I hope that all has been well with you and that you have been able to do good work. I am sure that you have done everything that circumstances permitted and shall be very eager to see your report. With best wishes, etc.,
(Signed) R.F. SCOTT.
On October 24, 1911, the advance guard of the Southern Party, consisting of Day, Lashly, Hooper, and myself, left Cape Evans with two motor sledges as planned. We had with us three tons of stores, pony food, and petrol, carried on five 12 ft. sledges, and our own tent, etc., on a smaller sledge. The object of sending forward such a weight of stores was to save the ponies' legs over the variable sea ice, which was in some places hummocky and in others too slippery to stand on. Also the first thirty miles of Barrier was known to be bad travelling and likely to tire the ponies unnecessarily unless they marched light, so here again it was desirable to employ the motors for a heavy drag.
We had fine weather when at 10.30 a.m. we started off, with the usual concourse of well-wishers, and after one or two stops and sniffs we really got under way, and worked our loads clear of the Cape on to the smoother stretch of sea ice, which improved steadily as we proceeded. Hooper accompanied Lashly's car and I worked with Day.
A long shaft protruded 3 ft. clear each end of the motors. To the foremost end we attached the steering rope, just a set of man-harness with a long trace, and to the after end of the shaft we made fast the towing lanyard or span according to whether we hauled sledges abreast or in single line. Many doubts were expressed as to the use of the despised motors—but we heeded not the gibes of our friends who came out to speed us on our way. They knew we were doing our best to make the motors successful, and their expressed sneers covered their sincere wishes that we should manage to get our loads well on to the Barrier.
We made a mile an hour speed to begin with and stopped at RazorbackIsland after 3 1/2 miles.
We had lunch at Razorback, and after that we "lumped," man-hauled, and persuaded the two motors and three tons of food and stores another mile onward. The trouble was not on account of the motors failing, but because of a smooth, blue ice surface. We camped at 10 p.m. and all slept the sleep of tired men. October 25 was ushered in with a hard wind, and it appeared in the morning as if our cars were not going to start. We had breakfast at 8 a.m. and got started on both motors at 10.45, but soon found that we were unable to move the full loads owing to the blue ice surface, so took to relaying. We advanced under three miles after ten hours' distracting work—mostly pulling the sledges ourselves, jerking, heaving, straining, and cursing—it was tug-of-war work and should have broken our hearts, but in spite of our adversity we all ended up smiling and camped close on 9 p.m.
The day turned out beautifully fine and calm, but the hard ice was absolutely spoiling the rollers of both cars.
Whilst we were preparing for bed, Simpson and Gran passed our tent and called on us. They were bound for Hut Point. I told Simpson our troubles about the surface, and he promised to telephone from Hut Point to Captain Scott.
Next day we got going with certain difficulties, and met Gran and Simpson four miles from Hut Point. They told us that a large man-hauling party was on its way out from Cape Evans to assist us. The weather was superb and we all got very sunburnt. Captain Scott and seven others came up with us at 2 p.m., but both motors were then forging ahead, so they went on to Hut Point without waiting.
Meantime we lunched, and afterwards struck a bad patch of surface which caused us frequent stops. We reached Hut Point at 8 p.m. after stopping the motors near Cape Armitage, and spent the night in the Hut there, camping with Scott's party, Meares and Dimitri.
The motor engines were certainly good in moderate temperatures, but our slow advance was due to the chains slipping on hard ice. Scott was concerned, but he made it quite clear that if we got our loads clear of the Strait between White Island and Ross Isle, he would be more than satisfied.
Meares and Bowers cooked a fine seal fry for us all, and we spent a happy evening at Hut Point. The Hut, thanks to Meares and Dimitri, was now, for these latitudes, a regular Mayfair dwelling. The blubber stove was now a bricked-in furnace, with substantial chimney, and hot plates, with cooking space sufficient for our needs, however many, were being accommodated.
On October 27 I woke the cooks at 6.30 a.m., and we breakfasted about 8 o'clock, then went up to the motors off Cape Armitage. Lashly's car got away and did about three miles with practically no stop. Our carburettor continually got cold, and we stopped a good deal. Eventually about 1 p.m. we passed Lashly's car and made our way up a gentle slope on to the Barrier, waved to the party, and went on about three-quarters of a mile.
Here we waited for Lashly and Hooper, who came up at 2.30, having had much trouble with their engine, due to overheating, we thought. When Day's car glided from the sea ice, over the tide crack and on to the Great Ice Barrier itself, Scott and his party cheered wildly, and Day acknowledged their applause with a boyish smile of triumph. As soon as Lashly got on to the Barrier, Scott took his party away and they returned to Cape Evans. It would have been a disappointment to them if they had known that we shortly afterwards heard an ominous rattle, which turned out to be the big end brass of one of the connecting rods churning up—due to a bad casting.
Luckily we had a spare, which Day and Lashly fitted, while Hooper and I went on with the 10 ft. sledge to Safety Camp.
Here we dug out our provisions according to instructions and brought them back to our camp to avoid further delay in repacking sledges. We then made Day and Lashly some tea to warm them up. They worked nobly and had the car ready by 11 p.m. We pushed on till midnight in our anxiety to acquit ourselves and our motors creditably. The thermometer showed -19.8 degrees on camping, and temperature fell to -25 degrees during the night.
October 28 was my birthday; all hands wished me many happy returns of the day, and I was given letters from my wife and from Forde and Keohane, who somehow remembered the date from last year—these two, with Browning and Dickason, I had brought into the Expedition from H.M.S. "Talbot," one of my old ships. But to continue: we were all ready to start at 11 a.m. in a stiff, cold breeze, when I discovered that my personal bag had been taken off by the man-hauling party that came to assist us, so I put on ski and went to Hut Point, six miles back. I found Meares there, and he gave me a surprised but hearty welcome and wished me "Happy returns, Teddy." I explained what had happened; it had been done of course the night before when my namesake had taken my personal bag in to Hut Point from Cape Armitage to save me the trouble of carrying it after a hard day's work with the motors. As I had had no need of it, I never noticed its presence at Hut Point, so there it was. Meares made me laugh by an in the most friendly way, as if I was calling on him in his English home, "Stay and have lunch, won't you, Teddy?" Of course I did, but as I was wanted by the Motor Party it was a somewhat hurried meal, fried seal liver and bacon. We were not allowed to eat bacon on account of scurvy precaution, but still, it was my birthday, and nobody let me forget it. Feeling much better and less angry after this unlooked for ski-run, I swung out to the Barrier edge, over the sea ice, up the Barrier slope, and on to the Barrier itself, where I picked up the tracks of the motors and followed them for seven miles. I remember that ski run well: I felt so very lonely all by myself on the silent Barrier, surrounded as I was by lofty white mountains, which lifted their summits to the blue peaceful heavens. I thought over the future of the Southern Party and wondered how things would be one year hence; this was indeed facing the unknown. I enjoyed the keen air, and the crisp surface was so easy to negotiate after my former Barrier visits with a heavy sledge dragging one back, but the very easiness I was enjoying made me think of Amundsen and his dogs.
If the Norwegians could glide along like this, it would be "good-bye" to our hopes of planting Queen Alexandra's flag first at the South Pole. As a matter of fact, while I was then making my way along to overtake the motors, Amundsen and his Polar party were beyond the 80th parallel, forcing their way Southward and hourly increasing their distance from us and from Captain Scott, who had not even started. Yes, Amundsen was over 150 miles farther South, and his sledge runners were slithering over the snow, casting its powdered particles aside in beautiful little clouds while I was rapidly overhauling the motors with their labouring, sorely taxed custodians, Day, Lashly, and Hooper. It seems very cruel to say this, but there's no good in shutting one's eyes to Truth, however unpleasantly clad she may be. I caught the motors late in the afternoon after running nine miles; they had only done three miles whilst I had been doing fifteen. We continued crawling along with our loads, stopping to cool the engines every few minutes, it seemed, but at 11 p.m. they overheated to such an extent that we stopped for the night. I was fairly done, but not too tired to enjoy the supper which Hooper cooked, with its many luxuries produced by him. Hooper had informed Bowers of my birthday, and obtained all kinds of good things, which we despatched huddled together in our tents; for it was about 20 degrees below zero when we turned in well after midnight.
We intentionally lay in our bags until 8.30 next morning, but didn't get those dreadful motors to start until 10.45 a.m. Even then they only gave a few sniffs before breaking down and stopping, so that we could not advance perceptibly until 11.30. We had troubles all day, and were forced to camp on account of Day's sledge giving out at 5 p.m.—we daren't stop for lunch earlier, for once stopped one never could say when a re-start could be made.
We depoted here four big tins of petrol and two drums of filtrate to lighten load of Day's sledge. Started off at six and soon found that the big end brass on No. 2 cylinder of this sledge had given out, so dropped two more tins of petrol and a case of filtrate oils. We thereupon continued at a snail's pace, until at 9.15 the connecting rod broke through the piston. We decided to abandon this sledge, and made a depot of the spare clothing, seal meat, Xmas fare, ski belonging to Atkinson and Wright, and four heavy cases of dog biscuit. I left a note in a conspicuous position on the depot, which we finished constructing at midnight. We wasted no time in turning in.
The clouds were radiating from the S.E., a precursor of blizzard, we feared, and sure enough we got it next day, when it burst upon us whilst we were putting on our footgear after breakfast. There was nothing for it but to get back into our sleeping-bags, wherein we spent the day.
On the 31st we were out of our bags and about, soon after six, to find it still drifting but showing signs of clearing. After breakfast we dug out sledges, and Lashly and Day got the snow out of the motor, a long and rotten job. The weather cleared about 11 a.m. and we got under way at noon. It turned out very fine and we advanced our weights 7 miles 600 yards, camping at 10.40. P.M.
As will be seen, these were long days, and although he did not say it, Day must have felt the crushing disappointment of the failure of the motors—it was not his fault, it was a question of trial and experience. Nowadays we have far more knowledge of air-cooled engines and such crawling juggernauts as tanks, for it may well be argued that Scott's motor sledges were the forerunners of the tanks.
On November 1 we advanced six miles and the motor then gave out. Day and Lashly give it their undivided attention for hours, and the next day we coaxed the wretched thing to Corner Camp and ourselves dragged the loads there.
Arrived at this important depot we deposited the dog pemmican and took on three sacks of oats, but after proceeding under motor power for 1 1/2 miles, the big end brass of No. 1 cylinder went, so we discarded the car and slogged on foot with a six weeks' food supply for one 4-man unit. Our actual weights were 185 lb. per man. We got the whole 740 lb. on to the 10 ft. sledge, but with a head wind it was rather a heavy load. We kept going at a mile an hour pace until 8 p.m.
I had left a note at the Corner Camp depot which told Scott of our trying experiences: how the engines overheated so that we had to stop, how by the time they were reasonably cooled the carburettor would refuse duty and must be warmed up with a blow lamp, what trouble Day and Lashly had had in starting the motors, and in short how we all four would heave with all our might on the spans of the towing sledges to ease the starting strain, and how the engines would give a few sniffs and then stop—but we must not omit the great point in their favour: the motors advanced the necessaries for the Southern journey 51 miles over rough, slippery, and crevassed ice and gave the ponies the chance to march light as far as Corner Camp—this is all that Oates asked for.
It was easier work now to pull our loads straight-forwardly South than to play about and expend our uttermost effort daily on those "qualified" motors.
Even Day confessed that his relief went hand in hand with his disappointment. He and Hooper stood both over six feet, neither of them had an ounce of spare flesh on them.
Lashly and I were more solid and squat, and we fixed our party up in harness so that the tall men pulled in front while the short, heavy pair dragged as "wheelers." Scott described our sledging here as "exceedingly good going," we were only just starting, that is Lashly and myself, for we two were in harness for more than three months on end.
I was very proud of the Motor Party, and determined that they should not be overtaken by the ponies to become a drag on the main body. As it happened, there was never a chance of this occurrence, for Scott purposely kept down his marches to give the weaker animals a chance.
As will be seen, we were actually out-distancing the animal transport by our average marches, for in spite of our full load we covered the distances of 15 1/2 to 17 miles daily, until we were sure that we could not be overtaken, before arriving at the appointed rendezvous in latitude 80 degrees 30 minutes.
Now was the time for marching though, fine weather, good surfaces, and not too cold. The best idea, of our routine can be gleaned by a type specimen diary page of this stage of the journey:
"November4, 1911.—Called tent at 4.50 a.m. and after building a cairn started out at 7.25. Marched up to 'Blossom' cairn (Lat. 78 degrees 2 minutes 33 seconds S. Long. 169 degrees 3 minutes 25 seconds E.) where we tied a piece of black bunting to pull Crean's leg—mourning for his pony. We lunched here and then marched on till 6.55 p.m., when we camped, our day's march being 15 miles 839 yards. I built a snow cairn while supper was being prepared. Surface was very good and we could have easily marched 20 miles, but, we were not record breaking, but going easy till the ponies came up. All the same we shall have to march pretty hard to keep ahead of them. Minimum temperature: -12.7 degrees, temperature on camping +5 degrees."
We were very happy in our party, and when cooking we all sang and yarned, nobody ever seemed tired once we got quit of the motors. We built cairns at certain points to guide the returning parties. We had a light snowfall on November 6 and occasional overcast, misty weather, but in general the visibility was good, and although far out on the Barrier we got some view of the Victoria Land mountain ranges. Very beautiful they looked, too, but their very presence gave an awful feeling of loneliness.
I must admit it all had a dreadful fascination for me, and after the others had got into their sleeping-bags I used to build up a large snow cairn, and whilst resting, now and again I gazed wonderingly at that awful country.
The Bluff stood up better than the rest, as of course it was so much nearer to us, and the green tent looked pitifully small and inadequate by itself on the Barrier, nothing else human about us. Just the sledge trail and the thrown-up snow on the tent valance, a confused whirl of sastrugi leading in no direction particularly, a glistening sparkle here, there, and everywhere when the sun was shining, and the far distant land sitting Sphinx-like on the Western horizon, with its shaded white slopes, and its bare outcrops of black basalt. Wilson in our "South Polar Times" wrote some lines entitled, "The Barrier Silence"—sometimes the silence was broken by howling blizzard, then and only then, except by the puny handful of men who have passed this way. Only in Scott's first and Shackleton's "Nimrod" Expedition had men ever come thus far.
We reached One Top Depot on November 9, and took on four cases of biscuits and one pair of ski, which brought our loads up to 205 lb. per man. Even this extra weight permitted us to keep our marches over 12 miles, but we had the virtue of being very early risers, a sledging habit to which I owe my life.
We snatched many an hour outward and home, ward due to this.
In Latitude 80 degrees we found an extraordinary change in the surface: so soft in fact that we found ourselves sinking in from 8 to 10 inches—this gave us a very hard day on 13th November when, with load averaging over 190 lb. per man, we hauled through it for 12 miles. Fears were expressed for the ponies at this stretch, for here they would be pulling full loads. The 14th offered no better conditions of surface, but we stuck it out for 10 hours' solid foot slogging, when we camped after hauling 12 miles.
Apart from the surface we enjoyed the weather, a wonderful calm and beautiful blue sky. On November 15, after building a guiding snow cairn, we continued southward to Lat. 80 degrees 31 minutes 40 seconds S. Long. 169 degrees 23 minutes E., where we camped to await Scott, his party, and the ponies. I proposed to build an enormous cairn here to mark the 80 1/2 degree depot, so after lunch we inspected ourselves and found nothing worse than sunburnt faces and a slight thinning down all round.
We commenced the cairn after a short rest.
November 16 passed quietly with no signs of the ponies, and on November 17 we remained in camp all day wondering rather why the ponies had not come up with us. We thought they must be doing very poor marching. To employ our time we worked hours at the cairn, which soon assumed gigantic proportions. We called it Mount Hooper after our youngest member. Day amused us very distinctly at Mount Hooper Camp.
Day, gaunt and gay, but what a lovable nature if one can apply such an adjective to him. He entertained the rest of us for a week out of "Pickwick Papers." The proper number of hours in the forenoon were spent in building the giant depot cairn, then lunch, and then the cosy sleeping-bags and Day's reading. It was unforgettable, and I think we all watched his face, which took somehow the expression of the character he was reading about.
We put in a good deal of sleep in those days and went walks, such as they were, in a direct line away from the tent and directly back to the tent. We must surely have been the first in the world to spend a week holiday-making on that frozen Sahara, the Great Ice Barrier.
There is little enough to record during this wait at Mount Hooper. We could have eaten more than our ration, and to save fuel we occasionally had dry hoosh for supper, which means that we broke all our biscuits up and melted the pemmican over the primus, half fried the biscuit in the fat pemmican, and made a filling dish. The temperature varied between twenty below zero and a couple of degrees above.
November 20 found us growing impatient, for I find in my diary that day:
"Once again we find no signs of the ponies: we all say D—— and look forward to the next meal: Day reads more Pickwick to us and keeps us out of mischief. I got sights for error and rate of chronometer watches, but these are not satisfactory with so short an epoch as our stay at Mount Hooper, when change in altitude is so slow. Beyond working out the sights I did really nothing. Temperature at 8 p.m. +7 degrees, Wind South-West 3-4. Cirrus clouds radiating from S.W. Minimum temperature -14 degrees."
But at last relief from our inactivity came to us. On 21st November, just before 5 a.m., Lashly woke me and said the ponies had arrived. Out we all popped to find Atkinson with poor, old "Jehu," Wright with "Chinaman," and Keohane with my old friend "James Pigg."
They looked tired, the ponies' leaders, and we looked as though we had come out of a bull fight in a barn, with our hair grown long and full of the loose reindeer hairs from the sleeping-bags, all mixed with our beards and jerseys. After hallos and handshakes, smiles and grunts, we asked for news, and were gratified to find that all was well with men and beasts alike. What delay there was was due to blizzards and to the marches being purposely kept down to give the weaker animals a chance: Day facetiously remarked, "We haven't seen anything of Amundsen"—seeing that the valiant Norseman was in Latitude 85 degrees 30 minutes S. nearly eleven thousand feet up above the altitude of the Barrier at this date one is not surprised.
For all our peace of mind it was well we did not know it.
We yarned away about ourselves and our experiences, then got our cooker under way to have breakfast and to await the arrival of Captain Scott and the seven lustier ponies. They arrived before our breakfast was ready; more greetings and much joy in the motor party. Scott expressed his satisfaction at our share in the advance, hurriedly gave us further instructions, and then proceeded, leaving us to join at their camp 3 1/2 miles farther south: Accordingly we deposited a unit of provisions at the cairn, put up a bamboo with a large black flag on it, left two of the boxes of biscuit from One Ton Depot and three tins of paraffin, and then set out.
We came up to the Main Camp at 10 o'clock in the forenoon, pitched our tent, had a conference with Captain Scott, cadged some biscuits, and then cooked lunch and got into our sleeping-bags to await the hour of 6 p.m. before commencing our southward march as pioneers and trail breakers.
Scott had with him the following, leading ponies: Wilson, Oates, Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Edgar Evans, and Crean, besides the aforesaid three with the "crocks."
Meares and Dimitri drove dog teams and every one was in good health and sparkling spirits. Our leader ordered the motor party, or man-hauling party, as we were now termed, to go forward and advance 15 miles daily, and to erect cairns at certain prearranged distances, surveying, navigating, and selecting the camping site. The ponies were to march by night and rest when the sun was high and the air warmer. Meares's dogs were to bring up the rear—and start some hours after the ponies since their speed was so much greater.
So we started away at 8.15 p.m., marched 7 miles and a bittock to lunch, putting up a "top-hat" cairn at 4 miles, two cairns at the lunch camp, one cairn three miles beyond, and so on according to plan.
Atkinson's tent gave us some biscuit, cheese, and seal liver, so that day we lived high. After lunch we continued until the prescribed distance had been fully covered.
We noticed that there were ice crystals like spikes, with no glide about them, and the surface continued thus until 3 a.m. when there was a sudden change for the better. Quite substantial pony walls were built by the horsemen when they camped—all these marks ensuring a homeward marching route like a buoyed channel.
Depots were made every 65 miles: they were marked by big black flags flying from bamboos, and we saw one of them, Mount Hooper, nine miles away. Each depot contained one week's rations for every returning unit.
That outward Barrier march will long be remembered, it was so full of life, health, and hope—our only sad days came when the ponies were killed, one by one. But hunger soon defeated sentiment, and we grew to relish our pony-meat cooked in the pemmican "hoosh."
On November 24 Oates slew poor old "Jehu" by a pistol shot in Latitude 81 degrees 15 minutes—this being the first pony to go. The dogs had a fine feed from the poor animal's carcass, and Meares was very glad, likewise Dimitri.
Incidentally, the dogs were not the only ones who feasted on "Jehu's" flesh. Pony-meat cooks very well, and it was a rare delicacy to us, the man-haulers.
As will be gathered, Scott proposed to kill pony after pony as a readjustment to full load became possible with the food and fodder consumption. The travelling now was a vastly different matter to the work of the autumn. The weather was fine and the going easy. Every day made sledging more pleasant, for the ponies had got into their swing, and the sun's rays shed appreciable warmth. Although we spoke of day and night still, it must be remembered that there was really no longer night, for the sun merely travelled round our heavens throughout the twenty-four hours. Its altitude at midnight would be about 12 or 13 degrees, whilst at noon it would have risen to 28 or 29.
Some of the days of travel were without incident almost, the men leading their ponies in monotonous file across the great white waste. The ponies gave little trouble; Meares's dogs, with more dash, contained their drivers' attention always.
Day and Hooper turned back in Latitude 81 degrees 15 minutes at "Jehu's" grave, and Atkinson, his erstwhile leader, joined the man-haulers. The two who now made their way homeward found considerable difficulty in hauling the sledge, so they bisected it and packed all their gear on a half sledge. They were accompanied by two invalid dogs, Cigane and Stareek, and their adventures homeward bound were more amusing than dangerous—the dogs were rogues and did their best to rob the sledge during the sleeping hours. In due course Day and Hooper reached Cape Evans none the worse for their Barrier trudge.
Wright's pony, Chinaman, was shot on November 28, and the Canadian joined the man-haulers. We were glad of his company and his extra weight.
On November 29 we passed Scott's farthest South, (82 degrees 17 minutes), and near this date had light snow and thick weather.
On November 30 we had a very hard pull, the Barrier surface being covered with prismatic crystals—without any glide we felt we might as well be hauling the sledges over ground glass, but diversion in the shape of Land-oh: I think I sighted Mount Hope refracted up, and pointed it out to Captain Scott.
On December 1 we began to converge the coast rapidly, and we were only thirty miles from the nearest land. The view magnificent, though lonely and awful in its silence. One would very soon go mad without company down here.
December 1 saw the end of "Christopher," but as the soldier fired his pistol at him the pony threw up his head and the bullet failed to kill, although passing through the beast's forehead. Christopher ran to the lines bleeding profusely, but Keohane and I kept him from the other ponies, and Oates shortly after put another bullet into the wretched animal, which dropped him. Christopher was no loss, as he gave endless trouble on the Barrier march. However, he was tender enough, as we found when Meares cut him up for the dogs and brought our tent a fine piece of undercut.
On December 2 we had a trying time, starting off in a perfectly poisonous light, which strained our eyes and made them very painful. It snowed almost incessantly throughout the day. Nevertheless we had a dim, sickly sun visible which helped the steering. As the pony food was running short the pony "Victor" was shot on camping.
I visited Meares and Dimitri in the dog-tent, and they gave me some "overs" in the shape of cocoa and biscuit, for which I was truly grateful, as I had been hungry for a month.
A blizzard started on December 4, which delayed us for some hours. Our party found it had a surplus of 27 whole biscuits—no one could account for this; we told Bowers, however, and he did not seem surprised, so I think he shoved in a few biscuits here and there. He told me that some tins carried 2 lb. more than was marked on them. We covered about 13 miles despite the bad weather beginning the day.
On December 4 we arrived within 12 miles of Shackleton's gap or Southern Gateway: we could see the outflow of the Beardmore Glacier stretching away to our left like a series of huge tumbling waves. As we advanced southwards hopes ran high, for we still had the dogs and five ponies to help us. Scott expected to camp on the Beardmore itself after the next march, but bad luck, alas, was against us. The land visible extended from S.S.W. through S. to N.W. More wonderful peaks or wedge-shaped spines of snow-capped rock. The first and least exciting stage of our journey was practically complete. A fifth pony was sacrificed to the hungry dogs—"Michael," of whom Cherry Garrard had only good words to say—but then the altruistic Cherry only spoke good words. We did over 17 miles on December 4, heading for the little tributary glacier which Shackleton named the Gap; it bore S. 9 degrees E. fifteen miles distant when we put up our tent.
Whilst marching well ahead of the pony party we unconsciously dropped into a hollow of an undulation, and foolishly did not spot it when we paused to build a cairn. Continuing our march we looked back to find no cairn. This first indicated to us the existence of undulations in the neighbourhood, and we frequently lost the ponies to view.
We appreciated that we were outdistancing them, however, and camped at 8 p.m.
It being my cooking week, and, as we fondly imagined, our penultimate day on the Great Ice Barrier, combined with a very good march and a very bright outlook, we had an extra fine hoosh; it contained the full allowance of pemmican, a pannikin full of pony flesh cut in little slices, about 1 1/2 pints of crushed biscuit from our surplus, and some four ounces of cornflour with pepper and salt.
I also had the pleasure of issuing four biscuits each, or twice the ration, Meares and Dimitri having given us eight whole biscuits which they spared from their supply.
The dog drivers were not so ravenous as the man-hauling party, which was natural, but still it was uncommonly generous of them to give us part of their ration for nothing.
I made an extra strong whack of cocoa, as we still had some of my private tea left, so could save cocoa. I brought tea in lieu of tobacco in my personal bag. At least that night the man-hauling party turned in on full stomachs.
We were all tired out and asleep in no time, confident and expectant, but before enjoying the comfort and warmth of our sleeping-bags had an admiring look at the land stretched out before us, and particular application of the eye to the Gap or Southern Gateway, which seemed to say "Come on."
So far on the journey I have not mentioned the word "blizzard" seriously, for we had not hitherto been hampered severely. The 5th December was in truth a Black Day for all. Once more the demon of bad luck held the trump cards against us. Another blizzard started, which tore our chances of any great success to ribbons—it was the biggest knock-down blow that Scott sustained in the whole history of his expedition to date. Here he was, a day's march from the Beardmore Glacier, with fourteen men, in health and high fettle, with dogs, ponies, food, and everything requisite for a great advance, but it was not to be, our progress was barred for four whole days, and during that period we had essentially to be kept on full ration, for it would have availed us nothing to lose strength in view of what we must yet face in the way of physical effort and hardship—we were but one day's march from Mount Hope, our ponies had to be fed, the dogs had to be fed, but they could do no work for their food. There was nothing for it but cheerful resignation. Our tent breakfasted at the aristocratic hour of 10.15 a.m., and Atkinson and I went out to fill the cooker afterwards—the drift was terrible and the snow not fine as usual, but in big flakes driving in a hard wind from S.S.E. It was not very cold, perhaps it would have helped things later if it had been. Our tents quickly snowed up for nearly three feet to leeward. In the camp we could only sleep and eat, the tent space became more and more congested, and those lying closest to the walls of the tents were cramped by the weight of snow which bore down on the canvas. The blizzard on the second day pursued its course with unabated violence, the temperature increased, however, and we experienced driving sleet. The tent floor cloths had pools of water on them, and water dripped on our faces as we lay in our sleeping-bags. Outside the scene was miserable enough, the poor ponies cowering behind their snow walls the picture of misery. Their more fortunate companions, the dogs, lay curled in snug balls covered in snow and apparently oblivious to the inclemency of the weather. Our lunch at 5.30 broke the monotony of the day.
We had supper somewhere near 9 p.m. and then slept again.
December 6 found still greater discomfort, for we had sleet and actually rain alternating. The wind continued and ploughed and furrowed the surface into a mash. Our tents became so drifted up that we had hardly room to lie down in our bags. I fancied the man-haulers were better off than the other tents through having made a better spread, but no doubt each tent company was sorrier for the others than for itself. We occasionally got out of our bags to clear up as far as we were able, but we couldn't sit around and look foolish, so when not cooking and eating we spent our time in the now saturated bags. The temperature rose above freezing point, and the Barrier surface was 18 inches deep in slush. Water percolated everywhere, trickling down the tent poles and dripping constantly at the tent door.
We caught this water in the aluminium tray of our cooker.
The ponies arrived at the state of having to be dug out every now and again. They were wretchedness itself, standing heads down, feet together, knees bent, the picture of despair. Hard and cruel as it may seem, it was planned that we should keep them alive, ekeing out their fodder until December 9, when it was proposed that we should use them to drag our loads for 12 miles and shoot them, the last pound of work extracted from the wretched little creatures.
I am ashamed to say I was guilty of an unuttered complaint after visiting the ponies, for I wrote in my diary for December 6 concerning the five remaining Siberian ponies:
"I think it would be fairer to shoot them now, far what is a possible 12 miles' help? We could now, pulling 200 lb. per man, start off with the proper man-hauling parties and our total weights, so why keep these wretched animals starving and shivering in the blizzard on a mere chance of their being able to give us a little drag? Why, our party have never been out of harness for nearly 400 miles, so why should not the other eight men buckle to and do some dragging instead of saving work in halfpenny numbers?"
Still, it is worthy of mention that on the day the ponies did their last march every man amongst their leaders gave half his biscuit ration to his little animal.
This dreadful blizzard was a terrific blow to Oates. He of all men set himself to better the ponies' state during the bad weather. The animals lost condition with a rapidity that was horrible to observe. The cutting wind whirling the sleet round the ponies gave them a very sorry time, but whenever one peeped out of the tent door there was Oates, wet to the skin, trying to keep life in his charges. I think the poor soldier suffered as much as the ponies. He had felt that every time he re-entered his tent (which was also Captain Scott's) that he took in more wet snow and helped to increase the general discomfort. This being the case when he went out to the ponies, he stopped out, and kept his vigil crouching behind a drifted up pony-wall. We others could not help laughing at him, after the blizzard, when he wrung the icy water out of his clothing. His personal bag was in a fearful state, his sodden tobacco had discoloured everything, and as he squeezed his spare socks and gloves a stream of nicotine-stained water flowed out. I am unable to reproduce his observations on the subject—they were dry, picturesque, and to the point, and even our bluejackets, who were none too particular about language, looked at Oates with undisguised astonishment at the length and variety of his emergency vocabulary.
December 7 showed no change: the blizzard was continuous, food our only comfort. Personally I read Atkinson's copy of "Little Dorrit," for it sufficed nothing to despair; we could not move, and one had to be patient.
Next day we had less wind, but it snowed most of the day. We did, all the same, get glimpses of the sun and one of the land. Dug out all sledges and hauled them clear, then tried the surface, and to Scott's and our own surprise my party hauling on ski dragged the sledge with four big men sitting on it over the surface as much as we chose.
I had thought it beyond our power, it is true. We then returned to camp. Without ski one sank more than knee deep in the snow. The horses were quite unable to progress, sinking to their bellies, so no start was made. We shifted our tent and re-spread it on new snow well trampled down. This brief respite from our sleeping-bags freed our cramped limbs. Weather improved and we did not find it necessary after all to get back into our bags, for it was still warm and quite pleasant sitting in the tent.
What a sight the camp had presented before we started digging out. The ponies like drowned rats, their manes and tails dank and dripping, a saturated blotting-paper look about their green horse cloths, eyes half closed, mouths flabby and wet, each animal half buried in this Antarctic morass, the old snow walls like sand dunes after a storm.
The green tents just peeping through the snow, mottled and beaten in, as it were, all sledges well under, except for here and there a red paraffin oil tin and the corner of an instrument box peeping out. Our ski-sticks and ski alone stood up above it all, and those sleeping-bags, ugh—rightly the place was christened "Shambles Camp."
On December 9 the blizzard was really over; we completed the digging out of sledges and stores and wallowed sometimes thigh-deep whilst getting the ponies out of their snow-drifted shelters. Then we faced probably the hardest physical test we had had since the bailing out in the great gale a year ago. We had breakfast and got away somewhere about 8 a.m. My party helped the pony sledges to get away for a mile or two; the poor brutes had a fearful struggle, and so did we in the man-hauling team. We panted and sweated alongside the sledges, and when at last Captain Scott sent us back to bring up our own sledge and tent we were quite done. Arrived at the Shambles Camp we cooked a little tea, and then wearily hauled our sledge for hour after hour until we came up with the Boss, dead cooked—we had struggled and wallowed for nearly 15 hours. The others had certainly an easier time but a far sadder time, for, they had to coax the exhausted ponies along and watch their sufferings, knowing that they must kill the little creatures on halting.
Oh, Lord—what a day we had of it. Fortunately we man-haulers missed the "slaughter of the innocents," as some one termed the pony killing. When we got to the stopping place all five ponies had been shot and cut up for dog and man food.
This concluded our Barrier march: the last was tragic enough in its disappointment, but one felt proud to be included in such a party, and none, of us survivors can forget the splendid efforts of the last five ponies.
Meantime Roald Amundsen had a gale in Lat. 87-88 degrees on December 5, with falling and drifting snow, yet not too bad to stop his party travelling: he was 11,000 feet above our level at this time and covering 25 miles a day. He also experienced thick weather but light wind on the 7th December and on the day of our sorrowful march he was scuttling along beyond Shackleton's farthest South, indeed close upon the 89th Parallel. It is just as well we did not know it too.
Probably no part of the Southern journey was enjoyed more thoroughly than that stage which embraced the ascent of the Beardmore Glacier. Those who survive it can only have refreshing reminiscences of this bright chapter in our great sledge excursion. Scientifically it was by far the most interesting portion travelled over, and to the non-scientific it presented something interesting every day, if only in the shape, colour, and size of the fringing rocks and mountains—a vast relief from the monotony of the Barrier travel.
First we had Mount Hope at the lower end of the Glacier. Mount Hope is a nunatak of granite, about 2800 feet in height, of which the summit is strewn with erratics, giving evidence of former glaciation of far greater extent.
This was the first land we had passed close to since leaving Hut Point six weeks previously, and now we had roughly 150 miles of travelling, with something to look at, some relief for the eyes to rest on in place of that dazzling white expanse of Barrier ice, with its glitter and sparkle, so tiring to the eyes. We knew that we must expect crevasses now, hidden and bare, and we also knew that we must every day rise our camps until we reached the plateau summit in 10,000 feet. The Beardmore itself is about 120 miles in length and from 10 to 30 miles wide. We had no geologist with us, but specimens have been collected by Shackleton's people, and our own members, particularly Scott's Polar sledge party, which are sufficient to give a history of this part of Antarctica.
December 10 showed our party on to the Glacier, but we were not "out of the wood" by this date. For we had some hard graft marching up the steep incline called by Shackleton the Southern Gateway. We had made a depot of three ten-foot sledges in good condition to be used for the homeward journey over the Barrier by each returning unit—realising that the descent of the Glacier would knock our sledges about and most likely break them up to some extent.
We were now organised into three teams of four, pulling 170 lb. per man, and in this formation we made the advance up the Glacier.
The teams were as follows:
1.—Scott. 2.—Evans (Lieut.) 3.—Bowers.Wilson. Atkinson. Cherry-GarrardOates. Wright. Crean.Evans (Seaman). Lashly. Keohane.
With us we kept the dog teams pulling 600 lb. of our own weights and the 200 lb. gross for placing in the Lower Glacier Depot.
Soft snow made the dragging very heavy, and in the afternoon, working on ski, I am sorry to say my party dropped astern and got into camp an hour late—it could not be helped, we had borne the brunt of the hard work; Lashly and I had man-hauled daily for five weeks, and Atkinson and Wright for some time also. I had a long talk next morning after breakfast with Captain Scott. He was disappointed with our inability to keep up with the speed of the main party, but I pointed out that we could not expect to do the same as fresh men—the other eight had only put on the sledge harness for the first time on December 10: Scott agreed, but seemed worried and fretful. However that may be, we got into the lunch camp first of the three sledges, to have our short-lived triumph turned to disaster by a very poor show after the meal—Scott was much disappointed and dissatisfied: he appeared to think Atkinson was done; Wilson said Wright was played out and Lashly tired. They both seemed to think I was all right, but all the same I felt that my unit had been called on to do more than its share and was suffering as a natural consequence. The depot was built in a conspicuous position, and this done, Meares's work ended. He and Dimitri came along with us for a while and then turned back for a long, lonely run over the inhospitable Barrier.
To help us Meares and the Russian dog-boy had travelled farther South than their return rations allowed for, and for the 450 mile Northward march to Cape Evans the two of them went short one meal a day rather than deplete the depots. It is a dreadful thing on an Antarctic sledge journey to forfeit a whole meal daily, and Meares's generosity should not be forgotten.
The advance of Scott's men up the Beardmore was retarded considerably by the deep, wet snow which had accumulated in the lower reaches of the Glacier.
Panting and sweating we could only make 4 mile marches until the 13th December, and even then the soft snow was 18 inches deep. On the 14th we made a good 9 miles, but only by dint of our utmost efforts—we worked on ski, and I tremble to think what we should have done here without them. The aneroids gave us a rise of about 500 feet a day. Things were improving now, and on December 15 we passed the 84 degree parallel—about this time we succeeded in covering 9 to 10 miles daily, and to do this we marched that same number of hours. A good deal of snow covering the mountain ranges, but some remarkable outcrops of rock to vary the scenery. The temperature was very high, and we were punished severely on this account, for the snow was like beef dripping, and we flopped about in it and hove our sledges along with no glide whatever to help us move forward. Such panting, puffing, and sweating, but all in good humour and bent on doing our best. Snowing hard in the latter part of the afternoon just as the surface was improving—we were forced to camp before the proper time on this account. On camping we calculated that we were 2500 feet above the Barrier, the surface promising better things, for there was hard blue ice six inches from the surface, and the snow itself was fairly close-packed and good for ski.
On December 16 we were out of our sleeping bags at 5 and we were under way by 7 a.m., marching till noon, when we lunched and took sights and angles. The surface remained fairly good until 2 p.m., when it took an unaccountable turn for the worse. We covered 12 miles.
Several of us dropped a leg down crevasses here and there, nothing alarming. We reached 3000 feet altitude, and the day ended in the most perfect weather. For the first time since leaving Corner Camp we felt that our ration was sufficient; we had now commenced the "Summit ration," which contained considerable extra fats. Snow-blindness caused trouble here and there, due principally to our removing our goggles when they clouded up—due to sweating so much in the high temperature. The goggles, which Wilson was responsible for, served excellently. Yellow and orange glasses were popular, but some preferred green. As we progressed and our eyes had to be used for long periods without glasses for clearing crevasses, etc., we found that a double glass acted best, and used this whenever the going was easy and goggles could be used.
The contrast between the goggled and the ungoggled state was extraordinary—when one lifted one's orange-tinted snow glasses it was to find a blaze of light that could scarcely be endured. Snow-blindness gave one much the same sensations as those experienced by standing over a smoking bonfire keeping eyes open.
Sunday, December 17, differed from the preceding days, for we got into huge pressure ridges—we hauled our sledges up these and tobogganed down the other sides, progressing half the forenoon thus. We wore our excellent crampons and made lighter work of our loads than we had done since facing the Beardmore, and now that the summer season was well advanced the surface snow on the Glacier had mostly disappeared through the effects of the all day sun added to the early summer winds. The clouding of our goggles made the crevasses more difficult to spot, and one or other of the party got legs or feet down pretty often.
This and the following day were precursors to good marches and easy times. We made the Mid-Glacier Depot in Latitude 84 degrees 33 minutes 6 seconds S., Longitude 169 degrees 22 minutes 2 seconds E., and set therein one half-week's provision. We marked the depot cairn with bamboo and red flag to show up against the ice as well as to contrast with the land. Hitherto only black flags had been employed to mark depots.
The weather and surface were both in our favour at last. It was sunny, warm, and clear now, and there was nothing to impede us. Wilson did a large amount of sketching on the Beardmore—his sketches, besides being wonderful works of art, helped us very much in our surveys.
Fringing the great glittering river of ice were dark granite and dolerite hills, some were snow-clad and some quite bare, for their steepness resisted the white cloak of this freezing clime. The new hills were surveyed, headlands plotted, and names bestowed where Shackleton had not already done so. Of course we had Shackleton's charts, diaries, and experience to help us. We often discussed Shackleton's journey, and were amazed at his fine performance. We always had full rations, which Shackleton's party never enjoyed at this stage. After December 17 our marches worked up from 13 to 23 miles a day.
Shackleton bestowed the name of Queen Alexandra Range on the huge mountains to the westward of the Beardmore.
The most conspicuous is the "Cloudmaker," which he gives as 9.971—I like the 1 foot when heights are so hard to determine hereabouts! To the three secondary ranges, on the S.W. extreme of the Beardmore, nearly in 85 degrees, he gave the names Adams, Marshall, and Wild, after his three companions on the farthest South march. To get into one's head what we had to look at on the upper half of the Beardmore, imagine a moderate straight slope: this is the Glacier like a giant road, white except where the sun has melted the snow and bared the blue ice. Looking up the Glacier an overhang of ice-falls and disturbances, with three nunataks or mountains sticking through the ice-sheet like islands—the disturbance is mostly to the left (Eastwards) of these, and the road here looks cruelly steep even where it is not broken up. Down the Glacier the great white way is broken here and there where tributary glaciers join it, and above the Cloudmaker the glacier is cut up badly in several places, how badly we were not to know until the middle of January, 1912—but of that more anon. To the left (S.E.) a great broad river of ice, the Mill Glacier, and so on.
The land is extraordinary—gigantic snow drifts like huge waves breaking against a stone pier beset the lower cliff faces and steeper slopes, then dark red-brown rock carved by glaciers long since vanished, and above this rocky bands of limestone, sandstone; and dolerite. Some rocky talus showing through the big snow drifts, and in some cases talus alone.
From my letter to be taken by the next homeward party in case I missed the ship:
"The Wild range is extraordinary in its curious stratification, and one feels when gazing at it some-thing of a wish to scramble along the crests, if only to feel land underfoot instead of ice, ice, ice.
"The prevailing colours here are blacks, grays, reds, like the cliffs at Teignmouth and Exmouth, and another more chocolate red. Then the whites in all kind of shade—fancy different shades of white, but there are here any amount of them, and a certain sparkle of blue ice down the Glacier where the sun is shining on it that reminds one of a tropical sea. Except when marching we don't spend much time out of our tents, but I take a breather now and again when surveying, and then I sit on a sledge-box and wonder what is in store for us and where all this will lead us. Amundsen has certainty not come this way, although dogs could work here easily enough."
On December 20 Scott came into our tent after supper and told us that the first return party would be Atkinson (in charge), Wright, Cherry-Garrard, and Keohane, and that they would turn back after the next day's march. We were all very sad, but each one thus detailed loyally abided by the decision of our chief. I worked till nearly midnight getting out copy of route and bearings for Wright to navigate back on.
Here is a specimen page of my diary:
"December21.
"Out at 5.45 a.m. and away at 8. Had a very heavy pull up steep slope close to S.E. point of Buckley Island. Passed over many crevasses and dropped into some. Once I fell right down in a bottomless chasm to the length of my harness. I was pulled out by the others, Bowers and Cherry helping with their Alpine rope. Not hurt but amused. All of us dropped often to our waists and Atkinson completely disappeared once, but we got him out. We got into a very bad place at noon, and a fog coming on had to stop and lunch as one could not see far. This has been our worst day for crevasses up to now, some of them are 100 feet across, but well bridged.
"It was very cold, with a sharp southerly wind when we started, but later on got quite warm. We rose 1130 feet in the forenoon and made 5 miles 1565 yards up to lunch. We started again at 3 o'clock, and the fog lifting, we made a good march for the day: 11 miles 200 yards geographical (Stat. 12 miles 1388 yards). In the afternoon we had a very heavy drag and did not camp till 7.30 p.m., about 4 miles S. 30 degrees W. of Mount Darwin (summit), Latitude 85 degrees 7 minutes S., Longitude 163 degrees 4 minutes E.
"Our height above the Barrier is 7750 feet by aneroid.
"Had a fine hoosh with a full pannikin of pony meat added to celebrate our 'De-tenting,' which takes place to-morrow morning. We make a depot here with half a week's provision for two parties."
We repacked the sledges after breakfast. This place was called the Upper Glacier Depot—and it marked the commencement of the third and final stage of the Poleward Journey. We said good-bye to Atkinson's party, and they started down the Glacier after depositing the foodstuffs they had sledged up the Beardmore for the Polar Party and the last supporting party. Atkinson and his tent-mates now had to face a homeward march of 584 miles. They spent Christmas Day collecting geological specimens, and reached Cape Evans on January 28. They had some sickness in the shape of enteritis and slight scurvy, but Dr. Atkinson's care and medical knowledge brought them through safely. Captain Scott with his two sledge teams now pushed forward, keeping an average speed of 15 miles per day, with full loads of 190 lb. a man.
When we started off we were:
Scott. Self.Wilson. Bowers.Oates. Crean.Seaman Evans Lashly.
We steered S.W. to begin with to avoid the great pressure ridges and ice falls which barred our way to the South. We began to rise very perceptibly, and, looking back after our march, realised what enormous frozen falls stretch across the top of the Beardmore. I noted that these, with Scott's consent should be called "The Shackleton Ice Falls," according tohistrack he wentupthem. When we looked back on starting our march we could see the depot cairn with a black flag tied to a pair of 10 foot sledge runners for quite three miles—it promised well for picking up. Next day we were away early, marching 8 1/2 miles to lunch camp, and getting amongst crevasses as big as Regent Street, all snow bridged.
We rushed these and had no serious falls; the dangerous part is at the edge of the snow bridge, and we frequently fell through up to our armpits just stepping on to or leaving the bridge. We began now to experience the same tingling wind that Shackleton speaks of, and men's noses were frequently frost-bitten. On Christmas Eve we were 8000 feet above the Barrier, and we imagined we were clear of crevasses and pressure ridges. We now felt the cold far more when marching than we had done on the Beardmore.
The wind all the time turned our breath into cakes of ice on our beards. Taking sights when we stopped was a bitterly cold job: fingers had to be bared to work the little theodolite screws, and in the biting wind one's finger-tips soon went. Over 16 miles were laid behind us on Christmas Eve when we reached Latitude 85 degrees 35 minutes S., Longitude 159 degrees 8 minutes E. I obtained the variation of the compass here—179 degrees 35 minutes E., so that we were between the Magnetic and Geographical Poles.
The temperature down to 10 degrees below zero made observing unpleasant, when one had cooled down and lost vitality at the end of the day's march.
Christmas Day, 1911, found our two tiny green tents pitched on the King Edward VII. Plateau—the only objects that broke the monotony of the great white glittering waste that stretches from the Beardmore Glacier Head to the South Pole. A light wind was blowing from the South, and little whirls of fine snow, as fine as dust, would occasionally sweep round the tents and along the sides of the sledge runners, streaming away almost like smoke to the Northward. Inside the tents breathing heavily were our eight sleeping figures—in these little canvas shelters soon after 4 a.m. the sleepers became restless and occasionally one would wake, glance at one's watch, and doze again. Exactly at 5 a.m. our leader shouted "Evans," and both of us of that name replied, "Right-o, sir."
Immediately all was bustle, we scrambled out of our sleeping-bags, only the cook remaining in each tent. The others with frantic haste filled the aluminium cookers with the gritty snow that here lay hard and windswept. The cookers filled and passed in, we, gathered socks, finnesko, and putties off the clothes lines which we had rigged between the ski which struck upright in the snow to save them from being drifted over in the night. The indefatigable Bowers swung his thermometer in the shade until it refused to register any lower, glanced at the clouds, made a note or two in his miniature meteorological log book, and then blew on his tingling fingers, noted the direction of the wind, and ran to our tent. Inside all had lashed up their bags and converted them into seats, the primus stove burnt with a curious low roar, and peculiar smell of paraffin permeated the tent. By the time we had changed our footgear the savoury smell of the pemmican proclaimed that breakfast was ready. The meal was eaten with the same haste that had already made itself apparent.
A very short smoke sufficed, and Captain Scott gave the signal to strike camp. Out went everything through the little round door, down came both tents, all was packed in a jiffy on the two 12-foot sledges, each team endeavouring to be first, and in an incredibly short space of time both teams swung Southward, keeping step, and with every appearance of perfect health. But a close observer, a man trained to watch over men's health, over athletes training, perhaps, would have seem something amiss.
The two teams, in spite of the Christmas spirit, and the "Happy Christmas" greetings, they exchanged to begin with, soon lost their springy step, the sledges dragged more slowly, and we gazed ahead almost wistfully.
Yes, the strain was beginning to tell, though none of us would have confessed it. Lashly and I had already pulled a sledge of varying weight—but mostly a loaded one—over 600 miles, and all had marched this distance.
During the forenoon something was seen ahead like the tide race over a rocky ledge—it was another ice fall stretching from East to West, and it had to be crossed, there could be no more deviation, for since Atkinson's party turned we had been five points West of our course at times. Alas, more wear for the runners of the sledge, which meant more labour to the eight of us, so keen to succeed in our enterprise—soon we are in the thick of it; first one slips and is thrown violently down, then a sledge runs over the slope of a great ice wave.
The man trying to hold it back is relentlessly thrown, and the bow of the sledge crashes on to the heel of the hindermost of those hauling ahead with a thud that means "pain." But the victim utters no sound, just smiles in answer to the anxious questioning gaze of his comrades.
Something happened in the last half of that Christmas forenoon. Lashly, whose 44th birthday it was, celebrated the occasion by falling into a crevasse 8 feet wide.
Our sledge just bridged the chasm with very little to spare each end, and poor Lashly was suspended below, spinning round at the full length of his harness, with 80 feet of clear space beneath him. We had great difficulty in hauling him upon account of his being directly under the sledge. We got him to the surface by using the Alpine rope. Lashly was none the worse for his fall, and one of my party wished him a "Happy Christmas," and another "Many Happy Returns of the Day," when he had regained safety. Lashly's reply was unprintable.
Soon after this accident we topped the ice fall or ridge, and halted for lunch—we had risen over 250 feet, according to aneroid; it seemed funny enough to find the barometer standing at 21 inches instead of 30.
Lunch camp, what a change. The primus stove fiercely roaring, the men light up their pipes and talk Christmas—dear, cheery souls, how proud Scott must have been of them; no reference to the discomforts of the forenoon march, just brightness and the nicest thoughts for one another, and for "those," as poor Wilson unconsciously describes them, by humming: "Keep our loved ones, now far absent, 'neath Thy care." After a mug of warming tea and two biscuits we strike camp, and are soon slogging on. But the crevasses and icefalls have been overcome, the travelling is better, and with nothing but the hard, white horizon before us, thoughts wander away to the homeland—sweet little houses with well-kept gardens, glowing fires on bright hearths, clean, snowy tablecloths and polished silver, and then the dimpled, smiling faces of those we are winning our spurs for. Next Christmas may we hope for it? Yes, it must be.
But with the exception of Lashly and Crean that daydream never came true, for alas, those whose dearest lived for that Christmasnevercame home, and the one other spared lost his wife, besides his five companions.
The two teams struggled on until after 8 p.m., when at last Scott signalled to camp. How tired we were—almost cross. But no sooner were the tents up than eyes looked out gladly from our dirty, bearded faces. Once again the cooker boiled, and for that night we had a really good square meal—more than enough of everything—pemmican with pieces of pony meat in it, a chocolate biscuit, "ragout" raisins, caramels, ginger, cocoa, butter, and a double ration of biscuits. How we watched Bowers cook that extra thick pemmican. Had he put too much pepper in? Would he upset it? How many pieces of pony meat would we get each? But the careful little Bowers neither burnt nor upset the hoosh: it was up to our wildest expectations. No one could have eaten more.
After the meal we gasped, we felt so comfortable.
But we had such yarns of home, such plans were made for next Christmas, and after all we got down our fur sleeping-bags, and for a change we were quite warm owing to the full amount of food which we so sorely needed.
After the others in my tent were asleep, little Birdie Bowers, bidding me "Good-night," said, "Teddy, if all is well next Christmas we will get hold of all the poor children we can and just stuff them full of nice things, won't we?"
It was unthinkable then that five out of the eight of us would soon be lying frozen on the Great Ice Barrier, their lives forfeited by a series of crushing defeats brought about by Nature, who alone metes out success or failure to win back for those who venture into the heart of that ice-bound continent.
Our Latitude was now 85 degrees 50 minutes S., we were 8000 feet above the Barrier. Temperature -8 degrees, with a fresh southerly wind, but we didn't care that night how hard it blew or whether it was Christmas or Easter. We had done 17 miles distance and success lay within our grasp apparently.
On the following day we were up at six and marched a good 15 miles south with no opposition from crevasses or pressure ridges. The march over the Plateau continued without incident—excepting that on December 28 my team had a great struggle to keep up with Captain Scott's.
The surface was awfully soft, and though we discarded our outer garments we sweated tremendously. At about 11 a.m. Scott and I changed places. I found his sledge simply glided along whereas he found no such thing. The difference was considerable. After lunch we changed sledges and left Scott's team behind with ease. We stopped at the appointed time, and after supper Captain Scott came into our tent and told us that we had distorted our sledge by bad strapping or bad loading. This was, I think, correct, because Oates had dropped his sleeping-bag off a few days back through erring in the other direction and not strapping securely—we meant to have no recurrence and probably racked our sledge by heaving too hard on the straps.
The 29th was another day of very hard pulling. We were more than 9000 feet up—very nearly at the "summit of the summit." Quoting my diary I find set down for December 30 and 31 as follows.
"Saturday,December30.
"Away at 8 a.m. Had a hell of a day's hauling. We worked independently of the other sledge, camping for lunch at 1 p.m. about half a mile astern of them. Then off again, and hauled till 7.15 p.m., when we reached Captain Scott's camp, he being then stopped 3/4-hour. The surface was frightful and they had a heavy drag. Our distance to-day was 12 miles 1200 yards statute. We all turned in after our welcome hoosh, too tired to write up diaries even.
"Bill came in and had a yarn while we drank our cocoa.
"We are now about 9200 feet above the Barrier, temperature falls to about -15 degrees now. Position 86 degrees 49 minutes 9 seconds S., 162 degrees 50 minutes E."
"December31.
"Out at 5.45, and then after a yarn with Captain Scott and our welcome pemmican, tea and biscuit. We in our tent depoted our ski, Alpine rope, and ski shoes, saving a considerable weight. We then started off a few minutes ahead of Captain Scott, and his team never got near us, in fact they actually lost ground. We marched for 5 1/2 hours solid, and had a good heavy drag, but not enough to distress us. We stopped at 1.30 p.m., having done 8 miles 116 yards statute. After our lunch we made a depot and put two weekly units in the snow cairn, which we built and marked with a black flag. The seamen (Evans and Crean) and Lashly spent the afternoon converting the 12 foot sledges to 10 foot with the spare runners, while the remainder of us foregathered in Captain Scott's tent, which Evans fitted with a lining to-day, making it beautifully warm. We sat in the tents with the door open and the sun shining in—doing odd jobs. I worked out sights and wrote up this diary, which was a few days adrift. Temperature -10 degrees.
"We are now Past Shackleton's position for December 31, and it does look as if Captain Scott were bound to reach the Pole. Position 86 degrees 55 minutes 47 minutes S., 175 degrees 40 minutes E.
"At 7 p.m. Captain Scott cooked tea for all hands.
"At 8 p.m. the first sledge was finished and the men went straight onwith the second. This was finished by midnight, and, having seen theNew Year in, we had a fine pemmican hoosh and went to bed."
New Year's Day found us in Latitude 87 degrees 7 minutes S. Height, 9300 feet above Barrier—a southerly wind, with temperature 14 degrees below zero.
On 2nd January I found the variation to be exactly 180 degrees. A skua gull appeared from the south and hovered round the sledges during the afternoon, then it settled on the snow once or twice and we tried to catch it.
Did 15 miles with ease, but we were now only pulling 130 lb. per man.
On January 3 Scott came into my tent before we began the day's march and informed me that he was taking his own team to the Pole. He also asked me to spare Bowers from mine if I thought I could make the return journey of 750 miles short-handed—this, of course, I consented to do, and so little Bowers left us to join the Polar party. Captain Scott said he felt that I was the only person capable of piloting the last supporting party back without a sledge meter. I felt very sorry for him having to break the news to us, although I had foreseen it—for Lashly and I knew we could never hope to be in the Polar party after our long drag out from Cape Evans itself.
We could not all go to the Pole—food would not allow this. Briefly then it was a disappointment, but not too great to bear; it would have been an unbearable blow to us had we known that almost in sight were Amundsen's tracks, and that all our dragging and straining at the trace had been in vain.
On 4th January we took four days' provision for three men and handed over the rest of our load to Scott.
Then we three, Lashly, Crean, and myself, marched south to Latitude 87 degrees 34 minutes S. with the Polar party, and, seeing that they were travelling rapidly yet easily, halted, shook hands all round, and said good-bye, and since no traces of the successful Norwegian had been found so far, we fondly imagined that our flag would be the first to fly at the South Pole. We gave three huge cheers for the Southern party, as they stepped off, and then turned our sledge and commenced our homeward march of between 750 and 800 statute miles. We frequently looked back until we saw the last of Captain Scott and his four companions—a tiny black speck on the horizon, and little did we think that we would be the last to see them alive, that our three cheers on that bleak and lonely plateau summit would be the last appreciation they would ever know.