This day the excitement was intense, for it was obvious that with five fit men—the Pole being only 140 geographical miles away—the achievement was merely a matter of 10 or 11 days' good sledging.
Oates's last remark was cheerful: "I'm afraid, Teddy, you won't have much of a 'slope' going back, but old Christopher is waiting to be eaten on the Barrier when you get there."
Scott had already made a great geographical journey in spite of adverse weather conditions, which had severely handicapped him throughout, but he was nevertheless behindhand in his expectations, and although the attainment of the Pole was practically within his grasp, the long 900 mile march homeward from that spot had to be considered. It was principally on this account that Captain Scott changed his marching organisation and took Bowers from the last supporting party. After the first day's homeward march I realised that the nine hours' marching day was insufficient. We had to make average daily marches of 17 miles in order to remain on full provisions whilst returning over that featureless snow-capped plateau.
Although the first day northward bound was radiantly fine and the travelling surface all that could be desired, we were compelled to push on until quite late to ensure covering the prescribed distance—for a short march on the first day would have augured a gloomy future for us.
Reluctant as I was to confess it to myself, I soon realised that the ceding of one man from my party had been too great a sacrifice, but there was no denying it, and I was eventually compelled to explain the situation to Lashly and Crean and lay bare the naked truth. No man was ever better served than I was by these two; they cheerfully accepted the inevitable, and throughout our home-ward march the three of us literally stole minutes and seconds from each day in order to add to our marches, but it was a fight for life: The rarified air made our breathing more difficult, and we suffered from shortness of breath whenever the inequalities of the surface became severe, and sudden jerks conveyed themselves to our tired bodies through the medium of the rope traces.
Day after day we fought our way northward over the high Polar tableland. The silence now that we had no other party with us was ghastly, for beyond the sound of our own voices and the groaning of the sledge runners when the surface was bad there was no sound whatever to remind us of the outer world. As mile after mile was covered our thoughts wandered from the Expedition to those in our homeland, and thought succeeded thought while the march progressed until the satisfying effect of the last meal had vanished and life became one vast yearning for food.
Three days after leaving Captain Scott we encountered a blizzard and were forced to continue our marches although faced with navigational difficulties which made it impossible for us to maintain more than a very rough northward direction. Muffled up tightly in our wind-proof clothing, -we did all in our power to prevent the dust-fine snow-flakes which whirled around from penetrating into the tiniest opening in our clothes. The blizzard blinded and baffled us, forcing us always to turn our faces from it. The stinging wind cut and slashed our cheeks like the constant jab of a thousand frozen needle points.
This first blizzard which fell upon us lasted for three whole days, and at the end of that time we found ourselves considerably wide of our course.
On the 7th January, in spite of a temperature of 22 degrees below zero, a fresh southerly wind and driving snow, Lashly, Crean, and myself laid 19 miles behind us.
On the 8th we again covered this distance, although the weather was so bad that we entirely lost the track, and on the following day, when the blizzard was at its worst, we fought our way forward for over 16 miles. When the blizzard eventually abated we had hazy weather, but got an occasional glimpse of the sun, with which we corrected our course, and on the 13th January my party found itself right above the Shackleton Icefalls, and gazed down upon the more regular surface of the Beardmore Glacier hundreds of feet below us.
To reach the glacier we were faced with two alternatives: either to march right round the icefalls, as we had done coming south, and thus waste three whole days, or to take our lives in our hands and attempt to get the sledge slap over the falls. This would mean facing tremendous drops, which might end in a catastrophe. The discussion was very short-lived, and with rather a sinking feeling the descent of the great ice falls was commenced. We packed our ski on the sledge, attached spiked crampons to our finnesko, and guided the sledge through the maze of hummocks and crevasses.
The travelling surface was wind-swept and consequently too easy, for the sledge would charge down a slippery slope of blue ice and capsize time after time. In places the way became so steep that our united efforts were needed to avoid the yawning chasms which beset our path. We were compelled to remain attached to the sledge by our harness, for otherwise there was always the danger of our slipping into one of the very crevasses that we were keeping the sledge clear of, and in this manner, with the jumping and jolting of that awful descent, frequent cases of over-running occurred, the sledge fouling our traces and whisking us off our feet. We encountered fall after fall, bruises, cuts, and abrasions were sustained, but we vied with one another in bringing all our grit and patience to bear; scarcely a complaint was heard, although one or other of us would be driven almost sick with pain as the sledge cannoned into this or that man's heel with a thud that made the victim clench his teeth to avoid crying out.
The whole forenoon we worked down towards the more even surface of the great glacier itself, but the actual descent of the steep part of the Shackleton Icefalls was accomplished in half an hour. We came down many hundred feet in that time.
None of us can ever forget that exciting descent. The speed of the sledge at one point must have been 60 miles an hour. We glissaded down a steep blue ice slope; to brake was impossible, for the sledge had taken charge. One or other of us may have attempted to check the sledge with his foot, but to stop it in any way would have meant a broken leg. We held on for our lives, lying face downwards on the sledge. Suddenly it seemed to spring into the air, we had left the ice and shot over one yawning crevasse before we had known of its existence almost—I do not imagine we were more than a second in the air, but in that brief space of time I looked at Crean, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, "What next!" Then we crashed on to the ice ridge beyond this crevasse, the sledge capsized and rolled over and over, dragging us three with it until it came to a standstill.
How we ever escaped entirely uninjured is beyond me to explain. When we had recovered our breath we examined ourselves and our sledge. One of my ski-sticks had caught on a piece of ice during our headlong flight and torn itself from the sledge. It rolled into the great blue-black chasm over which we had come, and its fate made me feel quite cold when I thought of what might have happened to us. When my heart had stopped beating so rapidly from fright, and I had recovered enough to look round, I realised that we were practically back on the Beardmore again, and that our bold escapade had saved us three days' solid foot slogging and that amount of food. So we pitched our little tent, had a good filling meal, and then, delighted with our progress, we marched on until 8 p.m. That night in our sleeping-bags we felt like three bruised pears, but being in pretty hard condition in those days, our bruises and slight cuts in no way kept us from hours of perfect, contented slumber.
I see in my diary for January 13, 1912, I have noted that we came down 2000 feet, but I doubt if it really was as much—we then had no means of measuring.
January 14 found us up at 5.45 (really only 4.45, because in order not to make my seamen companions anxious I handicapped my watch after first day's homeward march, putting the hands on one hour each morning before rising, and back when I got the chance, so that we marched from 10 to 12 hours a day). We hauled our sledge for six hours until we reached the Upper Glacier Depot under Mount Darwin. Here we took 3 1/2 days' stores as arranged, and after sorting up and repacking the depot had lunch and away down the Glacier, camping at 7.30 p.m. off Buckley Island, fairly close to the land. Temperature rose above zero that night.
Next day we were away at 8 a.m. with our crampons on, we came down several steep ice slopes, blue ice like glass, Lashly hauling ahead and Crean and I holding on to the sledge. We bumped a lot, and occasionally the sledge capsized. But we made good nearly 22 miles. We covered between 18 and 20 miles on January 16, and were in high glee at our progress. We camped, however, in amongst pressure ridges and huge crevasses, 14 miles from the Cloudmaker or mid-glacier depot. We hoped next day to reach this depot. January 16 was a pleasant day, its ending peaceful, with a sufficiency of excellent sledging rations and the promise of a similar day to succeed it. On this day hopes had run high; our clothes were dry, the weather mild and promising, besides which, we were camped in the full satisfaction of having a good many miles in hand. We cheerfully discussed our arrival at the next depot, after which we knew that no anxieties need be felt, given even moderately good luck and weather, that did not include too great a proportion of blizzard days. The musical roar of the primus and the welcome smell of the cooking pemmican whetted our appetites deliciously, and as the three of us sat around the cooker on our rolled up fur bags, the contented expression on our dirty brown faces made our bearded ugliness almost handsome. We built wonderful castles in the air as to what luxuries Lashly, who was a famous cook, should prepare on our return to winter quarters. There we had still some of the New Zealand beef and mutton stored in my glacier cave, and one thing I had set my heart on was a steak and kidney pudding which my friend Lashly swore to make me.
After the meal we unrolled our sleeping-bags and luxuriantly got into them, for the recent fine weather had given us a chance to dry thoroughly the fur and get the bags clear of that uncomfortable clamminess due to the moisture from our bodies freezing until the sleeping-bags afforded but little comfort. The weather looked glorious, there was not a cloud in the sky, and towards 10 o'clock the sun was still visible to the S.S.W. We could see it through the thin, green canvas tent wall as we turned in, still in broad daylight, and the warmth derived from it made sleep come to us quite easily.
I woke at five the next morning, and, rousing my companions, we were up and about in a minute. The primus stove and cooking apparatus were brought into the tent once more; our sleeping foot-gear was changed for our marching finneskoe and good steel-spiked crampons fixed to the soft fur boots to give us grip in places where the ice was blue and slippery. By 6 a.m. the little green tent was struck, the sledge securely packed, and the three of us commenced a day's march, the details of which, although it occurred over nine years ago, are so fresh in my memory that I have not even to refer to my sledging diary.
We commenced the day unluckily, for a low Stratus cloud had spread like a tablecloth over the Beardmore and filled up the glacier with mist. This added tremendously to our difficulties in steering, for we had no landmarks by which to set our course, although I knew the approximate direction of descent and could make this by means of a somewhat inadequate compass. The refinements in steering were not sufficient to keep us on the good blue ice surface down which we could have threaded our way had we commanded a full view of the glacier. Our route led us over rougher ice than we should normally have chosen, and the outlook was distinctly displeasing. The air was thick with countless myriads of tiny floating ice crystals, and the great hummocks of ice stood weirdly shapen as they loomed through the frozen mist. I appreciated that we were getting into trouble, but hoped that the fog would disperse as the sun increased its altitude. We fell about a good deal, and to my consternation the surface became worse and worse. We were, however, covering distance in an approximately northward direction, and our team achieved with stubborn purpose what would have appeared impossible to us when we first visited this great, white, silent continent.
It was no good going back, and we could not tell whether the good track was to the right or the left of our line of advance. As new and more troublesome obstacles presented themselves, the more valiantly did my companions set themselves to win through. Crean and Lashly had the hearts of lions. The uncertain light of the mist worried us all three, and we were forced to take off our goggles to see to advance at all.
We continued until midday, when to my great relief the mist showed signs of dispersing, and the sun, a sickly yellow orb, eventually showed through. It was surrounded by a halo which was reflected in rainbow colouring in the minute floating ice crystals. I looked round for a spot suitable for camping, for we were pretty well exhausted, and it was worth while waiting for the mist to disperse. No time would be wasted since the halt would do for our lunch. With the greatest difficulty we found amongst the hummocky ice a place to set up our tent. A space was found somehow, and rather gloomily the three of us made a cooker full of tea. We munched our biscuit in silence, for we were too tired to talk. From time to time I went outside the tent, and certainly the atmosphere was clearer. Odd shapes to the east and west showed themselves to be the fringing mountains which so few eyes had ever rested on. Gradually they took form and I was able more or less to identify our whereabouts. We finished our lunch, Crean had a smoke, and then we got under way.
A little discussion, a lot of support, and a wealth of whole-hearted good-fellowship from my companions gave me the encouragement which made leading these two men so easy.
Warmed by the tea, cheered by the meal, and rested by the halt, we pushed on once more, although to go forward was uncertain and to work back impossible since we were too exhausted to do such pulling upward as would be necessary to reach a place from whence a new start could be made, even if we succeeded in re-discovering our night camp of yesterday.
For hours we fought on, sometimes overcoming crevasses by bridging them with the sledge where its length enabled this to be done. The summer sun had cleared the snow from this part of the glacier, laying bare the great blue, black cracks, and they were horrible to behold. If the breadth of a crevasse was too large to be crossed we worked along the bank until an ice bridge presented itself along which we could go. As the sun's rays grew more powerful, the visibility became perfect, and I must confess we were disappointed to see before us the most disheartening wilderness of pressure ridges and disturbances. We were in the heart of the Great Ice Fall which is to be found half-way down the Beardmore Glacier. We struggled along, for there is no other expression which aptly describes our case. Had we not been in superb physical training and in really hard condition all three of us must have collapsed. We literally carried the sledge, which weighed nearly four hundred pounds.
When the afternoon march had already extended for hours we found ourselves travelling mile after mile across the line of our intended route to circumvent the crevasses. They seemed to grow bigger and bigger. At about 8 p.m. we were travelling on a ridge between two stupendous open gulfs, and we found a connecting bridge which stretched obliquely across. I saw that it was necessary to move round or across a number of these wide open chasms to reach the undulations which we knew from our ice experience must terminate this broken up part of the glacier. In vain I told myself that these undulations could not be so far away.
To cross by the connecting bridge which I have just spoken about was, to say the least of it, a precarious proceeding. But it would save us a mile or two, and in our tired state this was worth considering. After a minutes rest we placed the sledge on this ice bridge, and, as Crean described it afterwards, "We went along the crossbar to the H of Hell." It was not all misnamed either, for Lashly, who went ahead, dared not walk upright. He actually sat astride the bridge and was paid out at the end of our Alpine rope. He shuffled his way across, fearful to look down into the inky blue chasm below, but he fixed his eyes on the opposite wall of ice and hoped the rope would be long enough to allow him to reach it and climb up, for he never would have dared to come back. The cordwassufficient in length, and he contrived finally to make his way on to the top of the ridge before him. He then turned round and looked scaredly at Crean and myself. I think all of us felt the tension of the moment, but we wasted no time in commencing the passage. The method of procedure was this. The sledge rested on the narrow bridge which was indeed so shaped that the crest only admitted of the runners resting one on each side of it; the slope away was like an inverted "V" and while Lashly sat gingerly on the opposite ridge, hauling carefully but not too strongly on the rope, Crean and I, facing one another, held on to the sledge sides, balancing the whole concern. It was one of the most exciting moments of our lives. We launched the sled across foot by foot as I shouted "One, Two, Three—Heave." Each time the signal was obeyed we got nearer to the opposite ice slope. The balance was preserved, of course, by Crean and myself, and we had to exercise a most careful judgment. Neither of us spoke, except for the launching signal, but each looked steadfastly into the other's eyes—nor did we two look down. A false movement might have precipitated the whole gang and the sledge itself into the blue-black space of awful depth beneath. The danger was very real, but this crossing was necessary to our final safety. As in other cases of peril, the tense quiet of the moment left its mark on the memories of our party for ever. Little absurd details attracted all our attention, for instance, I noticed the ruts in the cheeks of my grimyvis-à-vis, for Crean had recently clipped his beard and whiskers. My gaze was also riveted on a cut, or rather open crack caused in one of his lips by the combined sun and wind. Thousands of little fleeting thoughts chased one another through our brains, as we afterwards found by comparison, and finally we were so close to Lashly that he could touch the sledge. He reached down, for the bridge was depressed somewhat where it met the slope on which he sat.
He held on tight, and somehow Crean and I wriggled off the bridge, sticking our crampons firmly into the ice and crawling up to where Lashly was. We all three held on to the Alpine line, and in some extraordinary fashion got to the top of the ridge, where we anchored ourselves and prepared to haul up the sledge. As I said before, it weighed about 400 lb., and to three exhausted men the strain which came upon us when we hauled the sledge off the bridge tested us to the limit of our strength. The wretched thing slipped sideways and capsized on the slope, nearly dragging us down into that icy chasm, but our combined efforts saved us, and once again the perils of the moment were forgotten as we got into our sledge harness and started to make the best of our way to the depot.
By now we were exhausted, rudely shaken, and our eyes were smarting with the glare and the glint of the sun's reflections from that awful maze of ice falls. I felt my heart would burst from the sustained effort of launching that sledge, which now seemed to weigh a ton. There seemed no way out of this confused mass of pressure ridges and, crevasses. We were "all out," and come what may I had to change our tactics, accordingly I ordered a halt. No room could be found to pitch our tent and I could not see any possibility of saving my party. We could stagger on no farther with the dreadfully heavy sledge. The prospect was hopeless and our food was nearly gone. Some rest must be obtained to give us strength for this absolute battle for life. The great strain of the day's efforts had thoroughly exhausted us, and it took me back to the last day of the December blizzard which caused the eventual loss of the Polar Party and the ruin of Captain Scott's so excellently laid plans. I remembered the poor ponies after their fourteen hours' march, their flanks heaving, their black eyes dull, shrivelled and wasted. The poor beasts had stood, with their legs stuck out in strange attitudes, mere wrecks of the beautiful little animals that we took away from New Zealand, and I could not help likening our condition to theirs on that painful day. The three of us sat on the sledge—hollow-eyed and gaunt looking. We were done, our throats were dry, and we could scarcely speak. There was no wind, the atmosphere was perfectly still, and the sun slowly crept towards the southern meridian, clear cut in the steel blue sky. It gave us all the sympathy it could, for it shed warm rays upon us as it silently moved on its way like a great eye from Heaven, looking but unable to help. We should have gone mad with another day like this, and there were times when we came perilously close to being insane. Something had to be done. I got up from the sledge, cast my harness adrift, and said, "I am going to look for a way out; we can't go on." My companions at first persuaded me not to go, but I pointed out that we could not continue in our exhausted condition. If only we could find a camping place, and we could rest, perhaps we should be able to make a final effort to get clear.
I moved along a series of ice bridges, and the excitement gave me strength once more. I was surprised at myself for not being more giddy when I walked along the narrow ice spines, but the crampons attached to my finneskoe were like cat's claws, and without the weight of the sledge I seemed to develop a panther-like tenacity, for I negotiated the dangerous parts with the utmost ease. After some twenty minutes hunting round I came to a great ice hollow.
Down into it I went and up the other side. This hollow was free from crevasses, and when I got to the top of the ice mound opposite I saw yet another hollow. Turning round I gazed back towards where I had left our sledge. Two tiny, disconsolate figures were silhouetted against the sunlight—my two companions on our great homeward march, one sitting and one standing, probably looking for my reappearance as I vanished and was sighted again from time to time. I felt a tremendous love for those two men that day. They had trusted me so implicitly and believed in my ability to win through. I turned northward again, stepped down into the next hollow and stopped. I was in an enormous depression but not a crevasse to be seen, for the sides of the depression met quite firmly at the bottom in smooth, blue, solid ice.
In a flash I called to mind the view of the Ice Fall from the glacier on our outward journey with Captain Scott, I remembered the huge frozen waves, and hoped with all my optimistic nature that this might be the end of the great disturbance. I stood still and surveyed the wonderful valley of ice, and then fell on my knees and prayed to God that a way out would be shown me.
Then I sprang to my feet, and hurried on boldly. Clambering up the opposite slope of ice, I found a smooth, round crest over which I ran into a similar valley beyond. Frozen waves here followed in succession, and hollow followed hollow, each less in magnitude than its forerunner.
Suddenly I saw before me the smooth, shining bed of the glacier itself, and away to the north-west was the curious reddish rock under which the Mid Glacier Depot had been placed. My feelings hardly bear setting down. I was overcome with emotion, but my prayer was answered and we were saved.
I had considerable difficulty in working back to the party amongst the labyrinth of ice bridges, but I fortunately found a patch of hard snow whereon my crampons had made their mark. From here I easily traced my footmarks back, and was soon in company with my friends. They were truly relieved at my news. On consulting my watch I found that I had been away one hour. It took us actually three times as long to work our sledge out into the smooth ice of the glacier, but this reached, we camped and made some tea before marching on to the depot, which lay but a few miles from us.
We ate the last of our biscuits at this camp and finished everything but tea and sugar, then, new men, we struck our little camp, harnessed up and swept down over the smooth ice with scarcely an effort needed to move the sledge along. When we reached the depot we had another meal and slept through the night and well on into the next day.
Consulting my old Antarctic diary I see that the last sentence written on the 17th January says, "I had to keep my goggles off all day as it was a matter of life or death with us, and snow blindness must be risked after …" (a gap follows here until 29th January). The next day I had an awful attack of snow blindness, but the way down the glacier was so easy that it did not matter. I forgot whether Lashly or Crean led then, but I marched alongside, keeping in touch with the trace by hitching the lanyard of my sundial on to it and holding this in my hand. I usually carried the sundial slung round my neck, so that it was easy to pick it up and consult it. That day I was in awful pain, and although we had some dope for putting on our eyes when so smitten, I found that the greatest relief of all was obtained by bandaging my eyes with a poultice made of tea leaves after use—quaint places, quaint practices but the tip is worth considering for future generations of explorers and alpine climbers.
Our homeward march continued for day after day with no very exciting incidents. We met no more crevasses that were more than a foot or so wide, and we worked our way down on to the Great Ice Barrier with comparatively easy marches, although the distances we covered were surprising to us all—seventeen miles a day we averaged.
On the 30th January Lashly and I had been fourteen weeks out, and we had exhausted practically every topic of conversation beyond food, distances made good, temperatures, and the weather. Crean, as already set down, had started with the Main Southern Party a week after Lashly and I had first set out as the pioneers with those wretched failures, the motor sledges. By this time I had made the unpleasant discovery that I was suffering from scurvy. It came on with a stiffening of the knee joints, then I could not straighten my legs, and finally they were horrible to behold, swollen, bruised, and green. As day followed day my condition became worse: my gums were ulcerated and my teeth loose. Then finally I got haemorrhage. Crean and Lashly were dreadfully concerned on my behalf, and how they nursed me and helped me along no words of mine can properly describe. What men they were. Those awful days—I trudged on with them for hundreds of miles, and each step hurt me more. I had done too much on the outward journey, for what with building all the depot cairns ahead of the pony party, and what with the effects of the spring sledge journey, too much had been asked of me. I had never been out of harness from the day I left Hut Point, for even with the motor sledges we practically pulled them along. Crean had had an easier time, for he had led a pony up to the foot of the Beardmore Glacier, and Lashly had not done the spring sledging journey, which took a certain amount out of me with its temperatures falling to 73 degrees below zero. The disappointment of not being included in the Polar Party had not helped me much, and I must admit that my prospects of winning through became duller day by day. I suffered absolute agonies in forcing my way along, and eventually I could only push myself by means of a ski-stick, for I could not step out properly. I somehow waddled on ski until one day I fainted when striving to start a march. Crean and Lashly picked me up, and Crean thought I was dead. His hot tears fell on my face, and as I came to I gave a weak kind of laugh.
They rigged the camp up once more and put me in my bag, and then those two gallant fellows held a short council of war. I endeavoured to get them to leave me when they came in with their suggestions, but it was useless to argue with them, and I now felt that I had shot my bolt. I vainly tried to persuade them to leave me in my sleeping-bag with what food they could spare, but they put me on the sledge, bag and all, and strapped me as comfortably as they could with their own sleeping-bags spread under me to make for greater ease.
How weary their marches must have been—ten miles of foot slogging each day. I could see them from the sledge by raising my head—how slowly their legs seemed to move—wearily but nobly they fought on until one day a blizzard came and completely spoilt the surface. The two men had been marching nearly 1500 miles, their strength was spent, and great though their hearts were, they had now to give up. In vain they tried to move the sledge with my wasted weight upon it—it was hopeless.
Very seriously and sadly they re-erected our tent and put me once again inside. I thought I was being put into my grave. Outside I heard them talking, low notes of sadness, but with a certain thread of determination running through what they said. They were discussing which should go and which should stay. Crean had done, if anything, the lighter share of the work, as already explained, and he therefore set out to march thirty-five miles with no food but a few biscuits and a little stick of chocolate.
He hoped to find relief at Hut Point. Failing this, he would go on if possible to Cape Evans.
Crean came in to say good-bye to me. I thanked him for what he was doing in a weak, broken sort of way, and Lashly held open the little round tent door to let me see the last of him. He strode out nobly and finely—I wondered if I should ever see him, again. Then Lashly came in to me, shut the tent door, and made me a little porridge out of some oatmeal we got from the last depot we had passed.
After I had eaten it he made me comfortable by laying me on Crean's sleeping-bag, which made my own seem softer, for I was very, very sore after being dragged a hundred miles on a jolting, jumping sledge. Then I slept and awoke to find Lashly's kind face looking down at me. There were very few wounded men in the Great War nursed as I was by him.
A couple of days passed, and every now and then Lashly would open up the tent door, go out and search the horizon for some possible sign of relief. The end had nearly come, and I was past caring; we had no food, except a few paraffin saturated biscuits, and Lashly in his weakened state without food could never have marched in. He took it all very quietly—a noble, steel true man—but relief did come at the end of that day when everything looked its blackest.
We heard the baying of the dogs, first once, then again. Lashly, who was lying down by my side quietly talking, sprang to his feet, looked out, and saw!
They galloped right up to the tent door, and the leader, a beautiful gray dog named Krisravitsa, seemed to understand the situation, for he came right into the tent and licked my hands and face. I put my poor weak hands up and gripped his furry ears. Perhaps to hide my feelings I kissed his old hairy, Siberian face with the kiss that was meant for Lashly. We were both dreadfully affected at our rescue.
Atkinson and the Russian dog-boy, Dimitri, had come out hot-foot to save us, and of all men in the Expedition none could have been better chosen than "Little Aitch," our clever naval doctor. After resting his dogs and feeding me with carefully prepared foodstuffs, he got me on one sledge and Lashly on the other, the dogs were given their head, and in little more than three hours we covered the thirty-five miles into Hut Point, where I was glad to see Crean's face once more and to hear first hand about his march. It had taken him eighteen hours' plodding through those awful snows from our camp to Hut Point, where fortunately he met Atkinson and Dimitri and told them of my condition.
After the Expedition was over the King gave Lashly and Crean the AlbertMedal for their bravery in helping me win through.
It is little enough tribute that I have dedicated this book to these two gallant fellows.
The details of Scott's final march to the Pole, and the heartrending account of his homeward journey, of Evans's sad death, of Oates's noble sacrifice, and of the martyr like end of Wilson, Bowers, and Scott himself have been published throughout the length and breadth of the civilised world. In "Scott's Last Expedition"—Vol. I. the great explorer's journals are practically reproduced in their entirety. Mr. Leonard Huxley, who arranged them in 1913, had had to do with Scott's first work, "The Voyage of the 'Discovery'," and, as Mr. Huxley has said, these two works needed but little editing. Scott's last fine book was written as he went along, and those of us who have survived the Expedition and the Great War, and we are few, are more than proud to count ourselves among the company he chose.
A synopsis of his march from 87 degrees 35 minutes to the South Pole, and a recapitulation of the events which marked the homeward march must certainly find their way into this book, which is after all only the husk of the real story.
However much the story is retold—and it has been retold by members of the Expedition as well as by others—the re-telling will never approach the story as told by Scott himself: for the kernel one must turn to Volume I, of "Scott's Last Expedition": However, perhaps I can give something of interest; here is what little Bowers says in extracts from his diary, given me by his mother:
"January4.—Packed up sledge with four weeks and three days' food for five men, five sleeping-bags, etc. I had my farewell breakfast with Teddy Evans, Crean and Lashly. Teddy was frightfully cut up at not going to the Pole, he had set his heart on it so.
"I am afraid it was a very great disappointment to him, and I felt very sorry about it. Poor Teddy, I am sure it was for his wife's sake he wanted to go. He gave me a little silk flag she had given him to fly on the Pole. After so little sleep the previous night I rather dreaded the march.
"We gave our various notes, messages, and letters to the returning party and started off. They accompanied us for about a mile before turning, to see that all was going on well.
"Our party was on ski with the exception of myself. I first made fast to the central span, but afterwards connected up to the bow of the sledge, pulling in the centre between the inner ends of Captain Scott's and Dr. Wilson's traces.
"This was found to be the best place, as I had to go my own step. Teddy and party gave us three cheers and Crean was half in tears. They had a featherweight sledge to go back with, of course, and ought to run down their distance easily.
"We found we could manage our load easily, and did 6.3 miles before lunch, completing 12.5 by 7.15 p.m. Our marching hours are nine per day. It is a long slog with a well-loaded sledge, and more tiring for me than the others as I have no ski. However, as long as I can do my share all day and keep fit, it does not matter much one way or the other.
"We had our first north wind on the Plateau to-day, and a deposit of snow crystals made the surface like sand latterly on the march. The sledge dragged like lead. In the evening it fell calm, and although the temperature was 16 degrees it was positively pleasant to stand about outside the tent and bask in the sun's rays. It was our first calm since we reached the summit too. Our socks and other damp articles which we hang out to dry at night became immediately covered with long feathery crystals exactly like plumes.
"Socks, mitts, and finneskoe dry splendidly up here during the night. We have little trouble with them compared with spring and winter journeys. I generally spread my bag out in the sun during the 1 1/2 hours of lunch time, which gives the reindeer hair a chance to get rid of the damage done by the deposit of breath and any perspiration during the night…."
He seemed to have made no entry for some days after this, but he is interesting to quote later.
The Polar Party covered the 145 geographical miles that remained in a fortnight; on the 7th January they reached apparently the summit of the Plateau, 10,570 ft. in Latitude 88 degrees 18 minutes 70 seconds S. Longitude 157 degrees 21 minutes E., but their marches fell short of expectations due to the bad surfaces met with.
Scott kept copious notes in his diary of everything that mattered. He was delighted with his final selection, and as usual pithy and to the point when describing. Here, for example, is something of what he wrote of his companions:
(From Scott's Last Expedition, Vol. 1)
"WILSON.—Quick, careful and dexterous, ever thinking of some fresh expedient to help the camp life; tough as steel on the traces, never wavering from start to finish.
"PETTY OFFICER EVANS.—A giant worker, with a really remarkable headpiece—he is responsible for every sledge, every sledge-fitting, tents, sleeping-bags, harness, and when one cannot recall a single expression of dissatisfaction with any one of these items, it shows what an invaluable assistant he has been….
"BOWERS.—Little Bowers remains a marvel—he is thoroughly enjoying himself. I leave all the provision arrangements in his hands, and at all times he knows exactly how we stand … Nothing comes amiss to him, and no work is too hard….
"OATES.—Each is invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period with the ponies: now he is a foot slogger and goes hard the whole time, does his share of camp work and stands the hardships as well as any of us. I would not like to be without him either. So our five people are perhaps as happily selected as it is possible to imagine."
Certainly no living man could have taken Scott's place effectively as leader of our Expedition—there was none other like him. He was the Heart, Brain, and Master.
On January 11 just the slightest descent had been made, the height up being now 10,540 ft., but it will be noticed that they were then getting temperatures as low as 26 degrees below zero: my party on that date got 10 degrees higher thermometer readings. Surface troubles continued to waylay them, and their distances, even with five men, were disappointing, due undoubtedly to this.
On 13th both Bowers and Scott write of a surface like sand, and of tugging and straining when they ought to be moving easily. On 14th some members began to feel the cold unmistakably, and on the following day the whole party were quite done on camping.
The saddest note on the outward march is struck on January 16 when Bowers sighted a cairn of snow and a black speck, which turned out to be a black flag tied to a sledge runner, near the remains of a camp—this after such a hopeful day on the 15th, when a depot of nine days food was made only 27 miles from the Pole—and Scott wrote in his diary:
"… It ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian Flag forestalling ours…."
Still, there it was, dog tracks, many of them, were picked up and followed to the Polar Area. Scott, Wilson, Oates, Bowers, and Seaman Evans reached the South Pole on 17th January, 1912, a horrible day, temperature 22 degrees below zero. The party fixed the exact spot by means of one of our little four-inch theodolites, and the result of their careful observations located the Pole at a point which only differed from Amundsen's "fix" by half a mile, as shown by his flag.
This difference actually meant that the British and Norwegian observers differed byone scale division on the theodolite, which was graduated to half a minute of arc.
Experts in navigation and surveying will always look on this splendidly accurate determination as a fine piece of work by our own people as well as by the Norwegian Expedition.
Lady Scott has remarked on the magnificent spirit shown by her husband and his four specially-selected tent-mates when they knew that Queen Alexandra's little silk Union Jack had been anticipated by the flag of another nation. Scott and his companions had done their best, and never from one of them came an uncharitable remark.
In our Expedition Committee Minute Book it is recorded that the following were found at the Pole:
A letter from Captain Amundsen to Captain Scott:
"Poleheim, 15thDecember, 1911.
"DEAR CAPTAIN SCOTT,—As you probably are the first to reach this area after us, I will ask you kindly to forward this letter to King Haakon VII. If you can use any of the articles left in the tent please do not hesitate to do so. The sledge left outside may be of use to you. With kind regards I wish you a safe return.
"Yours truly,ROALD AMUNDSEN."
Also another note:
"The Norwegian Home, Poleheim, is situated in 89 degrees 58 minutes S.Lat. S.E. by E. compass 8 miles.
(Signed) ROALD AMUNDSEN. "15thDecember, 1911."
The Norwegian Explorers' names recorded at Poleheim were: Roald Amundsen,Olaf Bjaaland, Helmer Hanssen, Oskar Wisting, Sverre Hassel.
Scott left a note in the Norwegian tent with the names of himself and his companions, and in his diary he agreed that the Norwegian explorers had made thoroughly sure of their work and fully carried out their programme.
Scott considered the Pole to be 9500 feet above the Barrier—1000 feet lower than the Plateau altitude in 88 degrees.
Bowers took the sights to fix the South Pole.
On the 19th January the northward march was commenced: the party had before them then a distance of over 900 miles (statute). Bowers writes on this date quite nonchalantly:
" … A splendid clear morning, with fine S.W'ly wind blowing—during breakfast time I sewed a flap attachment on to my green hat so as to prevent the wind from blowing down my neck on the march. We got up the mast and sail on the sledge and headed North, picking up Amundsen's cairn and our outgoing tracks shortly afterwards. Along this we travelled until we struck the other cairn and finally the Black Flag where we had made our sixth (?) outward camp. We then with much relief left all traces of the Norwegian behind, and I headed on my own track till lunch camp, when we had come 8.1 miles. In the afternoon we passed No. 2 Cairn of the British route, and fairly slithered along with a fresh breeze. It was heavy travelling for me, not being on ski, but one does not mind being tired if a good march is made. We did 16 altogether for the day, and so should pick up our last depot to-morrow afternoon. The weather became fairly thick soon after noon, and at the end of the afternoon there was considerable drift with a mist caused by ice crystals and parhelion.
"January20.—Good sailing breeze again this morning; it is a great pleasure to have one's back to the wind instead of having to face it. It came on thicker later, but we sighted the last depot soon after 1 p.m. and reached it at 1-15 p.m. The red flag on the bamboo pole was blowing out merrily to welcome us back from the Pole, with its supply of the necessaries of life below. We are absolutely dependent on our depots to get off the Plateau alive, and so welcome the lovely little cairns gladly. At this one, called the 'Last Depot,' we picked up four days' food, a can of oil, some methylated spirit (for lighting purposes), and some personal gear we had left there. The bamboo was bent on to the floor-cloth as a yard for our sail instead of a broken sledge runner of Amundsen's, which we had found at the Pole and made a temporary yard of. As we had marched extra long in the forenoon in order to reach the depot, our afternoon march was shorter than usual. The wind increased to a moderate gale, with heavy gusts and considerable drift. We would have had a bad time had we been facing it. After an hour I had to shift my harness aft so as to control the motions of the sledge.
"Unfortunately the surface got very sandy latterly, but we finished up with 16.1 miles to our credit and camped in a stiff breeze, which rendered itself into a blizzard a few hours later. I was glad we had our depot safe.
"January21.-Wind increased to force 8 during night, with heavy drift; in the morning it was blizzing like blazes, and marching was out of the question. The wind would have been of great assistance to us, but the drift was so thick that steering a course would have been next to impossible, so we decided to await developments and get under way as soon as it showed any signs of clearing. Fortunately it was short lived, and instead of lasting the regulation two days it went off in the afternoon, and 2.45 found us off with our sail full. It was good running on ski, but soft plodding for me on foot. I shall be jolly glad to pick up my dear old ski. They are nearly 200 miles away yet, however. The breeze fell altogether latterly, and I shifted up into my old place, a middle number of the five. Our distance completed was 5.52 miles when camp was made again. Our old cairns are of great assistance, also the tracks, which are obliterated in places by heavy drift and hard sastrugi, but can be followed easily.
"January22.—We came across Evans's sheep-skin boots this evening. They were almost covered after their long spell since they fell off the sledge. The breeze was in from the S.S.W., but got bright and light. At lunch camp we had completed 8.2 miles. In the afternoon the breeze fell altogether and the surface acted on by the sun became perfect sand-dust. The light sledge pulled by five men came along like a drag without a particle of slide or go in it. We were all glad to camp soon after 7 p.m. I think we were all pretty tired out. We did altogether 19.5 miles for the day. We are now only 30 miles from the 1 1/2 degree depot and should reach it in two marches with any luck.
"January23.—Started off with a bit of a breeze which helped us a little. After the first two hours it increased to force 4 S.S.W., and filling the sail we sped along merrily, doing 8 3/4 miles before lunch. In the afternoon it was even stronger. I had to go back in the sledge and act as guide and brakesman. We had to lower the sail a bit, but even then she ran like a bird. We are picking up our old cairns famously. Evans got his nose frost-bitten, not an unusual thing with him, and as we were all getting pretty cold latterly, we stopped at a quarter to seven, having done 15 1/2 miles. We camped with considerable difficulty owing to the force of the wind.
"January24.—Evans got his fingers all blistered with frostbites, otherwise we are all well, but thinning, and in spite of our good rations getting hungrier daily.
"I sometimes spend much thought on the march with plans for making a pig of myself on the first opportunity. As this will be after a farther walk of 700 miles they will be a bit premature. It was blowing a gale when we started, and it increased in force. Finally, with the sail half down, one man detached tracking ahead, and Titus and I breaking back, we could not always keep the sledge from over-running. The blizzard got worse and worse, till having done only 7 miles we had to camp soon after 12 o'clock. We had a most difficult job camping, and it has been blowing like blazes all the afternoon. I think it is moderating now—9 p.m.
"We are only 7 miles from our depot and the delay is exasperating.
"January25.—It was no use turning out at our usual time (5.45 a.m.) as the blizzard was as furious as ever.
"We therefore decided on a late breakfast and no lunch unless able to march. We have only three days' food with us and shall be in Queer Street if we miss the depot.
"Our bags are getting steadily wetter, so are our clothes.
"It shows a tendency to clear off now (breakfast time), so, D.V., we may march after all. I am in tribulation as regards meals now, as we have run out of salt, one of my favourite commodities. It was owing to Atkinson's party taking back an extra tin by mistake from the Upper Glacier Depot.
"Fortunately we have some depoted there, so I will only have to endure another two weeks without it.
"10 p.m.—We have got in a march after all, thank the Lord.
"Assisted by the wind we made an excellent run down to our 1 1/2 Depot, where the big red flag was blowing out of driving drift. Here we picked up 14 cans of oil, and one week's food for five men, together with some personal gear depoted.
"We left the bamboo and the flag on the cairn. I was much relieved to pick up this depot; now we have only one other source of anxiety in the endless snow summit, viz., the third depot in Latitude 86 degrees 56 minutes S. In the afternoon we did 5.2 miles. It was a miserable march, blizzard all the time and our sledge either sticking on sastrugi or overrunning the traces. We had to lower the sail half down, and Titus and I hung on to her—it was most strenuous work as well as much colder than pulling ahead. Most of the time we had to brake back with all our strength to keep the sledge from overrunning. Bill got a bad go of sun-glare from following the track without goggles on.
"January26.—This day last year we started the depot journey. I did not think so short a time would turn me into an old hand at Polar travelling, neither did I imagine all the time that I would be returning from the Pole.
"January29.—Our record march to-day. With a good breeze and improving surface we were soon in amongst the double tracks where the supporting party left us. Then we picked up the memorable camp where I transferred to the advance party. How glad I was to change over. The camp was much drifted up, and immense sastrugi . . . etc."
Day's marches, temperatures, and so on, then his diary commences missing days out and only contains two line entries in short, sharp notes such as:
"January31.—Picked up depot 11.20 a.m. Picked up my ski 6.15 p.m.No wind latterly—heavy surface. 13 1/2—Bill's leg—Evans'sfingers—extra biscuits, etc."; and
"February11.—Very heavy surface—ice crystals—movement of upper currents—Evans cook—finer weather—lower temperature—sastrugi. Run 11.1."
It was probably the beginning of the end.
February brought little to the party but bad luck and reverses. Wilson had strained a tendon in his leg. Evans's fingers were in a bad state through frostbite, and on the first of the month Scott himself had fallen and shaken himself badly. Temperatures low, too low for any good surface. February 4 found the party amongst crevasses, both Scott and Evans falling into them. Notwithstanding all their troubles they made a fine pace over the ice-capped plateau and down the Beardmore. Evans's fall on February 4 crocked him up a good deal, and he suffered from facial frostbites. His condition all the time now was causing the gravest anxiety. The summit journey ended on February 7. On the 8th valuable geological specimens were collected and brought along, and then the descent of the Great Glacier commenced. The Beardmore temperatures to begin with were rather high, and Scott seems to have considered this a disadvantage, for he says it made the party feel slack. Evans was rested half-way down the Beardmore, Oates looking after him, while the other made a halt for geological investigation by the Cloudmaker depot.
But poor Evans had sustained a severe concussion through falling and hitting his head on the 4th, and the party on his account was so delayed that the surplus foodstuffs rapidly diminished, and the outlook became serious. Bad weather was again encountered, and on February 17, near the foot of the Glacier, Seaman Evans died. Wilson expressed the opinion that Evans must have injured his brain by the fall. It was a great surprise to all of us to hear of Evans failing so early, as he was known to be a man of enormous strength, and a tried sledger. He was also a veteran in Antarctic experience, having made some wonderful journeys under Scott in the "Discovery" days.
After reaching the Lower Glacier Depot on the 17th the bereaved little band pushed Northward with fine perseverance, although they must have known by their gradually shortening marches that little hope of reaching their winter quarters remained. Their best march on the Barrier was only 12 miles, and in the later stages their marches dropped to 4. The depots were, as stated, some 65 miles apart, but the temperatures fell as they advanced, instead of rising, as expected, and we find them recording -46.2 degrees one night. Surfaces were terrible—"like pulling over desert sand, not the least glide in the world."
Poor Oates's feet and hands were badly frostbitten—he constantly appealed to Wilson for advice. What should he do, what could he do? Poor, gallant soldier, we thought such worlds of him. Wilson could only answer "slog on, just slog on." On March 17, which was Oates's birthday, he walked out to his death in a noble endeavour to save his three companions beset with hardships, and as Captain Scott himself wrote, "It was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman—we all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far."
Scott, Wilson, and Bowers fought on until March 21, only doing about 20 miles in the four days, and then they were forced to camp 11 miles south of One Ton Depot. They were kept in camp by a blizzard which was too violent to permit them to move, and on March 25 Captain Scott wrote his great message to the public:
The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organisation, but to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken.
1.—The loss of pony transport in March, 1911, obliged me to start later than I had intended, and obliged the limits of stuff transported to be narrowed.
2. The weather throughout the outward journey, and especially the long gale in 83 degrees S., stopped us.
3. The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again reduced pace.
We fought these untoward events with a will and conquered, but it cut into our provision reserve.
Every detail of our food supplies, clothing, and depots made on the interior ice sheet and over that long stretch of 700 miles to the Pole and back worked out to perfection. The advance party would have returned to the glacier in fine form and with surplus of food, but for the astonishing failure of the man whom we had least expected to fail. Edgar Evans was thought the strongest man of the party.
The Beardmore Glacier is not difficult in fine weather, but on our return we did not get a single completely fine day; this with a sick companion enormously increased our anxieties.
As I have said elsewhere we got into frightfully rough ice, and Edgar Evans received a concussion of the brain—he died a natural death, but left us a shaken party, with the season unduly advanced.
But all the facts above enumerated were as nothing to the surprise which awaited us on the Barrier. I maintain that our arrangements for returning were quite adequate, and that no one in the world would have expected the temperatures and surfaces which we encountered at this time of the year. On the summit in Latitude 85 degrees 86 degrees we had -20 degrees -30 degrees. On the Barrier in Latitude 82 degrees, 10,000 feet lower, we had -30 degrees in the day, -47 degrees at night pretty regularly, with continuous head wind during our day marches. It is clear that these circumstances come on very suddenly, and our wreck is certainly due to this sudden advent of severe weather, which does not seem to have any satisfactory cause. I do not think human beings ever came through such a month as we have come through, and we should have got through in spite of the weather but for the sickening of a second companion, Captain Oates, and a shortage of fuel in our depots, for which I cannot account, and finally, but for the storm which has fallen on us within 11 miles of the depot at which we hoped to secure our final supplies. Surely misfortune could scarcely have exceeded this last blow. We arrived within 11 miles of our old One Ton Camp with fuel for one last meal and food for two days. For four days we have been unable to leave the tent—the gale howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult, but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last. But if we have been willing to give our lives to this enterprise, which is for the honour of our country, I appeal to our countrymen to see that those who depend on us are properly cared for.
Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale, but surely, surely a great rich country like ours will see that those who are dependent on us are properly provided for.
(Signed) R. SCOTT.
This chapter would be incomplete without Wilson's own beautiful lines from the "South Polar Times";
The Silence was deep with a breath like sleepAs our sledge runner slid on the snow,And the fateful fall of our fur-clad feetStruck mute like a silent blow.On a questioning "hush," as the settling crustShrank shivering over the floe;And the sledge in its track sent a whisper backWhich was lost in a white-fog bow.And this was the thought that the Silence wroughtAs it scorched and froze us through,Though secrets hidden are all forbiddenTill God means man to know.We might be the men God meant should knowThe heart of the Barrier snow,In the heat of the sun, and the glowAnd the glare from the glistening floe,As it scorched and froze us through and throughWith the bite of the drifting snow.
The foregoing story of triumph and disaster going hand in hand to Scott dwarfed the remaining chapters of the Expedition's history into insignificance. I venture, however, to give a resume of what was happening elsewhere in this region at the time.
The Norwegian explorers commenced their trip homeward to Framheim in the Bay of Whales, a distance of 870 English miles, on December 17, 1911 and made the amazing marching average of 22 1/2 miles a day for this distance.
On January 25, 1912, at 4 a.m., Amundsen's men regained the shelter of their winter quarters, when poor Scott was still only 30 miles from the Pole on his return journey.
This undoubtedly establishes the superiority of dogs in great numbers for Polar sledge travelling, for Scott delayed his start on account of the inability of his ponies to face the severity of the Barrier weather conditions before November 1. Peary in the North had already with dogs achieved what Amundsen did in the South. Captain Amundsen has always expressed his wonder at our performance—and in his modest way he told me he himself could never have manhauled as Scott's men did.
Concerning the attempts to support the Southern party, Scott's instructions were quite clear, and they were certainly obeyed. As a matter of fact there was never any anxiety felt for the Southern party until after March 10. They themselves never imagined they would reach Hut Point before that time, and as the last supporting party had won through short-handed, and after pulling in harness for 1500 miles, it was not considered likely that the Southern party would fail—unless overtaken by scurvy.
What actually happened was this. Stores were landed by those at the base station on the re-arrival of the "Terra Nova," and Atkinson, who was the senior member of those not now returning in her to civilisation, took over the dogs according to Scott's directions. He proceeded to Hut Point with Dimitri and the two dog teams on 13th February, and was kept in camp by bad weather until 19th, when Crean reached the Hut and brought in the news of my breakdown and collapse at Corner Camp. A blizzard precluded a start for the purpose of relieving me, but this expedition was undertaken immediately the weather abated. It was only during a temporary clear that Lashly and I were rescued.
Considering my condition, Atkinson judged that if help could be obtained from Cape Evans, his duty was to stay with me and save my life if possible, and to depute Cherry-Garrard or Wright to take the dog-teams out to One Ton Camp with Dimitri.
Scott would have preferred Wright to remain at Cape Evans, because he had now relieved Simpson as physicist—Simpson being recalled by the Indian Government.
So it was decided that Cherry-Garrard should take out the teams, which he did, with twenty-four days' food for his own unit and two weeks' surplus stores for the Southern party, with all kinds of special delicacies.
The real object of this trip was to hasten the Southern party's return rather than to succour them.
Cherry-Garrard and Dimitri had a tough time of it. They, however, reached One Ton Camp on March, and were held there by blizzard weather, which made travelling impossible. Temperatures of 40 degrees below zero and lower were experienced, the dogs were suffering acutely, and Cherry-Garrard had to decide on the better course—to remain at One Ton Camp, which Scott would surely make, if thus far north, with two competent navigators in his team, or to scout and risk missing the party, whilst using up the dogs' remaining strength. He very properly remained at One Ton Camp and made his depot on 10th March, and after satisfying himself that over a month's travelling rations were in the depot, Cherry-Garrard started homeward, but he had by no means a sinecure in this journey back—his dogs went wild at the start, smashed the sledge-meter adrift, fought, and would keep no definite direction, thick weather set in, and they had a fearful time marching northwards.
The season was rapidly closing, and without the practice in fog navigation which the naval officers had, the situation of the unit was alarming. The two men got into severe pressure and found great open crevasses—this with their dogs ravenous and out of hand. Dimitri practically collapsed, and being unable to express himself properly in English, one can picture what Cherry-Garrard had to contend with. Late on March 16 they won through to Hut Point in exceedingly bad condition. Atkinson was seriously alarmed, and had two more sick men to nurse back to strength.
The dogs were frost-bitten, gaunt, and quite unfit for further work that season. Meantime during the absence of the dog teams, before there was anxiety on Scott's account, Pennell, responding to Atkinson's letter for help, brought the "Terra Nova" up towards Hut Point, and a party under Rennick conveyed me in pitiful state to the ship in my sleeping-bag.
I was placed in the Captain's cabin, and given Drake and Day as nurses. I owe them a great debt too. Atkinson had still to remain at my side, for I was even then at death's door—and, it is only due to Atkinson's unremitting care that I am alive to-day. He came up therefore in the ship and participated in the search for Campbell in the vicinity of Evans's Coves, but after several unsuccessful attempts the "Terra Nova" temporarily abandoned her objective and returned to Cape Evans on March 4. Here Keohane was picked up and taken with Atkinson to Hut Point—Pennell relieved Atkinson of further responsibility on my account and then landed him with Keohane here. It was impressed on Atkinson that there was very little chance of relieving Campbell with ice conditions as they were. They laid up a store of seal meat and blubber against the return of Scott's company, while the ship made another fruitless attempt to relieve Campbell. She did not return South after this on account of the sea freezing and her own coal shortage, but proceeded back to New Zealand, in accordance with her Commanding Officer's instructions. Pennell was not justified in keeping the "Terra Nova" any later in the McMurdo Sound.
Now let us consider poor Atkinson. He had Dimitri and Cherry-Garrard at Hut Point in a state of collapse—he had on 16th March the knowledge that the Polar Party were still on the Barrier with a season closing in and a certainty of low temperature—there was no communication with Cape Evans, for the ice had gone out and left open water between the two positions. After discussing the situation fully, Atkinson and Keohane started out alone to succour Scott's party. It was on March 26 that Atkinson and Keohane set out, this being later in the year than we had sledged in 1911, when it will be remembered we gave up depot-laying on account of the hardship entailed, although we were fresh men and had not undergone the severe test of a long season's sledge work. Atkinson could only manage about nine miles daily, he and Keohane got practically no sleep owing to the cold, and they turned homeward after depositing a week's food supply at Corner Camp, in case it could be made use of. Atkinson was morally certain that the Polar Party had perished by this time, and, as he states in his record of proceedings ("The last year at Cape Evans, 'Scott's Last Expedition,' Vol. II."), Scott's last diary entry was made before he and Keohane reached Corner Camp. Atkinson arrived back at Hut Point on April 1, 1912, utterly worn out, and in great concern on Campbell's account, for the Northern party were known to be somewhere on the coast. He could do nothing without assistance from Cape Evans, and he awaited, therefore, the opportunity of reaching the base station as we all had done when stranded at Hut Point twelve months previously. On April 10, leaving Cherry-Garrard to tend the dogs, Atkinson, Keohane, and Dimitri made their way to Cape Evans via the Castle Rock, Glacier Tongue route, as described in the earlier part of this narrative, but, as it happens, under almost unparalleled conditions, for they sailed over the ice, riding on their sledge, such was the excellence of the sea-ice surface.
The indefatigable Atkinson called the members together to discuss plans and decide as to future relief work. The idea of making a farther journey on to the Ice Barrier to succour Scott was rejected as useless—for there was no hope whatever for the Southern party, and Atkinson himself knew what the Barrier travelling was like. There was, however, a chance of relieving Campbell and his five companions, known to have been set ashore in the neighbourhood of Terra Nova Bay, and with this end in view, Atkinson, Wright, Keohane, Williamson, Gran, and Dimitri set off on April 13.
The last two were left at Hut Point whilst Atkinson and the other three worked round the Southern end of McMurdo Sound on the sea-ice and up the coast to Butter Point. It was a dangerous proceeding, but Atkinson was undaunted by the perils of the sea ice breaking up, and he carried out a tip-and-run sort of journey with great pluck and endurance, establishing a depot of a fortnight's foodstuffs at Butter Point. On April. 20 the ice was seen to break up and drift seawards from Butter Point, thus finally putting a stop to any further search or relief work.
A somewhat hazardous return journey landed Atkinson's team at Hut Point, and his whole party was re-collected at the Cape Evans Base by May 1 with the dogs.
Here Lashly was looking after the seven mules presented by the Indian Government, which the ship had brought down to enable Scott to explore further the extent of the Victoria Land Coast, S.E. of the Beardmore. Everything at Cape Evans in the scientific line was carried on as in the preceding winter, and although the staff was reduced the records and observations were continued as heretofore.
The Second Winter Party consisted of:
Officers—Atkinson, Wright, Debenham, Nelson, Cherry-Garrard, Gran.Men—Archer, Williamson, Crean, Lashly, Keohane, Dimitri, Hooper.
Mr. Archer, our capable chief cook and steward, replaced Clissold, and Williamson exchanged with Forde. The winter work of the Hut was reorganised by Atkinson, so that every one was detailed to do that for which he was best suited. Considering what the party had faced already, that they were living in the shadow of a great disaster, and that Campbell's fate was in doubt, one must feel that in a way they had the hardest time of all in the Expedition. They had to sit down, as it were, and wait in uncertainty for the winter to pass, then go out in search to ascertain the fate of their leader, and probably that of Campbell.
I can only give a brief summary of the second winter, taken from Atkinson's and Gran's accounts: the weather was probably exceptional from the persistency of the early winter blizzards. There was a great dearth of seal-meat, due to the ice blowing out from the North Bay and to the lack of ice everywhere in May month.