forty-two dogs, but twenty-four of them had to be killed when the
plateau was reached. It was a sacrifice that had to be made if the
success of the expedition was to be considered; but no one can read
Amundsen's account of it without recognizing how bitterly he and his
companions regretted the necessity.
This camp, not without reason, was called "The Butcher's Shop," and
as both the men and dogs required rest before setting out on the
final stages of their march, it had been decided to remain there for
two days. The eighteen remaining dogs were divided into three teams,
with six dogs in each team, and one sledge was left behind.
But owing to the weather the explorers could not leave this hated
"Butcher's Shop" until 25th November, and when they did set out again
a blizzard was blowing. So tired, however, were they of waiting in
such an inhospitable and gruesome spot, that all of them were eager
to quit it--whatever the conditions of the weather might be.
Fog subsequently impeded the party, and again and again Amundsen
blessed the assistance that they received from ski. "I am not," he
wrote, "giving too much credit to our excellent ski when I say that
they not only played a very important part, but possibly the most
important of all, on our journey to the South Pole. Many a time we
traversed stretches of surface so cleft and disturbed that it would
have been an impossibility to get over them on foot."*
* _The South Pole_, Vol. II., page 89.
The 7th December was a great day for the expedition, because during
it they passed Shackleton's "farthest south," 88° 23' S. They
proceeded for another two miles, and then determined to make their
last depot. So important to them was this depot that they not only
marked it at right angles to their course, but also by snow beacons
at every two miles to the south.
As the explorers approached the Pole, Amundsen, very naturally, was
beset by nervousness. "Would he be there first?" was a question that
kept on recurring in his mind. There was no cause to worry. Blessed
by fine weather, he and his companions reached the South Pole on
December 14, 1911, and the five of them together planted the pole
from which the Norwegian flag flew. "Thus we plant thee, beloved
flag, at the South Pole, and give to the plain on which it lies the
name of King Haakon VII.'s Plateau."
On this day Scott was still struggling on his great march to the same
destination, which he reached in the third week of January.
The calculations that Amundsen carried out at the South Pole gave its
latitude as 89° 56' S.
Amundsen had won the race, and with his victory had revealed one of
the great secrets of the world. His success had been gained by
strenuous labour, great courage, and infinite care. And if Britons
connect Scott's name inseparably with the South Pole, and honour it
as that of one of their heroes, they do not for a moment grudge
Amundsen the honour due to him as one of the greatest explorers of
all time. For Amundsen was the first to discover the South Pole, and
no one wishes, or is likely, to forget it.
The Norwegians reached the Pole with seventeen dogs, one of which had
to be killed there, and they travelled back with two sledges, a team
of eight dogs in each sledge. On his return journey Amundsen was
fortunate enough to meet with favourable winds and weather, and the
explorers arrived at "Framheim" on January 25, 1912, having travelled
1,860 miles in ninety-nine days. It was a glorious achievement, a
great victory over conditions that are scarcely conceivable to any
one unacquainted with the Antarctic or Arctic regions.
V
To pass from Amundsen's expedition to Scott's last expedition is to
turn from one splendid exploit to another. Scott, as every one
knows, was beaten in the actual race for the South Pole. But he and
his friends reached their goal, and the tale of their struggle
against misfortune after reaching it is one of the finest and most
pathetic in the world.
When Scott's intentions to lead another Antarctic expedition were
known, no less than eight thousand applicants volunteered to go with
him, and among this enormous number were several men whose names will
for ever find a place in the history of Polar exploration.
When the _Terra Nova_ sailed from Lyttelton, New Zealand, for the
Antarctic regions, on November 29, 1910, she carried both ponies and
dogs. Three motor-sledges, one of which was lost in landing, were
also taken, and Scott, with his intense dislike for the cruelty
inseparably connected with the use of animals for motive power, hoped
that these sledges would do much to save the ponies and dogs. Owing
to engine trouble these hopes were not realized, but in connection
with them Sir Clements Markham has written: "Captain Scott was quite
on the right tack, and, with more experience, his idea of Polar
motors will hereafter be made feasible, a consummation which was very
dear to his heart."*
* _The Lands of Silence_ (John Murray), page 490.
The _Terra Nova_ was by no means as fortunate as the _Discovery_ in
making her way to the Antarctic. At the beginning of December she
encountered a prolonged and terrific storm, and subsequently she had
to fight her passage through some 370 miles of ice. Not until
January 3, 1911, did she reach the Barrier, five miles east of Cape
Crozier. Here Scott had hoped to make his winter quarters, but owing
to the swell no landing could be made, and on the following day he
decided to land at Cape Evans, 14 miles north of the _Discovery's_
winter quarters. Strenuous work followed, and in a few days
everything necessary had been landed from the ship, the house was
soon built, and the explorers were ready to start laying depots in
preparation for the march to the Pole.
On his first depot-laying journey Scott was accompanied by eleven
men, eight ponies, and twenty-six dogs. He was more than a little
doubtful about the dogs, but thought his ponies were bound to be a
success. "They work," he wrote, "with such extraordinary
steadiness.... The great drawback is the ease with which they sink
into soft snow--they struggle pluckily, but it is trying to watch
them."
This depot-laying party reached latitude 79° 29' S., and there left
over a ton of stores; consequently the name of One Ton Camp was
bestowed upon it. On the return journey disasters happened that
seriously affected the success of the expedition, for six out of the
eight ponies were lost. "Everything out of joint with the loss of
our ponies, but mercifully with all the party alive and well," is
Scott's comment on this grave misfortune. Ten ponies still remained.
During the winter Wilson, Bowers, and Cherry-Garrard started on June
27, 1911, upon their famous journey to Cape Crozier to visit the
Emperor penguin rookery, and they did not return to Cape Evans until
1st August. During these weeks they had to fight against appallingly
low temperatures. When, for instance, they started from Cape Evans,
their three sleeping-bags weighed 52 lbs., but owing to the ice that
had collected upon them these three bags weighed 118 lbs. when the
travellers returned. Scott considered that no praise was too high
for men who would face such weather during the Polar winter.
With the beginning of August preparations for the great march went on
apace, but it was not until 1st November that a start could be made
from Cape Evans. Night-marching was decided upon, and the order of
marching was at first settled by the speed of the ponies, for some of
them were slow, some fairly fast, and some were "fliers." The
motors, with E. R. Evans, Day, Lashley, and Hooper with them, had
already started, and the dogs, under the control of Meares and
Demetri, were to follow behind the last detachment of men and ponies.
Very soon, however, the motor-party were in trouble, and this party
had to abandon their machines and push on as a man-hauling party.
By 15th November Scott reached One Ton Camp, and fears about the
ponies began to take shape. At Camp 19 the explorers were within 150
miles of the Beardmore Glacier, but some of the ponies were beginning
to fail, and at the next camp the first of them ("the gallant Jehu")
had to be shot. From this camp it was arranged that Day and Hooper
should turn back.
At Camp 22 the Middle Barrier depot was made in latitude 81° 35', and
then for some days the march was impeded by extraordinarily foul
weather. Scott's desire was to take the ponies as far as the
entrance to the Beardmore Glacier; but although, on 29th November, at
Camp 5, they were only 70 miles from what he calls his "pony-goal,"
some of the willing animals were very tired.
At Camp 29 six ponies were still left out of the ten which had
started, but although the chances of getting through successfully to
the glacier were good, the weather still remained as obstructive as
possible.
On 5th December a terrific fall of snow added to the anxieties of the
explorers, who found themselves within 12 miles of the glacier, but
hopelessly held up by such a violent and unexpected storm. It was
natural enough for Scott to be anxious, for on 7th December the food
that he had hoped only to use after the glacier was reached had to be
begun on. Two days later, however, by marching under terrible
conditions, the entrance to the glacier was gained, and then at Camp
31, which was called Shambles Camp, the last of the ponies were
killed.
On 9th December, Wilson wrote: "Nobby [Wilson's special pony] had all
my biscuits last night and this morning, and by the time we camped I
was just ravenously hungry. Thank God the horses are now all done
with, and we begin the heavy work ourselves."
At Camp 32 the Lower Glacier depot was built, and soon afterwards
Meares and Demetri, with the dogs, turned back for home. At this
time the parties were made up of--
Sledge 1. Scott, Wilson, Gates, and P. O. Evans.
Sledge 2. E. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, and Lashley.
Sledge 3. Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Crean, and Keohane.
But by 21st December, in latitude 85° S., Scott had to send back four
of these men, and Atkinson, Wright, Cherry-Garrard, and Keohane
returned. The Upper Glacier depot was made, and the returning men
took back a letter from Scott in which he wrote: "So here we are
practically on the summit, and up to date in the provision line. We
ought to get through."
On New Year's Day, 1912, the party were within 170 miles of the Pole.
Three Degree depot was made. Then in latitude 87° 32' S., Scott was
compelled to send back E. B. Evans, Crean, and Lashley. When all of
the men were so anxious to go on it was hard to have to part with any
of them; but questions of food made it absolutely necessary that some
of the party should return.
The ages of the five men who marched on to the Pole were: Scott,
forty-three years old; Wilson, thirty-nine; P. O. Evans,
thirty-seven; Gates, thirty-two; and Bowers, twenty-eight. Again and
again Scott expressed his admiration of his four companions: Wilson,
"never wavering from start to finish"; Evans, "a giant worker";
Bowers, "a marvel--he is thoroughly enjoying himself"; Gates, "goes
hard all the time."
With such men Scott felt confident, in spite of terrible surfaces, of
reaching the Pole. But as he approached it, fears that Amundsen had
already arrived were constantly besetting him; and on 16th January,
when within a few miles of the longed-for goal, there was no longer
any doubt that the Norwegian party had won the race. Sledge and ski
tracks and the traces of dogs were all too evident.
Faced by such a grievous blow, not one of Scott's party could sleep
that night, but on the day following they marched on some 14 miles
and reached the Pole. "The Pole," Scott wrote, "yes, but under very
different circumstances from those expected."
It is impossible to conceive a greater blow, and when it is
remembered that Scott and his four companions were already
fatigued--if not completely exhausted--by their tremendous labours,
it is easy to realize how heavily the disappointment hung on their
minds. Nevertheless they had set out to reach the Pole, and they had
reached it. All honour is due to them; and the fact that Amundsen
had preceded them in no way diminished the glory of their achievement.
The altitude of the Pole, as estimated by Scott, is about 9,500 feet.
A cairn was built, and the Union Jack hoisted. And then on Thursday,
18th January, they turned their backs upon their goal, and began the
long march that separated them from Cape Evans. Anxiety about food
began at once--not until Three Degree depot was reached could it be
lessened; and very soon anxiety at Evans's condition was added to the
danger of the scarcity of food.
On Wednesday, 31st January, the weary travellers reached the Three
Degree depot, but by this time Evans had dislodged two finger-nails,
and his general condition was very bad. Their next objective was the
Upper Glacier depot, and on Monday night, 5th February, they were
within from 25 to 30 miles of it; but so critical had the health of
Evans become that Scott was desperately eager to get off the plateau.
"Things," he wrote, "may mend for him [Evans] on the glacier, and his
wounds get some respite under warmer conditions."
On the evening of 7th February they reached the Upper Glacier depot,
and then, after turning aside to collect geological specimens (which
proved to be most valuable), they met with terrible surfaces and
weather. On 14th February, with 30 miles still to go before the
Lower Glacier depot was reached, Scott's anxiety about the condition
of the party was acute. Indeed, poor Evans had almost reached the
limit of human endurance, and during the night of 17th February he
became unconscious, and died quietly at 12.30 a.m.
It was a terrible experience for men, already supremely fatigued both
in mind and body, to meet, and it was a sorrowful party which, on
Sunday afternoon, arrived at Shambles Camp. There horse meat in
plenty awaited them, and this gave them the renewal of strength that
was sadly needed. For the moment the prospects of the explorers
looked a little more hopeful, but from this point of their march they
began to suffer from a lack of oil. When, at length, they succeeded
in arriving at the Middle Barrier depot, on 2nd March, they found so
little oil that it was scarcely enough, however economically used, to
carry them on to the next depot, which was 71 miles distant. Another
irretrievable disaster was the fact that Oates's feet were very badly
frost-bitten. On 4th March, Scott wrote: "I don't know what I should
do if Wilson and Bowers weren't so determinedly cheerful over
things." And in all truth the position had become desperate. On the
7th, when still 16 miles short of Mount Hooper depot, Oates, though
wonderfully brave, was in terrible pain. During the next day they
arrived at Mount Hooper, but the shortage of oil was not relieved.
Over 70 miles separated the exhausted travellers from One Ton Camp,
and they struggled onwards with death staring them ever nearer and
nearer in the face. With no helping wind, and bad surfaces, they
could not advance more than six miles a day, and on the night of the
11th, Scott reckoned up the situation in these words: "We have seven
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."
Unhappily, instead of any improvement in the situation, misfortunes
became more and more plentiful. It was obvious that Oates was near
the end, and on the morning of the 15th or 16th, when the blizzard
was blowing, he walked out of the tent. "I am just going outside,
and may be some time," were the last words he spoke to his companions
in distress. "We knew," said Scott, who still continued to write his
journal, "that poor Oates was walking to his death ... it was the act
of a brave man and an English gentleman."
Oates sacrificed himself in the hope of helping the others, and no
brave man ever performed a braver act. But his sacrifice was of no
avail. Fortune had declared too strong a hand against the explorers
for them to be able to resist it.
By midday on 18th March, Scott, Wilson, and Bowers had struggled on
to within 21 miles of One Ton depot, and during the afternoon of the
following day they managed to advance another 10 miles. And then
they made what was destined to be their last camp. The men
themselves were in a pitiable condition, and blizzard following
blizzard, they were utterly unable to march a step farther.
On 29th March, Scott wrote: "Since the 21st we have had a continuous
gale from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea
apiece, and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have
been ready to start for our depot, _eleven miles_ away, but outside
the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift.... We
shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course,
and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can
write more." And then follows those pathetic words: "Last entry.
For God's sake, look after our people."
It was not until 30th October that Atkinson, on whom the leadership
of the expedition had fallen, was able to take out a search party.
And nearly a fortnight later the bodies of these three friends and
explorers were found.
No more fitting words could be found with which to conclude this
chapter of great deeds than those which were left in the metal
cylinder on the grave of these heroes:--
"November 12, 1912, latitude 79° 50' S. This cross and cairn are
erected over the bodies of Captain Scott, C.V.O., R.N.; Doctor E. A.
Wilson, M.B., B.C. (Cantab.); and Lieutenant H. R. Bowers, Royal
Indian Marine. A slight token to perpetuate their successful and
gallant attempt to reach the Pole. This they did on January 17,
1912, after the Norwegian expedition had already done so. Inclement
weather, with lack of fuel, was the cause of their death. Also to
commemorate their two gallant comrades, Captain 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."
VI
MOUNT McKINLEY
MOUNT McKINLEY
(_Map_, p. 184.)
The ascent of Ruwenzori unriddled the mystery of equatorial snows.
There now remained the question of great peaks in the extreme North,
where the mountaineering problems must obviously be very different
from those found at a similar altitude in the temperate zones.
Something had been done to solve the problem by the ascent of Mount
St. Elias, in Alaska, on July 31, 1897. But Mount St. Elias was only
just over 18,000 feet, and it was peculiarly accessible, for it lies
close to the coast, on the borders of British and American territory.
The eyes of explorers began to turn towards Mount McKinley, the
highest peak in North America, which reached a height of 20,300 feet.
Its latitude was 63° N., and so within 250 miles of the Arctic
Circle. The nearest salt water, Cook Inlet, was 140 miles from the
southern face as the crow flies. It was therefore almost
unreachable, lying as it did in the midst of an unexplored wilderness
and surrounded by a mighty glacier system.
On the south these glaciers were drained by the Susitna River, with
its tributaries the Yentna and the Chulitna, and on its northern face
by the affluents of the Yukon. If the traveller attempted to reach
it in summer he might find a difficult waterway up to the beginning
of the glaciers, but then he had thirty miles of ice to cross before
he reached the base, and over these he must transport everything on
his back. In winter the journey might be made by dogs, but winter in
those latitudes was scarcely the time to travel. Moreover, Mount
McKinley, unlike the other great peaks in the world, rose from a low
elevation. In the case of the South American and Himalayan peaks
climbing does not begin until an altitude of at least 10,000 feet has
been reached, and their line of perpetual snow is very high. It is
possible, for example, to cover the 22,860 feet of Aconcagua without
ever touching snow. But in Mount McKinley the snow-line was not much
more than 2,500 feet, and there was something like 15,000 feet of
climbing. Again, its position so far north did not permit the snows
to melt properly in the summer, or to grow hard and pack. Its
snowfall was so great that the snow never got into the condition
which eases the path of the mountaineer. Finally--and this applied
especially to a winter journey--it was situated in a land of
desperate storms. The severest weather conditions ever recorded by
the American Meteorological Bureau occurred at Mount Washington,
which is only 6,000 feet above the sea, where the temperature was 40
degrees below zero and the wind 180 miles an hour. What might the
climber expect 20,000 feet up in the sky, with nothing between him
and the North Pole?
The attempt on Mount McKinley, therefore, was not a thing to be
lightly undertaken. It meant a journey to the remote Alaskan coast,
and then some 200 miles through difficult and little known country
before even the base was reached. What the climbing would be like no
one could tell. The obvious route, as the map will show, was the
Susitna River, by which, indeed, its first explorer, a young
Princeton graduate called Dickey, had approached it in 1896. It was
he who christened it Mount McKinley. He fell into an argument with
another prospector who was a rabid champion of free silver, and after
many weary days' dispute retaliated by naming the mountain after the
champion of the gold standard. In 1903 an expedition, led by the too
famous Dr. Cook, reached the base from the north, but failed to do
any climbing. Then, in 1906, began the explorations of Professor
Parker and Mr. Belmore Browne, who were destined six years later to
be the conquerors of the peak.
I
The 1906 expedition may be roughly sketched, for, though it was a
failure, it at least taught its leaders what routes were not
possible. They started with pack-horses and a motor-boat, with the
intention of trying the north-western face. They ascended the Yentna
River, which enters the Susitna from the west, but found it
impossible to cross the southern flanks of the Alaskan range. They
then turned up the south side of the range, and reached the glacier
out of which the Tokositna River flows. By this time their transport
was in a precarious condition, and their horses could go no farther.
They were within view of Mount McKinley, and saw not only the
impossibility of the southern face, but the extraordinary
difficulties of approaching even its base from that direction. They
accordingly returned to the coast, where Dr. Cook left them,
announcing that he intended to make one final desperate attempt on
the mountain.
[Illustration: Mount McKinley.]
Presently Professor Parker and Mr. Belmore Browne heard, to their
surprise, the rumour that Dr. Cook had succeeded. Knowing that the
feat was impossible in so short a time, they disbelieved the tale,
and stated their views publicly in New York. Then appeared Dr.
Cook's notorious book; but before it was published he had departed
for the Arctic regions. Geographical circles in America were torn
with the controversy. A committee of the Explorers' Club
investigated the question, but Dr. Cook refused to give evidence.
Professor Parker and Mr. Belmore Browne were meantime busy with their
own plans for another attempt.
The 1910 expedition was again directed to the southern face. Their
reasons were that for most of the journey to that face a water route
was possible, and that if they failed there they believed they would
be able to go on to the southern North-East ridge, which, from what
they had heard and seen, they believed to be the most promising
avenue of attack. They also wished to duplicate the photographs
which Dr. Cook had published, and so prove or disprove his bona
fides. Also, the northern side of the great mountain had been
already fairly well mapped, but nothing had been done on the south
side.