THE SOUTH POLE
The Silence was deep with a breath like sleep
As our sledge runners slid on the snow,
And the fate-full fall of our fur-clad feet
Struck mute like a silent blow
On a questioning 'Hush?' as the settling crust
Shrank shivering over the floe.
And the sledge in its track sent a whisper back
Which was lost in a white fog-bow.
And this was the thought that the Silence wrought,
As it scorched and froze us through,
For the secrets hidden are all forbidden
Till God means man to know.
We might be the men God meant should know
The heart of the Barrier snow,
In the heat of the sun, and the glow,
And the glare from the glistening floe,
As it scorched and froze us through and through
With the bite of the drifting snow.
(These verses, called 'The Barrier Silence,' were written by Wilson
for the _South Polar Times_. Characteristically, he sent them in
typewritten, lest the editor should recognize his hand and judge
them on personal rather than literary grounds. Many of their readers
confess that they felt in these lines Wilson's own premonition of
the event. The version given is the final form, as it appeared
in the _South Polar Times_.)
The ages of the five men when they continued the journey to the
Pole were: Scott 43, Wilson 39, P.O. Evans 37, Oates 32, Bowers
28.
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After the departure of the last supporting party Scott was naturally
anxious to get off a good day's march, and he was not disappointed.
At first the sledge on which, thanks to P.O. Evans, everything was
most neatly stowed away, went easily. But during the afternoon
they had to do some heavy pulling on a surface covered with loose
sandy snow. Nevertheless they covered some 15 miles before they
camped, and so smoothly did everything seem to be going that Scott
began to wonder what was in store for them. 'One can scarcely believe
that obstacles will not present themselves to make our task more
difficult. Perhaps the surface will be the element to trouble us.'
And on the following day his supposition began to prove correct, for
a light wind from the N.N.W. brought detached cloud and a constant
fall of ice crystals, and in consequence the surface was as bad as
it could be. The sastrugi seemed to increase as they advanced,
and late in the afternoon they encountered a very rough surface
with evidences of hard southerly wind. Luckily the sledge showed no
signs of capsizing, but the strain of trying to keep up a rate of
a little over a mile and a quarter an hour was very great. However,
they were cheered by the thought, when they reached Camp 58 (height
10,320 feet), that they were very close to the 88th parallel, and
a little more than 120 miles from the Pole.
Another dreadful surface was their fate during the next march on
Saturday, January 6. The sastrugi increased in height as they advanced,
and presently
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they found themselves in the midst of a sea of fishhook waves,
well remembered from their Northern experience. And, to add to
their trouble, each sastrugus was covered with a beard of sharp
branching crystals. They took off their ski and pulled on foot,
but both morning and afternoon the work of getting the sledge along
was tremendous. Writing at Camp 59, Latitude 88° 7', Scott said, 'We
think of leaving our ski here, mainly because of risk of breakage.
Over the sastrugi it is all up and down hill, and the covering of
ice crystals prevents the sledge from gliding even on the downgrade.
The sastrugi, I fear, have come to stay, and we must be prepared
for heavy marching, but in two days I hope to lighten loads with
a depôt. We are south of Shackleton's last camp, so, I suppose,
have made the most southerly camp.'
During the next day, January 7, they had good cause to think that
the vicissitudes of their work were bewildering. On account of the
sastrugi the ski were left at Camp 59, but they had only marched
a mile from it when the sastrugi disappeared. 'I kept debating
the ski question and at this point stopped, and after discussion
we went back and fetched the ski; it cost us 1-1/2 hours nearly.
Marching again, I found to my horror we could scarcely move the
sledge on ski; the first hour was awful owing to the wretched coating
of loose sandy snow.' Consequently this march was the shortest
they had made on the summit, and there was no doubt that if things
remained for long they were, it would be impossible to keep up the
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strain of such strenuous pulling. Luckily, however, loads were to
be lightened on the following day by a weight of about 100 lbs.,
and there was also hope of a better surface if only the crystal
deposit would either harden up or disappear. Their food, too, was
proving ample. 'What luck to have hit on such an excellent ration.
We really are an excellently found party.' Indeed, apart from the
strain of pulling, Scott's only anxiety on Sunday, January 7, was
that Evans had a nasty cut on his hand.
They woke the next morning to find their first summit blizzard;
but Scott was not in the least perturbed by this delay, because
he thought that the rest would give Evans' hand a better chance
of recovery, and he also felt that a day in their comfortable bags
within their double-walled tent would do none of them any harm. But,
both on account of lost time and food and the slow accumulation
of ice, he did not want more than one day's delay.
'It is quite impossible,' he wrote during this time of waiting,
'to speak too highly of my companions. Each fulfils his office to
the party; Wilson, first as doctor, ever on the lookout to alleviate
the small pains and troubles incidental to the work; now as cook,
quick, careful and dexterous, ever thinking of some fresh expedient
to help the camp life; tough as steel on the traces, never wavering
from start to finish.
'Evans, a giant worker with a really remarkable head-piece. It
is only now I realize how much has been due to him. Our ski shoes
and crampons have been
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absolutely indispensable, and if the original ideas were not his,
the details of manufacture and design and the good workmanship
are his alone. He is responsible for every sledge, every sledge
fitting, tents, sleeping-bags, harness, and when one cannot recall
a single expression of dissatisfaction with anyone of these items,
it shows what an invaluable assistant he has been. Now, besides
superintending the putting up of the tent, he thinks out and arranges
the packing of the sledge; it is extraordinary how neatly and handily
everything is stowed, and how much study has been given to preserving
the suppleness and good running qualities of the machine. On the
Barrier, before the ponies were killed, he was ever roaming round,
correcting faults of stowage.
'Little Bowers remains a marvel--he is thoroughly enjoying himself.
I leave all the provision arrangement in his hands, and at all
times he knows exactly how we stand, or how each returning party
should fare. It has been a complicated business to redistribute
stores at various stages of reorganization, but not one single
mistake has been made. In addition to the stores, he keeps the
most thorough and conscientious meteorological record, and to this
he now adds the duty of observer and photographer. Nothing comes
amiss to him, and no work is too hard. It is a difficulty to get
him into the tent; he seems quite oblivious of the cold, and he
lies coiled in his bag writing and working out sights long after
the others are asleep.
'Of these three it is a matter for thought and
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congratulation that each is specially suited for his own work,
but would not be capable of doing that of the others as well as
it is done. Each is invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period
with the ponies; now he is a foot slogger and goes hard the whole
time, does his share of camp work, and stands the hardships as
well as any of us. I would not like to be without him either. So
our five people are perhaps as happily selected as it is possible
to imagine.'
Not until after lunch on the 9th were they able to break camp,
the light being extremely bad when they marched, but the surface
good. So that they might keep up the average length of their daily
marches Scott wanted to leave a depôt, but as the blizzard tended
to drift up their tracks, he was not altogether confident that to
leave stores on such a great plain was a wise proceeding. However,
after a terribly hard march on the following morning, they decided
to leave a depôt at the lunch camp, and there they built a cairn
and left one week's food with as many articles of clothing as they
could possibly spare.
Then they went forward with eighteen days' food on a surface that
was 'beyond words,' for it was covered with sandy snow, and, when
the sun shone, even to move the sledge forward at the slowest pace
was distressingly difficult. On that night from Camp 62, Scott
wrote, 'Only 85 miles (geog.) from the Pole, but it's going to be
a stiff pull _both ways_ apparently; still we do make progress,
which is something.... It is very difficult to imagine what is
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happening to the weather.... The clouds don't seem to come from
anywhere, form and disperse without visible reason.... The
meteorological conditions seem to point to an area of variable light
winds, and that plot will thicken as we advance.'
From the very beginning of the march on January 11 the pulling
was heavy, but when the sun came out the surface became as bad
as bad could be. All the time the sledge rasped and creaked, and
the work of moving it onward was agonizing. At lunch-time they
had managed to cover six miles but at fearful cost to themselves,
and although when they camped for the night they were only about
74 miles from the Pole, Scott asked himself whether they could
possibly keep up such a strain for seven more days. 'It takes it out
of us like anything. None of us ever had such hard work before....
Our chance still holds good if we can put the work in, but it's a
terribly trying time.'
For a few minutes during the next afternoon they experienced the
almost forgotten delight of having the sledge following easily. The
experience was very short but it was also very sweet, for Scott had
begun to fear that their powers of pulling were rapidly weakening,
and those few minutes showed him that they only wanted a good surface
to get on as merrily as of old. At night they were within 63 miles
of the Pole, and just longing for a better surface to help them
on their way.
But whatever the condition of the surface, Bowers continued to do
his work with characteristic
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thoroughness and imperturbability; and after this appalling march
he insisted, in spite of Scott's protest, on taking sights after
they had camped--an all the more remarkable display of energy as
he, being the only one of the party who pulled on foot, had spent an
even more strenuous day than the others, who had been 'comparatively
restful on ski.'
Again, on the next march, they had to pull with all their might
to cover some 11 miles. 'It is wearisome work this tugging and
straining to advance a light sledge. Still, we get along. I did
manage to get my thoughts off the work for a time to-day, which is
very restful. We should be in a poor way without our ski, though
Bowers manages to struggle through the soft snow without tiring his
short legs.' Sunday night, January 14, found them at Camp 66 and
less than 40 miles from the Pole. Steering was the great difficulty
on this march, because a light southerly wind with very low drift
often prevented Scott from seeing anything, and Bowers, in Scott's
shadow, gave directions. By this time the feet of the whole party
were beginning, mainly owing to the bad condition of their finnesko,
to suffer from the cold. 'Oates seems to be feeling the cold and
fatigue more than the rest of us, but we are all very fit. It is
a critical time, but we ought to pull through.... Oh! for a few
fine days! So close it seems and only the weather to balk us.'
Another terrible surface awaited them on the morrow, and they were
all 'pretty well done' when
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they camped for lunch. There they decided to leave their last depôt,
but although their reduced load was now very light, Scott feared
that the friction would not be greatly reduced. A pleasant surprise,
however, was in store for him, as after lunch the sledge ran very
lightly, and a capital march was made. 'It is wonderful,' he wrote
on that night (January 15), 'to think that two long marches would
land us at the Pole. We left our depôt to-day with nine days'
provisions, so that it ought to be a certain thing now, and the only
appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian flag forestalling
ours. Little Bowers continues his indefatigable efforts to get
good sights, and it is wonderful how he works them up in his
sleeping-bag in our congested tent. Only 27 miles from the Pole.
We _ought_ to do it now.'
The next morning's march took them 7-1/2 miles nearer and their
noon sight showed them in Lat. 89° 42' S.; and feeling that the
following day would see them at the Pole they started off after
lunch in the best of spirits. Then, after advancing for an hour
or so, Bowers' sharp eyes detected what he thought was a cairn,
but although he was uneasy about it he argued that it must be a
sastrugus.
'Half an hour later he detected a black speck ahead. Soon we knew
that this could not be a natural snow feature. We marched on, found
that it was a black flag tied to a sledge bearer; near by the remains
of a camp; sledge tracks and ski tracks going and coming and the
clear trace of dogs' paws--many dogs.
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This told us the whole story. 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. Certainly
also the Norwegians found an easy way up.'
Very little sleep came to any of the party after the shock of this
discovery, and when they started at 7.30 on the next morning (January
17) head winds with a temperature of -22° added to their depression
of spirit. For some way they followed the Norwegian tracks, and
in about three miles they passed two cairns. Then, as the tracks
became increasingly drifted up and were obviously leading them
too far to the west, they decided to make straight for the Pole
according to their calculations. During the march they covered
about 14 miles, and at night Scott wrote in his journal, 'The Pole.
Yes, but under very different circumstances from those expected.'
That announcement tells its own story, and it would be impertinent
to guess at the feelings of those intrepid travelers when they
found themselves forestalled. Nevertheless they had achieved the
purpose they had set themselves, and the fact that they could not
claim the reward of priority makes not one jot of difference in
estimating the honours that belong to them.
[Illustration: THE PARTY AT THE SOUTH POLE. (Capt. Oates; Capt.
Scott; P.O. Evans; Lieut. Bowers; Dr. Wilson.) _Photo by Lieut.
H. R. Bowers._]
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'Well,' Scott continued, 'it is something to have got here, and
the wind may be our friend to-morrow.... Now for the run home and
a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it.'
On the following morning after summing up all their observations,
they came to the conclusion that they were one mile beyond the
Pole and three miles to the right of it, in which direction, more
or less, Bowers could see a tent or cairn. A march of two miles
from their camp took them to the tent, in which they found a record
of five Norwegians having been there:
'Roald Amundsen
Olav Olavson Bjaaland
Hilmer Hanssen
Sverre H. Hassel
Oscar Wisting.
--16 _Dec_. 1911.
'The tent is fine--a small compact affair supported by a single
bamboo. A note from Amundsen, which I keep, asks me to forward
a letter to King Haakon!'
In the tent a medley of articles had been left: three half bags
of reindeer containing a miscellaneous assortment of mitts and
sleeping-socks, very various in description, a sextant, a Norwegian
artificial horizon and a hypsometer without boiling-point thermometers,
a sextant and hypsometer of English make. 'Left a note to say I
had visited the tent with companions. Bowers photographing and
Wilson sketching. Since lunch we have marched 6.2 miles S.S.E.
by compass (i.e. northwards). Sights at lunch gave us 1/2 to 3/4
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of a mile from the Pole, so we call it the Pole Camp. (Temp. Lunch
-21°.) We built a cairn, put up our poor slighted Union Jack, and
photographed ourselves--mighty cold work all of it--less than 1/2
a mile south we saw stuck up an old underrunner of a sledge. This
we commandeered as a yard for a floorcloth sail. I imagine it was
intended to mark the exact spot of the Pole as near as the Norwegians
could fix it. (Height 9,500.) A note attached talked of the tent
as being 2 miles from the Pole. Wilson keeps the note. There is
no doubt that our predecessors have made thoroughly sure of their
mark and fully carried out their program. I think the Pole is about
9,500 feet in height; this is remarkable, considering that in Lat.
88° we were about 10,500.
'We carried the Union Jack about 3/4 of a mile north with us and
left it on a piece of stick as near as we could fix it. I fancy
the Norwegians arrived at the Pole on the 15th Dec. and left on
the 17th, ahead of a date quoted by me in London as ideal, viz.
Dec. 22.... Well, we have turned our back now on the goal of our
ambition and must face our 800 miles of solid dragging--and good-bye
to most of the day-dreams!'
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