behind, and so far we have been picking up all the cairns. This

morning we passed the pony walls made on November 10. And yet they were

nearly level with the ground; so they are not much of a mark. Yank has

just had a disagreement with Kusoi--for Kusoi objected to his trying to

get at the meat on the sledge. The mules have been sinking in a long way,

and are marching very slowly. Pyaree eats the tea-leaves after meals:

Rani and Abdullah divide a rope between them at the halts; and they have

eaten the best part of a trace since our last camp. These animals eat

anything but their proper food, and this some of them will hardly touch.

It cleared a bit for our second march, and we have done our 13 miles, but

it was very slow travelling. Now it is drifting as much as ever. Yank,

that redoubtable puller, has just eaten himself loose for the third time

since hoosh. This time I had to go down to the pony walls to get him.

We have had onions for the first time to-night in our hoosh--they are

most excellent. Also we have been having some Nestlé's condensed milk

from One Ton Depôt--which I do not want to see again, the depôt I mean.

Peary must know what he is about, taking milk as a ration: the sweetness

is a great thing, but it would be heavy: we have been having it with

temperature down to -14°, when it was quite manageable, but I don't know

what it would be like in colder temperatures.

_November 19. Early morning._ We have done our 13 miles to-day and have

got on to a much better surface. By what we and others have seen before,

it seems that last winter must have generally been an exceptional one.

There have been many parties out here: we have never before seen this

wind-swept surface, on which it is often too slippery to walk

comfortably. I do not know what temperatures the Discovery had in April,

but it was much colder last April than it was the year before. And then

nothing had been experienced down here to compare with the winds last

winter.

There was a high wind and a lot of drift yesterday during the day, and

now it is blowing and drifting as usual. During the last nine days there

has only been one, the day we found the tent, when it has not been

drifting during all or part of the day. It is all right for travelling

north, but we should be having very uncomfortable marches if we were

marching the other way.

_November 20. Early morning._ To-day we have seemed to be walking in

circles through space. Wright, by dint of having a man behind to give him

a fixed point to steer upon, has steered us quite straight, and we have

picked up every cairn. The pony party camped for lunch by two cairns, but

they never knew the two cairns were there until a piece of paper blew

away and had to be fetched: and it was caught against one of the cairns.

They left a flag there to guide us, and though we saw and brought along

the flag, we never saw the cairns. The temperature is -22.5°, and it is

now blowing a full blizzard. All this snow has hitherto been lying on the

ground and making a very soft surface, for though the wind has always

been blowing it has never been very strong. This snow and wind, which

have now persisted for nine out of the last ten days, make most

dispiriting marches; for there is nothing to see, and finding tracks or

steering is a constant strain. We are certainly lucky to have been able

to march as we have.

_Note on Mules._--The most ardent admirer of mules could not say that

they were a success. The question is whether they might be made so. There

was really only one thing against them but that is a very important

one--they would not eat on the Barrier. From the time they went away to

the day they returned (those that did return, poor things) they starved

themselves, and yet they pulled biggish loads for 30 days.

If they would have eaten they would have been a huge success. They

travelled faster than the ponies and, with one exception, kept together

better than the ponies. If both were eating their ration it is

questionable whether a good mule or a good pony is to be preferred. Our

mules were of the best, and they were beautifully trained and equipped by

the Indian Government: yet on November 13, a fortnight from the start,

Wright records, "mules are a poor substitute for ponies. Not many will

see Hut Point again, I think. Doubt if any would have got much farther

than this if surfaces had been as bad this year as last."[292]

Though they would not eat oats, compressed fodder and oil-cake, they were

quite willing to eat all kinds of other things. If we could have arrived

at the mule equivalent to a vegetarian diet they might have pulled to the

Beardmore without stopping. The nearest to this diet at which we could

arrive was saennegrass, tea-leaves, tobacco ash and rope--all of which

were eaten with gusto. But supplies were very limited. They ate

dog-biscuit as long as they thought we were not looking--but as soon as

they realized they were meant to eat it they went on hunger-strike again.

But during halts at cairns Rani and Pyaree would stand solemnly chewing

the same piece of rope from different ends. Abdullah always led the line,

and followed Wright's ski tracks faithfully, so that if another man was

ahead and Wright turned aside Abdullah always turned too. It was quite a

manoeuvre for Wright to read the sledge-meter at the back of the

sledge. As for Begum: "Got Begum out of a soft patch by rolling her

over."[293]

On the whole the mules failed to adapt themselves to this life, and as

such must at present be considered to be a failure for Antarctic work.

Certainly those of our ponies which had the best chance to adapt

themselves went farthest, such as Nobby and Jimmy Pigg, both of whom had

experience of Barrier sledging before they started on the Polar Journey.

_November 21. Early morning._ It has cleared at last, the disturbance

rolling away to the east during our first march. The surface was very bad

and the mules were not going well. At this time last year many of the

ponies were still quite difficult to make stand just before starting. But

these mules start off now most dolefully. I am afraid they will not all

get back to Hut Point.

Two and a half miles after lunch, i.e. just over forty miles from the

depôt, we turned out to the eastward and found the gear left by the

Second Return Party, when Evans was so ill. The theodolite, which

belonged to Evans, is I believe there, but though we dug all round we

were unable to find it. The ski were all upright, drifted to within six

inches of the shoes. Most of the gear was clothing, which we have left,

with the skis, in the tank. We brought on a roll of Birdie's photographs,

taken on the plateau, and three geological specimens: deep-seated rocks I

think. This was all of importance that there was there.

The N Ration, which we have now come to, consists of about 40 oz. of

food. At present, doing the work we are doing, and with these high

temperatures, -23° when we started, for instance, and -17° now, the men

do not want it. For what it was intended for, hard man-hauling, it would

probably be an excellent ration, and very satisfying.

_November 22. Early morning._ We could not have had a more perfect night

to march. Yesterday at 4 P.M., holding the thermometer in the sun, the

spirit rose to 30°: it was almost too warm in the tent. The cairns show

very plainly--in such weather navigation of this kind would be dead easy.

But they are already being eaten away and toppling. The pony walls are

drifted level--huge drifts, quite hard, running up to windward and down

to lee.

The dogs are getting more hungry, and want to get at the mules, which

makes them go better. They went very well to-day, but too fast once, for

we had a general mix-up: Bieliglass under the sledge and the rest all

tangled up and ready for a fight at the first chance. How one of the

front pair of dogs got under the sledge is a mystery.

Among the Polar Party's gear is a letter to the King of Norway. It was

left by the Norwegians for Scott to take back. It is wrapped in a piece

of thin windcloth with one dark check line in it. Coarser and rougher

and, I should say, heavier than our Mandelbergs.

_November 23. Early morning._ We were to make Dimitri Depôt this morning,

but we came on in a fog, and the mule party camped after running down the

distance. Wright came back and said, "If we have passed it, it's over

there"--and as he pointed the depôt showed--not more than 200 yards away.

So that is all right. We, the dog party, go on in advance to-morrow, so

that no time may be lost, and if the ice is still good, Atkinson will get

over to Cape Evans.

[Illustration: 'ATCH']

[Illustration: TITUS OATES]

_November 24. Early morning._ A glut of foot-walloping in soft snow and

breaking crusts. We have done between 17 and 18 miles to-day. We saw no

crevasses, and have marked the course well, building up the cairns and

leaving two flags--so the mule party should be all right. The dogs were

going well behind the ponies, but directly we went ahead they seemed to

lose heart. I think they are tired of the Barrier: a cairn now awakens

little interest: they know it is only a mark and it does not mean a

camp: they are all well fed, and fairly fat and in good condition. With a

large number of dogs I suppose one team can go ahead when it is going

well--changing places with another--each keeping the others going. But I

do not think that these dogs now will do much more; but they have already

done as much as any dogs of which we have any record.

The land is clearing gradually. I have never seen such contrasts of black

rock and white snow, and White Island was capped with great ranges of

black cumulus, over which rose the pure white peaks of the Royal Society

Range in a blue sky. The Barrier itself was quite a deep grey, making a

beautiful picture. And now Observation Hill and Castle Rock are in front.

I don't suppose I shall ever see this view again: but it is associated

with many memories of returning to home and plenty after some long and

hard journeys: in some ways I feel sorry--but I have seen it often

enough.

_November 25. Early morning._ We came in 24 miles with our loads, to find

the best possible news--Campbell's Party, all well, are at Cape Evans.

They arrived here on November 6, starting from Evans Coves on September

30. What a relief it is, and how different things seem now! It is the

first real bit of good news since February last--it seems an age. We mean

to get over the sea-ice, if possible, as soon as we can, and then we

shall hear their story.

_November 26. Early morning._ Starting from Hut Point about 6.45 P.M.

last evening, we came through by about 9 P.M., and sat up talking and

hearing all the splendid news till past 2 A.M. this morning.

All the Northern Party look very fat and fit, and they are most cheerful

about the time they have had, and make light of all the anxious days they

must have spent and their hard times.

I cannot write all their story. When the ship was battling with the pack

to try and get in to them they had open water in Terra Nova Bay to the

horizon, as seen from 200 feet high. They prepared for the winter,

digging their hut into a big snowdrift a mile from where they were

landed. They thought that the ship had been wrecked--or that every one

had been taken off from here, and that then the ship had been blown north

by a succession of furious gales which they had and could not get back.

They never considered seriously the possibility of sledging down the

coast before the winter. They got settled in and were very warm--so warm

that in August they did away with one door, of which they had three, of

biscuit boxes and sacking.

Their stove was the bottom of an oil tin, and they cooked by dripping

blubber on to seal bones, which became soaked with the blubber, and

Campbell tells me they cooked almost as quickly as a primus. Of course

they were filthy. Their main difficulty was dysentery and ptomaine

poisoning.

Their stories of the winter are most amusing--of "Placing the Plug, or

Sports in the Antarctic"; of lectures; of how dirty they were; of their

books, of which they had four, including David Copperfield. They had a

spare tent, which was lucky, for the bamboos of one of theirs were blown

in during a big wind, and the men inside it crept along the piedmont on

hands and knees to the igloo and slept two in a bag. How the seal seemed

as if they would give out, and they were on half rations and very hungry:

and they were thinking they would have to come down in the winter, when

they got two seals: of the fish they got from the stomach of a seal--"the

best feed they had"--the blubber they have eaten.

But they were buried deep in the snow and quite warm. Big winds all the

time from the W.S.W., cold winds off the plateau--in the igloo they could

hear almost nothing outside--how they just had a biscuit a day at times,

sugar on Sundays, etc.

And so all is well in this direction, and we have done right in going

south, and we have at least succeeded in getting all records. I suppose

any news is better than no news.

_Evening._ The Pole Party photos of themselves at the Pole and at the

Norwegian cairn (a Norwegian tent, post and two flags) are very good

indeed--one film is unused, one used on these two subjects: taken with

Birdie's camera. All the party look fit and well, and their clothes are

not iced up. It was calm at the time: the surface looks rather soft.

Atkinson and Campbell have gone to Hut Point with one dog-team, and we

are all to forgather here. The ice still seems good from here to Hut

Point: all else open water as far as can be seen.

A steady southerly wind has been blowing here for three days now. The

mules should get into Hut Point to-day.

It is the happiest day for nearly a year--almost the only happy one.

FOOTNOTES:

[291] My own diary.

[292] Wright's diary.

[293] Wright's diary.

CHAPTER XVII

THE POLAR JOURNEY

DON JUAN. This creature Man, who in his own selfish affairs is a

coward to the backbone, will fight for an idea like a hero. He

may be abject as a citizen; but he is dangerous as a fanatic. He

can only be enslaved while he is spiritually weak enough to

listen to reason. I tell you, gentlemen, if you can show a man a

piece of what he now calls God's work to do, and what he will

later on call by many new names, you can make him entirely

reckless of the consequences to himself personally....

DON JUAN. Every idea for which Man will die will be a Catholic

idea. When the Spaniard learns at last that he is no better than

the Saracen, and his prophet no better than Mahomet, he will

arise, more Catholic than ever, and die on a barricade across the

filthy slum he starves in, for universal liberty and equality.

THE STATUE. Bosh!

DON JUAN. What you call bosh is the only thing men dare die for.

Later on, Liberty will not be Catholic enough: men will die for

human perfection, to which they will sacrifice all their liberty

gladly.

BERNARD SHAW, _Man and Superman._

V. THE POLE AND AFTER

_The Polar Party._ _Depôts._

SCOTT One Ton [79° 29´].

WILSON Upper Barrier or Mount Hooper [80° 32´].

BOWERS Middle Barrier [81° 35´].

OATES Lower Barrier [82° 47´].

Seaman EVANS Shambles Camp [N. of Gateway].

Lower Glacier [S. of Gateway].

Middle Glacier [Cloudmaker].

Upper Glacier [Mt. Darwin].

Three Degree [86° 56´].

1½ Degree [88° 29´].

Last Depôt [89° 32´].

Scott returned from the Discovery Expedition impressed by the value of

youth in polar work; but the five who went forward from 87° 32´ were all

grown men, chosen from a body which was largely recruited on a basis of

youth. Four of them were men who were accustomed to take responsibility

and to lead others. Four of them had wide sledging experience and were

accustomed to cold temperatures. They were none of them likely to get

flurried in emergency, to panic under any circumstances, or to wear

themselves out by loss of nervous control. Scott and Wilson were the most

highly strung of the party: I believe that the anxiety which Scott

suffered served as a stimulus against mental monotony rather than as a

drain upon his energy. Scott was 43, Wilson 39, Evans 37, Oates 32, and

Bowers 28 years old. Bowers was exceptionally old for his age.

In the event of one man crocking a five-man party may be better able to

cope with the situation, but with this doubtful exception Scott had

nothing to gain and a good deal to lose by taking an extra man to the

Pole. That he did so means, I think, that he considered his position a

very good one at this time. He was anxious to take as many men with him

as possible. I have an impression that he wanted the army represented as

well as the navy. Be that as it may, he took five men: he decided to take

the extra man at the last moment, and in doing so he added one more link

to a chain. But he was content; and four days after the Last Return Party

left them, as he lay out a blizzard, quite warm in his sleeping-bag

though the mid-day temperature was -20°, he wrote a long diary praising

his companions very highly indeed "so our five people are perhaps as

happily selected as it is possible to imagine."[294] He speaks of Seaman

Evans as being a giant worker with a really remarkable headpiece. There

is no mention of the party feeling the cold, though they were now at the

greatest height of their journey; the food satisfied them thoroughly.

There is no shadow of trouble here: only Evans has got a nasty cut on his

hand!

There were more disadvantages in this five-man party than you might

think. There was 5½ weeks' food for four men: five men would eat this in

about four weeks. In addition to the extra risk of breakdown, there was

a certain amount of discomfort involved, for everything was arranged for

four men as I have already explained; the tent was a four-man tent, and

an inner lining had been lashed to the bamboos making it smaller still:

when stretched out for the night the sleeping-bags of the two outside men

must have been partly off the floor-cloth, and probably on the snow:

their bags must have been touching the inner tent and collecting the rime

which was formed there: cooking for five took about half an hour longer

in the day than cooking for four--half an hour off your sleep, or half an

hour off your march? I do not believe that five men on the lid of a

crevasse are as safe as four. Wilson writes that the stow of the sledge

with five sleeping-bags was pretty high: this makes it top-heavy and

liable to capsize in rough country.

But what would have paralysed anybody except Bowers was the fact that

they had only four pairs of ski between the five of them. To slog along

on foot, in soft snow, in the middle of four men pulling rhythmically on

ski, must have been tiring and even painful; and Birdie's legs were very

short. No steady swing for him, and little chance of getting his mind off

the job in hand. Scott could never have meant to take on five men when he

told his supporting team to leave their ski behind, only four days before

he reorganized.

"May I be there!" wrote Wilson of the men chosen to travel the ice-cap to

the Pole. "About this time next year may I be there or thereabouts! With

so many young bloods in the heyday of youth and strength beyond my own I

feel there will be a most difficult task in making choice towards the

end." "I should like to have Bill to hold my hand when we get to the

Pole," said Scott.

Wilson _was_ there and his diary is that of an artist, watching the

clouds and mountains, of a scientist observing ice and rock and snow, of

a doctor, and above all of a man with good judgment. You will understand

that the thing which really interested him in this journey was the

acquisition of knowledge. It is a restrained, and for the most part a

simple, record of facts. There is seldom any comment, and when there is

you feel that, for this very reason, it carries more weight. Just about

this time: "December 24. Very promising, thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon

march": "Christmas Day, and a real good and happy one with a very long

march": "January 1, 1912. We had only 6 hours' sleep last night by a

mistake, but I had mine solid in one piece, actually waking in exactly

the same position as I fell asleep in 6 hours before--never moved":

"January 2. We were surprised to-day by seeing a Skua gull flying over

us--evidently hungry but not weak. Its droppings, however, were clear

mucus, nothing in them at all. It appeared in the afternoon and

disappeared again about ½ hour after." And then on January 3: "Last night

Scott told us what the plans were for the South Pole. Scott, Oates,

Bowers, Petty Officer Evans and I are to go to the Pole. Teddie Evans is

to return from here to-morrow with Crean and Lashly. Scott finished his

week's cooking to-night and I begin mine to-morrow." Just that.

The next day Bowers wrote: "I had my farewell breakfast in the tent with

Teddy Evans, Crean and Lashly. After so little sleep the previous night I

rather dreaded the march. We gave our various notes, messages and letters

to the returning party and started off. They accompanied us for about a

mile before returning, to see that all was going well. Our party were on

ski with the exception of myself: I first made fast to the central span,

but afterwards connected up to the toggle of the sledge, pulling in the

centre between the inner ends of Captain Scott's and Dr. Wilson's traces.

This was found to be the best place, as I had to go my own step.

"Teddy and party gave us three cheers, and Crean was half in tears. They

have a feather-weight sledge to go back with of course, and ought to run

down their distance easily.[295] We found we could manage our load

easily, and did 6.3 miles before lunch, completing 12.5 by 7.15 P.M. Our

marching hours are nine per day. It is a long slog with a well-loaded

sledge, and more tiring for me than the others, as I have no ski.

However, as long as I can do my share all day and keep fit it does not

matter much one way or the other.

"We had our first northerly wind on the plateau to-day, and a deposit of

snow crystals made the surface like sand latterly on the march. The

sledge dragged like lead. In the evening it fell calm, and although the

temperature was -16° it was positively pleasant to stand about outside

the tent and bask in the sun's rays. It was our first calm since we

reached the summit too. Our socks and other damp articles which we hang

out to dry at night become immediately covered with long feathery

crystals exactly like plumes. Socks, mitts and finnesko dry splendidly up

here during the night. We have little trouble with them compared with

spring and winter journeys. I generally spread my bag out in the sun

during the 1½ hours of lunch time, which gives the reindeer hair a chance

to get rid of the damage done by the deposit of breath and any

perspiration during the night."[296]

Plenty of sun, heavy surfaces, iridescent clouds ... the worst windcut

sastrugi I have seen, covered with bunches of crystals like gorse ... ice

blink all round ... hairy faces and mouths dreadfully iced up on the

march ... hot and sweaty days' work, but sometimes cold hands in the

loops of the ski sticks ... windy streaky cirrus in every direction, all

thin and filmy and scrappy ... horizon clouds all being wafted about....

These are some of the impressions here and there in Wilson's diary during

the first ten days of the party's solitary march. On the whole he is

enjoying himself, I think.

You should read Scott's diary yourself and form your own opinions, but I

think that after the Last Return Party left him there is a load off his

mind. The thing had worked so far, it was up to _them_ now: that great

mass of figures and weights and averages, those years of preparation,

those months of anxiety--no one of them had been in vain. They were up

to date in distance, and there was a very good amount of food, probably

more than was necessary to see them to the Pole and off the plateau on

full rations. Best thought of all, perhaps, the motors with their

uncertainties, the ponies with their suffering, the glacier with its

possibilities of disaster, all were behind: and the two main supporting

parties were safely on their way home. Here with him was a fine party,

tested and strong, and only 148 miles from the Pole.

I can see them, working with a business-like air, with no fuss and no

unnecessary talk, each man knowing his job and doing it: pitching the

tent: finishing the camp work and sitting round on their sleeping-bags

while their meal was cooked: warming their hands on their mugs: saving a

biscuit to eat when they woke in the night: packing the sledge with a

good neat stow: marching with a solid swing--we have seen them do it so

often, and they did it jolly well.

And the conditions did not seem so bad. "To-night it is flat calm; the

sun so warm that in spite of the temperature we can stand about outside

in the greatest comfort. It is amusing to stand thus and remember the

constant horrors of our situation as they were painted for us: the sun is

melting the snow on the ski, etc. The plateau is now very flat, but we

are still ascending slowly. The sastrugi are getting more confused,

predominant from the S.E. I wonder what is in store for us. At present

everything seems to be going with extraordinary smoothness.... We feel

the cold very little, the great comfort of our situation is the excellent

drying effect of the sun.... Our food continues to amply satisfy. What

luck to have hit on such an excellent ration. We really are an

excellently found party ... we lie so very comfortably, warmly clothed in

our comfortable bags, within our double-walled tent."[297]

Then something happened.

While Scott was writing the sentences you have just read, he reached the

summit of the plateau and started, ever so slightly, to go downhill. The

list of corrected altitudes given by Simpson in his meteorological

report are of great interest: Cape Evans 0, Shambles Camp 170, Upper

Glacier Depôt 7151, Three Degree Depôt 9392, One and a Half Degree Depôt

9862, South Pole 9072 feet above sea-level.[298]

What happened is not quite clear, but there is no doubt that the surface

became very bad, that the party began to feel the cold, and that before

long Evans especially began to crock. The immediate trouble was bad

surfaces. I will try and show why these surfaces should have been met in

what was, you must remember, now a land which no man had travelled

before.

Scott laid his One and a Half Degree Depôt (i.e. 1½° or 90 miles from

the Pole) on January 10. That day they started to go down, but for

several days before that the plateau had been pretty flat. Time after

time in the diaries you find crystals--crystals--crystals: crystals

falling through the air, crystals bearding the sastrugi, crystals lying

loose upon the snow. Sandy crystals, upon which the sun shines and which

made pulling a terrible effort: when the sky clouds over they get along

much better. The clouds form and disperse without visible reason. And

generally the wind is in their faces.

Wright tells me that there is certain evidence in the records which may

explain these crystals. Halos are caused by crystals and nearly all those

logged from the bottom of the Beardmore to the Pole and back were on this

stretch of country, where the land was falling. Bowers mentions that the

crystals did not appear in all directions, which goes to show that the

air was not always rising, but sometimes was falling and therefore not

depositing its moisture. There is no doubt that the surfaces met were

very variable, and it may be that the snow lay in waves. Bowers mentions

big undulations for thirty miles before the Pole, and other inequalities

may have been there which were not visible. There is sometimes evidence

that these crystals were formed on the windward side of these waves, and

carried over by a strong wind and deposited on the lee side.

It is common knowledge that as you rise in the atmosphere so the pressure

decreases: in fact, it is usual to measure your height by reading the

barometer. Now the air on this last stretch to the Pole was rising, for

the wind was from the south, and, as we have seen, the plateau here was

sloping down towards the Pole. The air, driven uphill by this southerly

wind, was forced to rise. As it rose it expanded, because the pressure

was less. Air which has expanded without any heat being given to it from

outside, that is in a heat-proof vessel, is said to expand by adiabatic

expansion. Such air tends first to become saturated, and then to

precipitate its moisture. These conditions were approximately fulfilled

on the plateau, where the air expanded as it rose, but could get little

or no heat from outside. The air therefore precipitated its moisture in

the form of crystals.

Owing to the rapid changes in surfaces (on one occasion they depôted

their ski because they were in a sea of sastrugi, and had to walk back

for them because the snow became level and soft again) Scott guessed that

the coastal mountains could not be far away, and we now know that the

actual distance was only 130 miles. About the same time Scott mentions

that he had been afraid that they were weakening in their pulling, but he

was reassured by getting a patch of good surface and finding the sledge

coming as easily as of old. On the night of January 12, eight days after

leaving the Last Return Party, he writes: "At camping to-night every one

was chilled and we guessed a cold snap, but to our surprise the actual

temperature was higher than last night, when we could dawdle in the sun.

It is most unaccountable why we should suddenly feel the cold in this

manner: partly the exhaustion of the march, but partly some damp quality

in the air, I think. Little Bowers is wonderful; in spite of my protest

he _would_ take sights after we had camped to-night, after marching in

the soft snow all day when we have been comparatively restful on

ski."[299] On January 14, Wilson wrote: "A very cold grey thick day with

a persistent breeze from the S.S.E. which we all felt considerably, but

temperature was only -18° at lunch and -15° in the evening. Now just over

40 miles from the Pole." Scott wrote the same day: "Again we noticed the

cold; at lunch to-day all our feet were cold but this was mainly due to

the bald state of our finnesko. I put some grease under the bare skin and

found it make all the difference. Oates seems to be feeling the cold and

fatigue more than the rest of us, but we are all very fit." And on

January 15, lunch: "We were all pretty done at camping."[300] And Wilson:

"We made a depôt [The Last Depôt] of provisions at lunch time and went on

for our last lap with nine days' provision. We went much more easily in

the afternoon, and on till 7.30 P.M. The surface was a funny mixture of

smooth snow and sudden patches of sastrugi, and we occasionally appear to

be on a very gradual down gradient and on a slope down from the west to

east." In the light of what happened afterwards I believe that the party

was not as fit at this time as might have been expected ten days before,

and that this was partly the reason why they felt the cold and found the

pulling so hard. The immediate test was the bad surface, and this was the

result of the crystals which covered the ground.

Simpson has worked out[301] that there is an almost constant pressure

gradient driving the air on the plateau northwards parallel to the 146°

E. meridian, and parallel also to the probable edge of the plateau. The

mean velocity for the months of this December and January was about 11

miles an hour. During this plateau journey Scott logged wind force 5 and

over on 23 occasions, and this wind was in their faces from the Beardmore

to the Pole, and at their backs as they returned. A low temperature when

it is calm is paradise compared to a higher temperature with a wind, and

it is this constant pitiless wind, combined with the altitude and low

temperatures, which has made travelling on the Antarctic plateau so

difficult.

While the mean velocity of wind during the two midsummer months seems to

be fairly constant, there is a very rapid fall of temperature in

January. The mean actual temperature found on the plateau this year in

December was -8.6°, the minimum observed being -19.3°. Simpson remarks

that "it must be accounted as one of the wonders of the Antarctic that it

contains a vast area of the earth's surface where the mean temperature

during the warmest month is more than 8° below the Fahrenheit zero, and

when throughout the month the highest temperature was only +5.5° F."[302]

But the mean temperature on the plateau dropped 10° in January to -18.7°,

the minimum observed being -29.7°. These temperatures have to be combined

with the wind force described above to imagine the conditions of the

march. In the light of Scott's previous plateau journey[303] and

Shackleton's Polar Journey[304] this wind was always expected by our

advance parties. But there can be no doubt that the temperature falls as

solar radiation decreases more rapidly than was generally supposed. Scott

probably expected neither such a rapid fall of temperature, nor the very

bad surfaces, though he knew that the plateau would mean a trying time,

and indeed it was supposed that it would be much the hardest part of the

journey.

On the night of January 15, Scott wrote "it ought to be a certain thing

now, and the only appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian flag

forestalling ours."[305] They were 27 miles from the Pole.

The story of the next three days is taken from Wilson's diary:

"_January 16._ We got away at 8 A.M. and made 7.5 miles by 1.15, lunched,

and then in 5.3 miles came on a black flag and the Norwegians' sledge,

ski, and dog tracks running about N.E. and S.W. both ways. The flag was

of black bunting tied with string to a fore-and-after which had evidently

been taken off a finished-up sledge. The age of the tracks was hard to

guess but probably a couple of weeks--or three or more. The flag was

fairly well frayed at the edges. We camped here and examined the tracks

and discussed things. The surface was fairly good in the forenoon -23°

temperature, and all the afternoon we were coming downhill with again a

rise to the W., and a fall and a scoop to the east where the Norwegians

came up, evidently by another glacier."

[Illustration: AMUNDSEN'S POLHEIM--E. A. Wilson, del.]

"_January 17._ We camped on the Pole itself at 6.30 P.M. this evening. In

the morning we were up at 5 A.M. and got away on Amundsen's tracks going

S.S.W. for three hours, passing two small snow cairns, and then, finding

the tracks too much snowed up to follow, we made our own bee-line for the

Pole: camped for lunch at 12.30 and off again from 3 to 6.30 P.M. It blew

from force 4 to 6 all day in our teeth with temperature -22°, the coldest

march I ever remember. It was difficult to keep one's hands from freezing

in double woollen and fur mitts. Oates, Evans, and Bowers all have pretty

severe frost-bitten noses and cheeks, and we had to camp early for lunch

on account of Evans' hands. It was a very bitter day. Sun was out now and

again, and observations taken at lunch, and before and after supper, and

at night, at 7 P.M. and at 2 A.M. by our time. The weather was not clear,

the air was full of crystals driving towards us as we came south, and

making the horizon grey and thick and hazy. We could see no sign of cairn

or flag, and from Amundsen's direction of tracks this morning he has

probably hit a point about 3 miles off. We hope for clear weather

to-morrow, but in any case are all agreed that he can claim prior right

to the Pole itself. He has beaten us in so far as he made a race of it.

We have done what we came for all the same and as our programme was made

out. From his tracks we think there were only 2 men, on ski, with plenty

of dogs on rather low diet. They seem to have had an oval tent. We sleep

one night at the Pole and have had a double hoosh with some last bits of

chocolate, and X's cigarettes have been much appreciated by Scott and

Oates and Evans. A tiring day: now turning into a somewhat starchy frozen

bag. To-morrow we start for home and shall do our utmost to get back in

time to send the news to the ship."

"_January 18._ Sights were taken in the night, and at about 5 A.M. we

turned out and marched from this night camp about 3¾ miles back in a

S.E.ly direction to a spot which we judged from last night's sights to be

the Pole. Here we lunched camp: built a cairn: took photos: flew the

Queen Mother's Union Jack and all our own flags. We call this the Pole,

though as a matter of fact we went ½ mile farther on in a S. easterly

direction after taking further sights to the actual final spot, and here

we left the Union Jack flying. During the forenoon we passed the

Norwegians' last southerly camp: they called it Polheim and left here a

small tent with Norwegian and Fram flags flying, and a considerable

amount of gear in the tent: half reindeer sleeping-bags, sleeping-socks,

reinskin trousers 2 pair, a sextant, and artif[icial] horizon, a

hypsometer with all the thermoms broken, etc. I took away the spirit-lamp

of it, which I have wanted for sterilizing and making disinfectant

lotions of snow. There were also letters there: one from Amundsen to King

Haakon, with a request that Scott should send it to him. There was also a

list of the five men who made up their party, but no news as to what they

had done. I made some sketches here, but it was blowing very cold, -22°.

Birdie took some photos. We found no sledge there though they said there

was one: it may have been buried in drift. The tent was a funny little

thing for 2 men, pegged out with white line and tent-pegs of yellow wood.

I took some strips of blue-grey silk off the tent seams: it was perished.

The Norskies had got to the Pole on December 16, and were here from 15th

to 17th. At our lunch South Pole Camp we saw a sledge-runner with a black

flag about ½ mile away blowing from it. Scott sent me on ski to fetch it,

and I found a note tied to it showing that this was the Norskies' actual

final Pole position. I was given the flag and the note with Amundsen's

signature, and I got a piece of the sledge-runner as well. The small

chart of our wanderings shows best how all these things lie. After lunch

we made 6.2 miles from the Pole Camp to the north again, and here we are

camped for the night."[306]

The following remarks on the South Pole area were written by Bowers in

the Meteorological Log, apparently on January 17 and 18: "Within 120

miles of the South Pole the sastrugi crossed seem to indicate belts of

certain prevalent winds. These were definitely S.E.ly. up to about Lat.

78° 30´ S., where the summit was passed and we started to go definitely

downhill toward the Pole. An indefinite area was then crossed S.E.ly,

S.ly and S.W.ly sastrugi. Later, in about 79° 30´ S., those from the

S.S.W. predominated. At this point also the surface of the ice-cap became

affected by undulations running more or less at right angles to our

course. These resolved themselves into immense waves some miles in

extent,[307] with a uniform surface both in hollow and crust. The whole

surface was carpeted with a deposit of ice-crystals which, while we were

there, fell sometimes in the form of minute spicules and sometimes in

plates. These caused an almost continuous display of parhelia.

"The flags left a month previously by the Norwegian expedition were

practically undamaged and so could not have been exposed to very heavy

wind during that time. Their sledging and ski tracks, where marked, were

raised slightly, also the dogs' footprints. In the neighbourhood of their

South Pole Camp the drifts were S.W.ly, but there was one S.S.E. drift to

leeward of tent. They had pitched their tent to allow for S.W.ly wind.

For walking on foot the ground was all pretty soft, and on digging down

the crystalline structure of the snow was found to alter very little, and

there were no layers of crust such as are found on the Barrier. The snow

seems so lightly put together as not to cohere, and makes very little

water for its bulk when melted. The constant and varied motion of cirrus,

and the forming and motion of radiant points, shows that in the upper

atmosphere at this time of the year there is little or no

tranquillity."[308]

That is the bare bones of what was without any possible doubt a great

shock. Consider! These men had been out 2½ months and were 800 miles

from home. The glacier had been a heavy grind: the plateau certainly not

worse, probably better, than was expected, as far as that place where the

Last Return Party left them. But then, in addition to a high altitude, a

head wind, and a temperature which averaged -18.7°, came this shower of

ice-crystals, turning the surface to sand, especially when the sun was

out. They were living in cirrus clouds, and the extraordinary state seems

to have obtained that the surface of the snow was colder when the sun was

shining than when clouds checked the radiation from it. They began to

descend. Things began to go not quite right: they felt the cold,

especially Oates and Evans: Evans' hands also were wrong--ever since the

seamen made that new sledge. The making of that sledge must have been

fiercely cold work: one of the hardest jobs they did. I am not sure that

enough notice has been taken of that.

And then: "The Norwegians have forestalled us and are first at the Pole.

It is a terrible disappointment, and I am very sorry for my loyal

companions. Many thoughts come and much discussion have we had. To-morrow

we must march on to the Pole and then hasten home with all the speed we

can compass. All the day-dreams must go; it will be a wearisome return."

"The Pole. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those

expected ... companions labouring on with cold feet and hands.... Evans

had such cold hands we camped for lunch ... the wind is blowing hard, T.

-21°, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which

chills one to the bone in no time.... Great God! this is an awful

place...."[309]

This is not a cry of despair. It is an ejaculation provoked by the

ghastly facts. Even now in January the temperature near the South Pole is

about 24° lower than it is during the corresponding month of the year

(July) near the North Pole,[310] and if it is like this in mid-summer,

what is it like in mid-winter? At the same time it was, with the

exception of the sandy surfaces, what they had looked for, and every

detail of organization was working out as well as if not better than had

been expected.

Bowers was so busy with the meteorological log and sights which were

taken in terribly difficult circumstances that he kept no diary until

they started back. Then he wrote on seven consecutive days, as follows:

"_January 19._ A splendid clear morning with a fine S.W. wind blowing.

During breakfast time I sewed a flap attachment on to the hood of my

green hat so as to prevent the wind from blowing down my neck on the

march. We got up the mast and sail on the sledge and headed north,

picking up Amundsen's cairn and our outgoing tracks shortly afterwards.

Along these we travelled till we struck the other cairn and finally the

black flag where we had made our 58th outward camp. We then with much

relief left all traces of the Norwegians behind us, and headed on our own

track till lunch camp, when we had covered eight miles.

"In the afternoon we passed No. 2 cairn of the British route, and fairly

slithered along before a fresh breeze. It was heavy travelling for me,

not being on ski, but one does not mind being tired if a good march is

made. We did sixteen [miles] altogether for the day, and so should pick

up our Last Depôt to-morrow afternoon. The weather became fairly thick

soon after noon, and at the end of the afternoon there was considerable

drift, with a mist caused by ice-crystals, and parhelion."

"_January 20._ Good sailing breeze again this morning. It is a great

pleasure to have one's back to the wind instead of having to face it. It

came on thicker later, but we sighted the Last Depôt soon after 1 P.M.

and reached it at 1.45 P.M. The red flag on the bamboo pole was blowing

out merrily to welcome us back from the Pole, with its supply of

necessaries of life below. We are absolutely dependent upon our depôts to

get off the plateau alive, and so welcome the lonely little cairns

gladly. At this one, called the Last Depôt, we picked up four days' food,

a can of oil, some methylated spirit (for lighting purposes) and some

personal gear we had left there. The bamboo was bent on to the

floor-cloth as a yard for our sail instead of a broken sledge-runner of

Amundsen's which we had found at the Pole and made a temporary yard of.

"As we had marched extra long in the forenoon in order to reach the

depôt, our afternoon march was shorter than usual. The wind increased to

a moderate gale with heavy gusts and considerable drift. We should have

had a bad time had we been facing it. After an hour I had to shift my

harness aft so as to control the motions of the sledge. Unfortunately the

surface got very sandy latterly, but we finished up with 16.1 miles to

our credit and camped in a stiff breeze, which resolved itself into a

blizzard a few hours later. I was glad we had our depôt safe."

"_January 21._ Wind increased to force 8 during night with heavy drift.

In the morning it was blizzing like blazes and marching was out of the

question. The wind would have been of great assistance to us, but the

drift was so thick that steering a course would have been next to

impossible. We decided to await developments and get under weigh as soon

as it showed any signs of clearing. Fortunately it was shortlived, and

instead of lasting the regulation two days it eased up in the afternoon,

and 3.45 found us off with our sail full. It was good running on ski but

soft plodding for me on foot. I shall be jolly glad to pick up my dear

old ski. They are nearly 200 miles away yet, however. The breeze fell

altogether latterly and I shifted up into my old place as middle number

of the five. Our distance completed was 5.5 miles, when camp was made

again. Our old cairns are of great assistance to us, also the tracks,

which are obliterated in places by heavy drift and hard sastrugi, but can

be followed easily."

"_January 22._ We came across Evans' sheepskin boots this morning. They

were almost covered up after their long spell since they fell off the

sledge [on January 11]. The breeze was fair from the S.S.W. but got

lighter and lighter. At lunch camp we had completed 8.2 miles. In the

afternoon the breeze fell altogether, and the surface, acted on by the

sun, became perfect sawdust. The light sledge pulled by five men came

along like a drag without a particle of slide or give. We were all glad

to camp soon after 7 P.M. I think we were all pretty tired out. We did

altogether 19.5 miles for the day. We are only thirty miles from the 1½

Degree Depôt, and should reach it in two marches with any luck." [The

minimum temperature this night was -30° (uncorrected).]

"_January 23._ Started off with a bit of a breeze which helped us a

little [temperature -28°]. After the first two hours it increased to

force 4, S.S.W., and filling the sail we sped along merrily, doing 8¾

miles before lunch. In the afternoon it was even stronger, and I had to

go back on the sledge and act as guide and brakesman. We had to lower the

sail a bit, but even then she ran like a bird.

"We are picking up our old cairns famously. Evans got his nose

frost-bitten, not an unusual thing with him, but as we were all getting

pretty cold latterly we stopped at a quarter to seven, having done 16½

miles. We camped with considerable difficulty owing to the force of the

wind."[311]

The same night Scott wrote: "We came along at a great pace, and should

have got within an easy march of our [One and a Half Degree] Depôt had

not Wilson suddenly discovered that Evans' nose was frost-bitten--it was

white and hard. We thought it best to camp at 6.45. Got the tent up with

some difficulty, and now pretty cosy after good hoosh.

"There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down--his fingers are badly

blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent

frost-bites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good

sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the

circumstances. Oates gets cold feet. One way and another I shall be glad

to get off the summit!... The weather seems to be breaking up."[312]

Bowers resumes the tale:

"_January 24._ Evans has got his fingers all blistered with frost-bites,

otherwise we are all well, but thinning, and in spite of our good rations

get hungrier daily. I sometimes spend much thought on the march with

plans for making a pig of myself on the first opportunity. As that will

be after a further march of 700 miles they are a bit premature.

"It was blowing a gale when we started and it increased in force. Finally

with the sail half down, one man detached tracking ahead and Titus and I

breaking back, we could not always keep the sledge from overrunning. The

blizzard got worse and worse till, having done only seven miles, we had

to camp soon after twelve o'clock. We had a most difficult job camping,

and it has been blowing like blazes all the afternoon. I think it is

moderating now, 9 P.M. We are only seven miles from our depôt and this

delay is exasperating."[313]

[Scott wrote: "This is the second full gale since we left the Pole. I

don't like the look of it. Is the weather breaking up? If so, God help

us, with the tremendous summit journey and scant food. Wilson and Bowers

are my stand-by. I don't like the easy way in which Oates and Evans get

frost-bitten."[314]]

"_January 25._ It was no use turning out at our usual time (5.45 A.M.),

as the blizzard was as furious as ever; we therefore decided on a late

breakfast and no lunch unless able to march. We have only three days'

food with us and shall be in Queer Street if we miss the depôt. Our bags

are getting steadily wetter, so are our clothes. It shows a tendency to

clear off now (breakfast time) so, D.V., we may march after all. I am in

tribulation as regards meals now as we have run out of salt, one of my

favourite commodities. It is owing to Atkinson's party taking back an

extra tin by mistake from the Upper Glacier Depôt. Fortunately we have

some depôted there, so I will only have to endure another two weeks

without it.

"10 P.M.--We have got in a march after all, thank the Lord. Assisted by

the wind we made an excellent rundown to our One and a Half Degree Depôt,

where the big red flag was blowing out like fury with the breeze, in

clouds of driving drift. Here we picked up 1¼ cans of oil and one week's

food for five men, together with some personal gear depôted. We left the

bamboo and flag on the cairn. I was much relieved to pick up the depôt:

now we only have one other source of anxiety on this endless snow summit,

viz. the Three Degree Depôt in latitude 86° 56´ S.

"In the afternoon we did 5.2 miles. It was a miserable march, blizzard

all the time and our sledge either sticking in sastrugi or overrunning

the traces. We had to lower the sail half down, and Titus and I hung on

to her. It was most strenuous work, as well as much colder than pulling

ahead. Most of the time we had to brake back with all our strength to

keep the sledge from overrunning. Bill got a bad go of snow glare from

following the track without goggles on.

"This day last year we started the Depôt Journey. I did not think so

short a time would turn me into an old hand at polar travelling, neither

did I imagine at the time that I would be returning from the Pole

itself."[315]

Wilson was very subject to these attacks of snow blindness, and also to

headaches before blizzards. I have an idea that his anxiety to sketch

whenever opportunity offered, and his willingness to take off his goggles

to search for tracks and cairns, had something to do with it. This attack

was very typical. "I wrote this at lunch and in the evening had a bad

attack of snow blindness." ... "Blizzard in afternoon. We only got in a

forenoon march. Couldn't see enough of the tracks to follow at all. My

eyes didn't begin to trouble me till to-morrow [yesterday], though it was

the strain of tracking and the very cold drift which we had to-day that

gave me this attack of snow glare." ... "Marched on foot in the afternoon

as my eyes were too bad to go on ski. We had a lot of drift and wind and

very cold. Had ZuSO_4 and cocaine in my eyes at night and didn't get to

sleep at all for the pain--dozed about an hour in the morning only." ...

"Marched on foot again all day as I couldn't see my way on ski at all,

Birdie used my ski. Eyes still very painful and watering. Tired out by

the evening, had a splendid night's sleep, and though very painful across

forehead to-night they are much better."[316]

The surface was awful: in his diary of the day after they left the Pole

(January 19) Wilson wrote an account of it. "We had a splendid wind right

behind us most of the afternoon and went well until about 6 P.M. when the

sun came out and we had an awful grind until 7.30 when we camped. The sun

comes out on sandy drifts, all on the move in the wind, and temp. -20°,

and gives us an absolutely awful surface with no glide at all for ski or

sledge, and just like fine sand. The weather all day has been more or

less overcast with white broken alto-stratus, and for 3 degrees above the

horizon there is a grey belt looking like a blizzard of drift, but this

in reality is caused by a constant fall of minute snow crystals, very

minute. Sometimes instead of crystal plates the fall is of minute

agglomerate spicules like tiny sea-urchins. The plates glitter in the sun

as though of some size, but you can only just see them as pin-points on

your burberry. So the spicule collections are only just visible. Our

hands are never warm enough in camp to do any neat work now. The weather

is always uncomfortably cold and windy, about -23°, but after lunch

to-day I got a bit of drawing done."[317]

All the joy had gone from their sledging. They were hungry, they were

cold, the pulling was heavy, and two of them were not fit. As long ago as

January 14 Scott wrote that Oates was feeling the cold and fatigue more

than the others[318] and again he refers to the matter on January

20.[319] On January 19 Wilson wrote: "We get our hairy faces and mouths

dreadfully iced up on the march, and often one's hands very cold indeed

holding ski-sticks. Evans, who cut his knuckle some days ago at the last

depôt, has a lot of pus in it to-night." January 20: "Evans has got 4 or

5 of his finger-tips badly blistered by the cold. Titus also his nose and

cheeks--al[so] Evans and Bowers." January 28: "Evans has a number of

badly blistered finger-ends which he got at the Pole. Titus' big toe is

turning blue-black." January 31: "Evans' finger-nails all coming off,

very raw and sore." February 4: "Evans is feeling the cold a lot, always

getting frost-bitten. Titus' toes are blackening, and his nose and cheeks

are dead yellow. Dressing Evans' fingers every other day with boric

vaseline: they are quite sweet still." February 5: "Evans' fingers

suppurating. Nose very bad [hard] and rotten-looking."[320]

Scott was getting alarmed about Evans, who "has dislodged two

finger-nails to-night; his hands are really bad, and, to my surprise, he

shows signs of losing heart over it. He hasn't been cheerful since the

accident."[321] "The party is not improving in condition, especially

Evans, who is becoming rather dull and incapable." "Evans' nose is almost

as bad as his fingers. He is a good deal crocked up."[322]

Bowers' diary, quoted above, finished on January 25, on which day they

picked up their One and a Half Degree Depôt. "I shall sleep much better

with our provision bag full again," wrote Scott that night. "Bowers got

another rating sight to-night--it was wonderful how he managed to observe

in such a horribly cold wind." They marched 16 miles the next day, but

got off the outward track, which was crooked. On January 27 they did 14

miles on a "very bad surface of deep-cut sastrugi all day, until late in

the afternoon when we began to get out of them."[323] "By Jove, this is

tremendous labour," said Scott.

They were getting into the better surfaces again: 15.7 miles for January

28, "a fine day and a good march on very decent surface."[324] On January

29 Bowers wrote his last full day's diary: "Our record march to-day.

With a good breeze and improving surface we were soon in among the double

tracks where the supporting party left us. Then we picked up the

memorable camp where I transferred to the advance party. How glad I was

to change over. The camp was much drifted up and immense sastrugi were

everywhere, S.S.E. in direction and S.E. We did 10.4 miles before lunch.

I was breaking back on sledge and controlling; it was beastly cold and my

hands were perished. In the afternoon I put on my dogskin mitts and was

far more comfortable. A stiff breeze with drift continues: temperature

-25°. Thank God our days of having to face it are over. We completed 19.5

miles [22 statute] this evening, and so are only 29 miles from our

precious [Three Degree] Depôt. It will be bad luck indeed if we do not

get there in a march and a half anyhow."[325]

Nineteen miles again on January 30, but during the previous day's march

Wilson had strained a tendon in his leg. "I got a nasty bruise on the

Tib[ialis] ant[icus] which gave me great pain all the afternoon." "My

left leg exceedingly painful all day, so I gave Birdie my ski and hobbled

alongside the sledge on foot. The whole of the Tibialis anticus is

swollen and tight, and full of teno synovitis, and the skin red and

oedematous over the shin. But we made a very fine march with the help of

a brisk breeze." January 31: "Again walking by the sledge with swollen

leg but not nearly so painful. We had 5.8 miles to go to reach our Three

Degree Depôt. Picked this up with a week's provision and a line from

Evans, and then for lunch an extra biscuit each, making 4 for lunch and

1/10 whack of butter extra as well. Afternoon we passed cairn where

Birdie's ski had been left. These we picked up and came on till 7.30 P.M.

when the wind which had been very light all day dropped, and with temp.

-20° it felt delightfully warm and sunny and clear. We have 1/10 extra

pemmican in the hoosh now also. My leg pretty swollen again

to-night."[326] They travelled 13.5 miles that day, and 15.7 on the next.

"My leg much more comfortable, gave me no pain, and I was able to pull

all day, holding on to the sledge. Still some oedema. We came down a

hundred feet or so to-day on a fairly steep gradient."[327]

They were now approaching the crevassed surfaces and the ice-falls which

mark the entrance to the Beardmore Glacier, and February 2 was marked by

another accident, this time to Scott. "On a very slippery surface I came

an awful 'purler' on my shoulder. It is horribly sore to-night and

another sick person added to our tent--three out of five injured, and the

most troublesome surfaces to come. We shall be lucky if we get through

without serious injury. Wilson's leg is better, but might easily get bad

again, and Evans' fingers.... We have managed to get off 17 miles. The

extra food is certainly helping us, but we are getting pretty hungry. The

weather is already a trifle warmer, the altitude lower and only 80 miles

or so to Mount Darwin. It is time we were off the summit.--Pray God

another four days will see us pretty well clear of it. Our bags are

getting very wet and we ought to have more sleep."[328]

They had been spending some time in finding the old tracks. But they had

a good landfall for the depôt at the top of the glacier and on February 3

they decided to push on due north, and to worry no more for the present

about tracks and cairns. They did 16 miles that day. Wilson's diary runs:

"Sunny and breezy again. Came down a series of slopes, and finished the

day by going up one. Enormous deep-cut sastrugi and drifts and shiny

egg-shell surface. Wind all S.S.E.ly. To-day at about 11 P.M. we got our

first sight again of mountain peaks on our eastern horizon.... We crossed

the outmost line of crevassed ridge top to-day, the first on our return.

[Illustration: BUCKLEY ISLAND--Where The Fossils Were Found.]

"_February 4._ 18 miles. Clear cloudless blue sky, surface drift. During

forenoon we came down gradual descent including 2 or 3 irregular terrace

slopes, on crest of one of which were a good many crevasses. Southernmost

were just big enough for Scott and Evans to fall in to their waists, and

very deceptively covered up. They ran east and west. Those nearer the

crest were the ordinary broad street-like crevasses, well lidded. In the

afternoon we again came to a crest, before descending, with street

crevasses, and one we crossed had a huge hole where the lid had fallen

in, big enough for a horse and cart to go down. We have a great number of

mountain tops on our right and south of our beam as we go due north now.

We are now camped just below a great crevassed mound, on a mountain top

evidently."

"_February 5._ 18.2 miles. We had a difficult day, getting in amongst a

frightful chaos of broad chasm-like crevasses. We kept too far east and

had to wind in and out amongst them and cross multitudes of bridges.

We then bore west a bit and got on better all the afternoon and got round

a good deal of the upper disturbances of the falls here."

[Scott wrote: "We are camped in a very disturbed region, but the wind has

fallen very light here, and our camp is comfortable for the first time

for many weeks."[329]]

"_February 6._ 15 miles. We again had a forenoon of trying to cut

corners. Got in amongst great chasms running E. and W. and had to come

out again. We then again kept west and downhill over tremendous sastrugi,

with a slight breeze, very cold. In afternoon continued bearing more and

more towards Mount Darwin: we got round one of the main lines of ice-fall

and looked back up to it.... Very cold march: many crevasses: I walking

by the sledge on foot found a good many: the others all on ski."

"_February 7._ 15.5 miles. Clear day again and we made a tedious march in

the forenoon along a flat or two, and down a long slope: and then in the

afternoon we had a very fresh breeze, and very fast run down long slopes

covered with big sastrugi. It was a strenuous job steering and checking

behind by the sledge. We reached the Upper Glacier Depôt by 7.30 P.M. and

found everything right."[330]

This was the end of the plateau: the beginning of the glacier. Their hard

time should be over so far as the weather was concerned. Wilson notes how

fine the land looked as they approached it: "The colour of the Dominion

Range rock is in the main all brown madder or dark reddish chocolate, but

there are numerous bands of yellow rock scattered amongst it. I think it

is composed of dolerite and sandstone as on the W. side."[331]

The condition of the party was of course giving anxiety: how much it is

impossible to say. A good deal was to be hoped from the warm weather

ahead. Scott and Bowers were probably the fittest men. Scott's shoulder

soon mended and "Bowers is splendid, full of energy and bustle all the

time."[332] Wilson was feeling the cold more than either of them now. His

leg was not yet well enough to wear ski. Oates had suffered from a cold

foot for some time. Evans, however, was the only man whom Scott seems to

have been worried about. "His cuts and wounds suppurate, his nose looks

very bad, and altogether he shows considerable signs of being played

out." ... "Well, we have come through our seven weeks' ice-cap journey

and most of us are fit, but I think another week might have had a very

bad effect on P.O. Evans, who is going steadily downhill."[333] They had

all been having extra food which had helped them much, though they

complained of hunger and want of sleep. Directly they got into the warmer

weather on the glacier their food satisfied them, "but we must march to

keep on the full ration, and we want rest, yet we shall pull through all

right, D.V. We are by no means worn out."[334]

There are no germs in the Antarctic, save for a few isolated specimens

which almost certainly come down from civilization in the upper air

currents. You can sleep all night in a wet bag and clothing, and sledge

all day in a mail of ice, and you will not catch a cold nor get any

aches. You can get deficiency diseases, like scurvy, for inland this is a

deficiency country, without vitamines. You can also get poisoned if you

allow your food to remain thawed out too long, and if you do not cover

the provisions in a depôt with enough snow the sun will get at them, even

though the air temperature is far below freezing. But it is not easy to

become diseased.

On the other hand, once something does go wrong it is the deuce and all

to get it right: especially cuts. And the isolation of the polar

traveller may place him in most difficult circumstances. There are no

ambulances and hospitals, and a man on a sledge is a very serious weight.

Practically any man who undertakes big polar journeys must face the

possibility of having to commit suicide to save his companions, and the

difficulty of this must not be overrated, for it is in some ways more

desirable to die than to live if things are bad enough: we got to that

stage on the Winter Journey. I remember discussing this question with

Bowers, who had a scheme of doing himself in with a pick-axe if necessity

arose, though how he could have accomplished it I don't know: or, as he

said, there might be a crevasse and at any rate there was the medical

case. I was horrified at the time: I had never faced the thing out with

myself like that.

They left the Upper Glacier Depôt under Mount Darwin on February 8. This

day they collected the most important of those geological specimens to

which, at Wilson's special request, they clung to the end, and which were

mostly collected by him. Mount Darwin and Buckley Island, which are

really the tops of high mountains, stick out of the ice at the top of the

glacier, and the course ran near to both of them, but not actually up

against them. Shackleton found coal on Buckley Island, and it was clear

that the place was of great geological importance, for it was one of the

only places in the Antarctic where fossils could be found, so far as we

knew. The ice-falls stretched away as far as you could see towards the

mountains which bound the glacier on either side, and as you looked

upwards towards Buckley Island they were like a long breaking wave. One

of the great difficulties about the Beardmore was that you saw the

ice-falls as you went up, and avoided them, but coming down you knew

nothing of their whereabouts until you fell into the middle of pressure

and crevasses, and then it was almost impossible to say whether you

should go right or left to get out.

Evans was unable to pull this day, and was detached from the sledge, but

this was not necessarily a very serious sign: Shackleton on his return

journey was not able to pull at this place. Wilson wrote as follows:

"_February 8, Mt. Buckley Cliffs._ A very busy day. We had a very cold

forenoon march, blowing like blazes from the S. Birdie detached and went

on ski to Mt. Darwin and collected some dolerite, the only rock he could

see on the Nunatak, which was nearest. We got into a sort of crusted

surface where the snow broke through nearly to our knees and the

sledge-runner also. I thought at first we were all on a thinly bridged

crevasse. We then came on east a bit, and gradually got worse and worse

going over an ice-fall, having great trouble to prevent sledge taking

charge, but eventually got down and then made N.W. or N. into the land,

and camped right by the moraine under the great sandstone cliffs of Mt.

Buckley, out of the wind and quite warm again: it was a wonderful change.

After lunch we all geologized on till supper, and I was very late turning

in, examining the moraine after supper. Socks, all strewn over the rocks,

dried splendidly. Magnificent Beacon sandstone cliffs. Masses of

limestone in the moraine, and dolerite crags in various places. Coal

seams at all heights in the sandstone cliffs, and lumps of weathered coal

with fossil vegetable. Had a regular field-day and got some splendid

things in the short time."

"_February 9, Moraine visit._ We made our way along down the moraine, and

at the end of Mt. Buckley [I] unhitched and had half an hour over the

rocks and again got some good things written up in sketch-book. We then

left the moraine and made a very good march on rough blue ice all day

with very small and scarce scraps of névé, on one of which we camped for

the night with a rather overcast foggy sky, which cleared to bright sun

in the night. We are all thoroughly enjoying temps. of +10° or

thereabouts now, with no wind instead of the summit winds which are

incessant with temp. -20°."

"_February 10._ ?16 m. We made a very good forenoon march from 10 to 2.45

towards the Cloudmaker. Weather overcast gradually obscured everything in

snowfall fog, starting with crystals of large size.... We had to camp

after 2½ hours' afternoon march as it got too thick to see anything and

we were going downhill on blue ice...."[335]

[Illustration: BUCKLEY ISLAND--E. A. Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited,

Collotypers.]

The next day in bad lights and on a bad surface they fell into the same

pressure which both the other returning parties experienced. Like them

they were in the middle of it before they realized. "Then came the fatal

decision to steer east. We went on for 6 hours, hoping to do a good

distance, which I suppose we did, but for the last hour or two we

pressed on into a regular trap. Getting on to a good surface we did not

reduce our lunch meal, and thought all going well, but half an hour after

lunch we got into the worst ice mess I have ever been in. For three hours

we plunged on on ski, first thinking we were too much to the right, then

too much to the left; meanwhile the disturbance got worse and my spirits

received a very rude shock. There were times when it seemed almost

impossible to find a way out of the awful turmoil in which we found

ourselves.... The turmoil changed in character, irregular crevassed

surface giving way to huge chasms, closely packed and most difficult to

cross. It was very heavy work, but we had grown desperate. We won through

at 10 P.M., and I write after 12 hours on the march...."[336]

Wilson continues the story:

"_February 12._ We had a good night just outside the ice-falls and

disturbances, and a small breakfast of tea, thin hoosh and biscuit, and

began the forenoon by a decent bit of travelling on rubbly blue ice in

crampons: then plunged into an ice-fall and wandered about in it for

hours and hours."

"_February 13._ We had one biscuit and some tea after a night's sleep on

very hard and irregular blue ice amongst the ice-fall crevasses. No snow

on the tent, only ski, etc. Got away at 10 A.M. and by 2 P.M. found the

depôt, having had a good march over very hard rough blue ice. Only ½ hour

in the disturbance of yesterday. The weather was very thick, snowing and

overcast, could only just see the points of bearing for depôt. However,

we got there, tired and hungry, and camped and had hoosh and tea and 3

biscuits each. Then away again with our three and a half days' food from

this red flag depôt and off down by the Cloudmaker moraine. We travelled

about 4 hours on hard blue ice, and I was allowed to geologize the last

hour down the two outer lines of boulders. The outer one all dolerite and

quartz rocks, the inner all dolerite and sandstone.... We camped on the

inner line of boulders, weather clearing all the afternoon."[337]

Meanwhile both Wilson and Bowers had been badly snow-blind, though Wilson

does not mention it in his diary; and this night Scott says Evans had no

power to assist with camping work. A good march followed on February 14,

but "there is no getting away from the fact that we are not pulling

strong. Probably none of us: Wilson's leg still troubles him and he

doesn't like to trust himself on ski; but the worst case is Evans, who is

giving us serious anxiety. This morning he suddenly disclosed a huge

blister on his foot. It delayed us on the march, when he had to have his

crampon readjusted. Sometimes I feel he is going from bad to worse, but I

trust he will pick up again when we come to steady work on ski like this

afternoon. He is hungry and so is Wilson. We can't risk opening out our

food again, and as cook at present I am serving something under full

allowance. We are inclined to get slack and slow with our camping

arrangement, and small delays increase. I have talked of the matter

to-night and hope for improvement. We cannot do distance without the

hours."[338]

There was something wrong with this party: more wrong, I mean, than was

justified by the tremendous journey they had already experienced. Except

for the blizzard at the bottom of the Beardmore and the surfaces near the

Pole it had been little worse than they expected. Evans, however, who was

considered by Scott to be the strongest man of the party, had already

collapsed, and it is admitted that the rest of the party was becoming far

from strong. There seems to be an unknown factor here somewhere.

[Illustration: MT. KYFFIN--E. A. Wilson, del.]

Wilson's diary continues: "_February 15. 13¾ m. geog._ I got on ski again

first time since damaging my leg and was on them all day for 9 hours. It

was a bit painful and swelled by the evening, and every night I put on

snow poultice. We are not yet abreast of Mt. Kyffin, and much discussion

how far we are from the Lower Glacier Depôt, probably 18 to 20 m.: and we

have to reduce food again, only one biscuit to-night with a thin hoosh of

pemmican. To-morrow we have to make one day's food which remains last

over the two. The weather became heavily overcast during the afternoon

and then began to snow, and though we got in our 4 hours' march it was

with difficulty, and we only made a bit over 5 miles. However, we are

nearer the depôt to-night."

"_February 16. 12½ m. geog._ Got a good start in fair weather after one

biscuit and a thin breakfast, and made 7½ m. in the forenoon. Again the

weather became overcast and we lunched almost at our old bearing on

Kyffin of lunch Dec. 15. All the afternoon the weather became thick and

thicker and after 3¼ hours Evans collapsed, sick and giddy, and unable to

walk even by the sledge on ski, so we camped. Can see no land at all

anywhere, but we must be getting pretty near the Pillar Rock. Evans'

collapse has much to do with the fact that he has never been sick in his

life and is now helpless with his hands frost-bitten. We had thin meals

for lunch and supper."

"_February 17._ The weather cleared and we got away for a clear run to

the depôt and had gone a good part of the way when Evans found his ski

shoes coming off. He was allowed to readjust and continue to pull, but it

happened again, and then again, so he was told to unhitch, get them

right, and follow on and catch us up. He lagged far behind till lunch,

and when we camped we had lunch, and then went back for him as he had not

come up. He had fallen and had his hands frost-bitten, and we then

returned for the sledge, and brought it, and fetched him in on it as he

was rapidly losing the use of his legs. He was comatose when we got him

into the tent, and he died without recovering consciousness that night

about 10 P.M. We had a short rest for an hour or two in our bags that

night, then had a meal and came on through the pressure ridges about 4

miles farther down and reached our Lower Glacier Depôt. Here we camped at

last, had a good meal and slept a good night's rest which we badly

needed. Our depôt was all right."[339] "A very terrible day.... On

discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we

reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by

the shock of his frost-bitten fingers, and later by falls during rough

travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in

himself. Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a

fall. It is a terrible thing to lose a companion in this way, but calm

reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the

terrible anxieties of the past week. Discussion of the situation at lunch

yesterday shows us what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on

our hands at such a distance from home."[340]

[Illustration: WHERE EVANS DIED--E. A. Wilson, del.]

FOOTNOTES:

[294] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 536.

[295] It is to be noticed that every return party, including the

Polar Party, was supposed by their companions to be going to

have a very much easier time than, as a matter of fact, they

had.--A. C.-G.

[296] Bowers.

[297] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 530-534.

[298] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 291.

[299] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 540.

[300] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 541-542.

[301] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. pp.

144-146.

[302] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 41.

[303] See pp. xxxviii-xxxix.

[304] See p. xivii.

[305] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 543.

[306] Wilson.

[307] Evidently meaning some miles from crest to crest.

[308] Bowers, _Polar Meteorological Log._

[309] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 543-544.

[310] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 40.

[311] Bowers.

[312] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 550-551.

[313] Bowers.

[314] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 552.

[315] Bowers.

[316] Wilson.

[317] Wilson.

[318] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 541.

[319] Ibid. p. 549.

[320] Wilson.

[321] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 557.

[322] Ibid. pp. 560, 561.

[323] Wilson.

[324] Ibid.

[325] Bowers.

[326] Wilson.

[327] Ibid.

[328] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 559.

[329] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 561.

[330] Wilson.

[331] Ibid.

[332] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 561.

[333] Ibid. pp. 562, 563.

[334] Ibid. p. 566.

[335] Wilson.

[336] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 567.

[337] Wilson.

[338] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 570-571.

[339] Wilson.

[340] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 573.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE POLAR JOURNEY (_continued_)

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall, ...

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, ...

This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land.

SHAKESPEARE.

VI. FARTHEST SOUTH

Stevenson has written of a traveller whose wife slumbered by his side

what time his spirit re-adventured forth in memory of days gone by. He

was quite happy about it, and I suppose his travels had been peaceful,

for days and nights such as these men spent coming down the Beardmore

will give you nightmare after nightmare, and wake you shrieking--years

after.

Of course they were shaken and weakened. But the conditions they had

faced, and the time they had been out, do not in my opinion account

entirely for their weakness nor for Evans' collapse, which may have had

something to do with the fact that he was the biggest, heaviest and most

muscular man in the party. I do not believe that this is a life for such

men, who are expected to pull their weight and to support and drive a

larger machine than their companions, and at the same time to eat no

extra food. If, as seems likely, the ration these men were eating was not

enough to support the work they were doing, then it is clear that the

heaviest man will feel the deficiency sooner and more severely than

others who are smaller than he. Evans must have had a most terrible time:

I think it is clear from the diaries that he had suffered very greatly

without complaint. At home he would have been nursed in bed: here he must

march (he was pulling the day he died) until he was crawling on his

frost-bitten hands and knees in the snow--horrible: most horrible perhaps

for those who found him so, and sat in the tent and watched him die. I am

told that simple concussion does not kill as suddenly as this: probably

some clot had moved in his brain.

For one reason and another they took very nearly as long to come down the

glacier with a featherweight sledge as we had taken to go up it with full

loads. Seven days' food were allowed from the Upper to the Lower Glacier

Depôt. Bowers told me that he thought this was running it fine. But the

two supporting parties got through all right, though they both tumbled

into the horrible pressure above the Cloudmaker. The Last Return Party

took 7½ days: the Polar Party 10 days: the latter had been 25½ days

longer on the plateau than the former. Owing to their slow progress down

the glacier the Polar Party went on short rations for the first and last

time until they camped on March 19: with the exception of these days they

had either their full, or more than their full ration until that date.

Until they reached the Barrier on their return journey the weather can be

described neither as abnormal nor as unexpected. There were 300 statute

miles (260 geo.) to be covered to One Ton Depôt, and 150 statute miles

(130 geo.) more from One Ton to Hut Point. They had just picked up one

week's food for five men: between the Beardmore and One Ton were three

more depôts each with one week's food for five men. They were four men:

their way was across the main body of the Barrier out of sight of land,

and away from any immediate influence of the comparatively warm sea ahead

of them. Nothing was known of the weather conditions in the middle of the

Barrier at this time of year, and no one suspected that March conditions

there were very cold. Shackleton turned homeward on January 10: reached

his Bluff Depôt on February 23, and Hut Point on February 28.

Wilson's diary continues:

"_February 18._ We had only five hours' sleep. We had butter and biscuit

and tea when we woke at 2 P.M., then came over the Gap entrance to the

pony-slaughter camp, visiting a rock moraine of Mt. Hope on the way."

"_February 19._ Late in getting away after making up new 10-foot sledge

and digging out pony meat. We made 5½ m. on a very heavy surface

indeed."[341]

This bad surface is the feature of their first homeward marches on the

Barrier. From now onwards they complain always of the terrible surfaces,

but a certain amount of the heavy pulling must be ascribed to their own

weakness. In the low temperatures which occurred later bad surfaces were

to be expected: but now the temperatures were not really low, about zero

to -17°: fine clear days for the most part and, a thing to be noticed,

little wind. They wanted wind, which would probably be behind them from

the south. "Oh! for a little wind," Scott writes. "E. Evans evidently had

plenty." He was already very anxious. "If this goes on we shall have a

bad time, but I sincerely trust it is only the result of this windless

area close to the coast and that, as we are making steadily outwards, we

shall shortly escape it. It is perhaps premature [Feb. 19] to be anxious

about covering distance. In all other respects things are improving. We

have our sleeping-bags spread on the sledge and they are drying, but,

above all, we have our full measure of food again. To-night we had a sort

of stew fry of pemmican and horseflesh, and voted it the best hoosh we

had ever had on a sledge journey. The absence of poor Evans is a help to

the commissariat, but if he had been here in a fit state we might have

got along faster. I wonder what is in store for us, with some little

alarm at the lateness of the season." And on February 20, when they made

7 miles, "At present our sledge and ski leave deeply ploughed tracks

which can be seen winding for miles behind. It is distressing, but as

usual trials are forgotten when we camp, and good food is our lot. Pray

God we get better travelling as we are not so fit as we were, and the

season is advancing apace." And on February 21, "We never won a march of

8½ miles with greater difficulty, but we can't go on like this."[342]

A breeze suddenly came away from S.S.E., force 4 to 6 at 11 A.M. on

February 22, and they hoisted the sail on the sledge they had just picked

up. They immediately lost the tracks they were following, and failed to

find the cairns and camp remains which they should have picked up if they

had been on the right course, which was difficult here owing to the thick

weather we had on the outward march. Bowers was sure they were too near

the land and they steered out, but still failed to pick up the line on

which their depôts and their lives depended. Scott was convinced they

were outside, not inside the line. The next morning Bowers took a round

of angles, and they came to the conclusion, on slender evidence, that

they were still too near the land. They had an unhappy march still off

the tracks, "but just as we decided to lunch, Bowers' wonderful sharp

eyes detected an old double lunch cairn, the theodolite telescope

confirmed it, and our spirits rose accordingly."[343] Then Wilson had

another "bad attack of snow-glare: could hardly keep a chink of eye open

in goggles to see the course. Fat pony hoosh."[344] This day they reached

the Lower Barrier Depôt.

[Illustration: SLEDGING IN A HIGH WIND--E. A. Wilson, del.]

They were in evil case, but they would have been all right, these men, if

the cold had not come down upon them, a bolt quite literally from the

blue of a clear sky: unexpected, unforetold and fatal. The cold itself

was not so tremendous until you realize that they had been out four

months, that they had fought their way up the biggest glacier in the

world in feet of soft snow, that they had spent seven weeks under plateau

conditions of rarefied air, big winds and low temperatures, and they had

watched one of their companions die--not in a bed, in a hospital or

ambulance, nor suddenly, but slowly, night by night and day by day, with

his hands frost-bitten and his brain going, until they must have

wondered, each man in his heart, whether in such case a human being could

be left to die, that four men might live. He died a natural death and

they went out on to the Barrier.

Given such conditions as were expected, and the conditions for which

preparation had been made, they would have come home alive and well. Some

men say the weather was abnormal: there is some evidence that it was. The

fact remains that the temperature dropped into the minus thirties by day

and the minus forties by night. The fact also remains that there was a

great lack of southerly winds, and in consequence the air near the

surface was not being mixed: excessive radiation took place, and a layer

of cold air formed near the ground. Crystals also formed on the surface

of the snow and the wind was not enough to sweep them away. As the

temperature dropped so the surface for the runners of the sledges became

worse, as I explained elsewhere.[345] They were pulling as it were

through sand.

In the face of the difficulties which beset them their marches were

magnificent: 11½ miles on February 25 and again on the following day:

12.2 miles on February 27, and 11½ miles again on February 28 and 29. If

they could have kept this up they would have come through without a

doubt. But I think it was about now that they suspected, and then were

sure, that they could not pull through. Scott's diary, written at lunch,

March 2, is as follows:

"Misfortunes rarely come singly. We marched to the [Middle Barrier] depôt

fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and since that have suffered three

distinct blows which have placed us in a bad position. First, we found a

shortage of oil; with most rigid economy it can scarce carry us to the

next depôt on this surface [71 miles away]. Second, Titus Oates disclosed

his feet, the toes showing very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late

temperatures. The third blow came in the night, when the wind, which we

had hailed with some joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below

-40° in the night, and this morning it took 1½ hours to get our foot-gear

on, but we got away before eight. We lost cairn and tracks together and

made as steady as we could N. by W., but have seen nothing. Worse was to

come--the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full sail

we have only done 5½ miles. We are in a _very_ queer street, since there

is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold

horribly."[346]

They did nearly ten miles that day, but on March 3 they had a terrible

time. "God help us," wrote Scott, "we can't keep up this pulling, that is

certain. Amongst ourselves we are unendingly cheerful, but what each man

feels in his heart I can only guess. Putting on foot-gear in the morning

is getting slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous."

The following extracts are taken from Scott's diary.

"_March 4. Lunch._ We are in a very tight place indeed, but none of us

despondent _yet_, or at least we preserve every semblance of good cheer,

but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at some sastrugi behind

which the surface sand lies thickly heaped. For the moment the

temperature is in the -20°--an improvement which makes us much more

comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come again soon. I fear that

Oates at least will weather such an event very poorly. Providence to our

aid! We can expect little from man now except the possibility of extra

food at the next depôt. It will be real bad if we get there and find the

same shortage of oil. Shall we get there? Such a short distance it would

have appeared to us on the summit! I don't know what I should do if

Wilson and Bowers weren't so determinedly cheerful over things."

[Illustration: MOUNT LONGSTAFF--E. A. Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited,

Collotypers.]

"_Monday, March 5. Lunch._ Regret to say going from bad to worse. We got

a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we converted

our wretched morning run of 3½ miles into something over 9. We went to

bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off.... The

result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates, whose feet are in a

wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously last night and he is very

lame this morning. We started march on tea and pemmican as last night--we

pretend to prefer the pemmican this way. Marched for 5 hours this

morning over a slightly better surface covered with high moundy sastrugi.

Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on foot, covering about 5½ miles. We are

two pony marches and 4 miles about from our depôt. Our fuel dreadfully

low and the poor Soldier nearly done. It is pathetic enough because we

can do nothing for him; more hot food might do a little, but only a

little, I fear. We none of us expected these terribly low temperatures,

and of the rest of us, Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from

his self-sacrificing devotion in doctoring Oates' feet. We cannot help

each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on

the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our worn

garments. The others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the

tent. We mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's

tough work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long

hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say 'God

help us!' and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though

outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, not

much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of running a full

ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this time."

"_Tuesday, March 6. Lunch._ We did a little better with help of wind

yesterday afternoon, finishing 9½ miles for the day, and 27 miles from

depôt. But this morning things have been awful. It was warm in the night

and for the first time during the journey I overslept myself by more than

an hour; then we were slow with foot-gear; then, pulling with all our

might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance at rate of a mile an

hour; then it grew thick and three times we had to get out of harness to

search for tracks. The result is something less than 3½ miles for the

forenoon. The sun is shining now and the wind gone. Poor Oates is unable

to pull, sits on the sledge when we are track-searching--he is

wonderfully plucky, as his feet must be giving him great pain. He makes

no complaint, but his spirits only come up in spurts now, and he grows

more silent in the tent. We are making a spirit lamp to try and replace

the primus when our oil is exhausted..."

"_Wednesday, March 7._ A little worse, I fear. One of Oates' feet _very_

bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave. We still talk of what we will

do together at home.

"We only made 6½ miles yesterday. This morning in 4½ hours we did just

over 4 miles. We are 16 from our depôt. If we only find the correct

proportion of food there and this surface continues, we may get to the

next depôt [Mt. Hooper, 72 miles farther] but not to One Ton Camp. We

hope against hope that the dogs have been to Mt. Hooper; then we might

pull through. If there is a shortage of oil again we can have little

hope. One feels that for poor Oates the crisis is near, but none of us

are improving, though we are wonderfully fit considering the really

excessive work we are doing. We are only kept going by good food. No wind

this morning till a chill northerly air came ahead. Sun bright and cairns

showing up well. I should like to keep the track to the end."

"_Thursday, March 8. Lunch._ Worse and worse in morning; poor Oates' left

foot can never last out, and time over foot-gear something awful. Have to

wait in night foot-gear for nearly an hour before I start changing, and

then am generally first to be ready. Wilson's feet giving trouble now,

but this mainly because he gives so much help to others. We did 4½ miles

this morning and are now 8½ miles from the depôt--a ridiculously small

distance to feel in difficulties, yet on this surface we know we cannot

equal half our old marches, and that for that effort we expend nearly

double the energy. The great question is: What shall we find at the

depôt? If the dogs have visited it we may get along a good distance, but

if there is another short allowance of fuel, God help us indeed. We are

in a very bad way, I fear, in any case."

"_Saturday, March 10._ Things steadily downhill. Oates' foot worse. He

has rare pluck and must know that he can never get through. He asked

Wilson if he had a chance this morning, and of course Bill had to say he

didn't know. In point of fact he has none. Apart from him, if he went

under now, I doubt whether we could get through. With great care we might

have a dog's chance, but no more. The weather conditions are awful, and

our gear gets steadily more icy and difficult to manage....

"Yesterday we marched up the depôt, Mt. Hooper. Cold comfort. Shortage on

our allowance all round. I don't know that any one is to blame. The dogs

which would have been our salvation have evidently failed. Meares had a

bad trip home I suppose.

"This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came from the

W.N.W. as we broke camp. It rapidly grew in strength. After travelling

for half an hour I saw that none of us could go on facing such

conditions. We were forced to camp and are spending the rest of the day

in a comfortless blizzard camp, wind quite foul."

"_Sunday, March 11._ Titus Oates is very near the end, one feels. What we

or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after breakfast;

he is a brave fine fellow and understands the situation, but he

practically asked for advice. Nothing could be said but to urge him to

march as long as he could. One satisfactory result to the discussion: I

practically ordered Wilson to hand over the means of ending our troubles

to us, so that any one of us may know how to do so. Wilson had no choice

between doing so and our ransacking the medicine case. We have 30 opium

tabloids apiece and he is left with a tube of morphine. So far the

tragical side of our story.

"The sky completely overcast when we started this morning. We could see

nothing, lost the tracks, and doubtless have been swaying a good deal

since--3.1 miles for the forenoon--terribly heavy dragging--expected it.

Know that 6 miles is about the limit of our endurance now, if we get no

help from wind or surfaces. We have 7 days' food and should be about 55

miles from One Ton Camp to-night, 6x7 = 42, leaving us 13 miles short of

our distance, even if things get no worse. Meanwhile the season rapidly

advances."

"_Monday, March 12._ We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our necessary

average. Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much, and now

with hands as well as feet pretty well useless. We did 4 miles this

morning in 4 hours 20 min.--we may hope for 3 this afternoon 7 x 6 = 42.

We shall be 47 miles from the depôt. I doubt if we can possibly do it.

The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and our physical condition

running down. God help us! Not a breath of favourable wind for more than

a week, and apparently liable to head winds at any moment."

"_Wednesday, March 14._ No doubt about the going downhill, but everything

going wrong for us. Yesterday we woke to a strong northerly wind with

temp. -37°. Couldn't face it, so remained in camp till 2, then did 5¼

miles. Wanted to march later, but party feeling the cold badly as the

breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and as the sun sank the temp. fell.

Long time getting supper in dark.

"This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed another

cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W. by S. or

W.S.W., blew through our wind-clothes and into our mitts. Poor Wilson

horribly cold, could [not] get off ski for some time. Bowers and I

practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last we were all

deadly cold. Then temp. now mid-day down -43° and the wind strong. We

_must_ go on, but now the making of every camp must be more difficult and

dangerous. It must be near the end, but a pretty merciful end. Poor Oates

got it again in the foot. I shudder to think what it will be like

to-morrow. It is only with greatest pains rest of us keep off

frost-bites. No idea there could be temperatures like this at this time

of year with such winds. Truly awful outside the tent. Must fight it out

to the last biscuit, but can't reduce rations."

[Illustration: A BLIZZARD CAMP--E. A. Wilson, del.]

"_Friday, March 16, or Saturday, 17._ Lost track of dates, but think the

last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before

yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; he proposed we should

leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and we induced him

to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of its awful nature for him

he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we

knew the end had come.