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Chapter 20 - THE LAST MARCH
Scott's Last Expedition - The Journals of Captain R.
F. Scott
Contents
and Preface Chapters:
Chapter 1 |
Chapter 2 |
Chapter 3 |
Chapter 4 |
Chapter 5 |
Chapter 6 |
Chapter 7 |
Chapter 8 |
Chapter 9 |
Chapter 10 |
Chapter 11 |
Chapter 12 |
Chapter 13 |
Chapter 14 |
Chapter 15 |
Chapter 16 |
Chapter 17 |
Chapter 18 |
Chapter 19 |
Chapter 20 |
Appendix
Summary
(2 pages) of the
Terra Nova Expedition |
The Men
of the Expedition
Sunday, February 18
R. 32. Temp. -5.5°.
At Shambles Camp. We
gave ourselves 5 hours' sleep at the lower glacier depot after
the
horrible night, and came on at about 3 to-day to this camp,
coming
fairly easily over the divide. Here with plenty of horsemeat we
have
had a fine supper, to be followed by others such, and so
continue
a more plentiful era if we can keep good marches up. New life
seems
to come with greater food almost immediately, but I am anxious
about
the Barrier surfaces.
Monday, February 19
Lunch T. -16°. It was late (past noon)
before we got away to-day, as I gave nearly 8 hours sleep, and
much
camp work was done shifting sledges [44] and fitting up new one
with
mast, &c., packing horsemeat and personal effects. The surface
was
every bit as bad as I expected, the sun shining brightly on it
and
its covering of soft loose sandy snow. We have come out about 2'
on the old tracks. Perhaps lucky to have a fine day for this and
our
camp work, but we shall want wind or change of sliding
conditions to
do anything on such a surface as we have got. I fear there will
not
be much change for the next 3 or 4 days.
R. 33. Temp. -17°. We have struggled out 4.6 miles in a short
day over
a really terrible surface--it has been like pulling over desert
sand,
not the least glide in the world. If this goes on we shall have
a bad
time, but I sincerely trust it is only the result of this
windless
area close to the coast and that, as we are making steadily
outwards,
we shall shortly escape it. It is perhaps premature to be
anxious
about covering distance. In all other respects things are
improving. We
have our sleeping-bags spread on the sledge and they are drying,
but,
above all, we have our full measure of food again. To-night we
had
a sort of stew fry of pemmican and horseflesh, and voted it the
best
hoosh we had ever had on a sledge journey. The absence of poor
Evans
is a help to the commissariat, but if he had been here in a fit
state
we might have got along faster. I wonder what is in store for
us,
with some little alarm at the lateness of the season.
Monday, February 20
R. 34. Lunch Temp. -13°; Supper
Temp. -15°. Same terrible surface; four hours' hard plodding in
morning brought us to our Desolation Camp, where we had the
four-day
blizzard. We looked for more pony meat, but found none. After
lunch
we took to ski with some improvement of comfort. Total mileage
for day
7--the ski tracks pretty plain and easily followed this
afternoon. We
have left another cairn behind. Terribly slow progress, but we
hope for
better things as we clear the land. There is a tendency to cloud
over
in the S.E. to-night, which may turn to our advantage. At
present
our sledge and ski leave deeply ploughed tracks which can be
seen
winding for miles behind. It is distressing, but as usual trials
are
forgotten when we camp, and good food is our lot. Pray God we
get
better travelling as we are not fit as we were, and the season
is
advancing apace.
Tuesday, February 21
R. 35. Lunch Temp. -9 1/2°; Supper
Temp. -11°. Gloomy and overcast when we started; a good deal
warmer. The marching almost as bad as yesterday. Heavy toiling
all
day, inspiring gloomiest thoughts at times. Rays of comfort when
we picked up tracks and cairns. At lunch we seemed to have
missed
the way, but an hour or two after we passed the last pony walls,
and since, we struck a tent ring, ending the march actually on
our
old pony-tracks. There is a critical spot here with a long
stretch
between cairns. If we can tide that over we get on the regular
cairn
route, and with luck should stick to it; but everything depends
on the
weather. We never won a march of 8 1/2 miles with greater
difficulty,
but we can't go on like this. We are drawing away from the land
and
perhaps may get better things in a day or two. I devoutly hope
so.
Wednesday, February 22
R. 36. Supper Temp. -2°. There is
little
doubt we are in for a rotten critical time going home, and the
lateness of the season may make it really serious. Shortly after
starting to-day the wind grew very fresh from the S.E. with
strong
surface drift. We lost the faint track immediately, though
covering
ground fairly rapidly. Lunch came without sight of the cairn we
had
hoped to pass. In the afternoon, Bowers being sure we were too
far
to the west, steered out. Result, we have passed another pony
camp
without seeing it. Looking at the map to-night there is no doubt
we
are too far to the east. With clear weather we ought to be able
to
correct the mistake, but will the weather get clear? It's a
gloomy
position, more especially as one sees the same difficulty
returning
even when we have corrected the error. The wind is dying down
to-night
and the sky clearing in the south, which is hopeful. Meanwhile
it
is satisfactory to note that such untoward events fail to damp
the
spirit of the party. To-night we had a pony hoosh so excellent
and
filling that one feels really strong and vigorous again.
Thursday, February 23
R. 37. Lunch Temp.-9.8°; Supper
Temp. -12°. Started in sunshine, wind almost dropped. Luckily
Bowers took a round of angles and with help of the chart we
fogged
out that we must be inside rather than outside tracks. The data
were so meagre that it seemed a great responsibility to march
out
and we were none of us happy about it. But just as we decided to
lunch, Bowers' wonderful sharp eyes detected an old double lunch
cairn, the theodolite telescope confirmed it, and our spirits
rose
accordingly. This afternoon we marched on and picked up another
cairn;
then on and camped only 2 1/2 miles from the depot. We cannot
see
it, but, given fine weather, we cannot miss it. We are,
therefore,
extraordinarily relieved. Covered 8.2 miles in 7 hours, showing
we
can do 10 to 12 on this surface. Things are again looking up, as
we
are on the regular line of cairns, with no gaps right home, I
hope.
Friday, February 24
Lunch. Beautiful day--too beautiful--an
hour after starting loose ice crystals spoiling surface. Saw
depot
and reached it middle forenoon. Found store in order except
shortage
oil 26 --shall have to be very saving with fuel--otherwise
have ten
full days' provision from to-night and shall have less than 70
miles
to go. Note from Meares who passed through December 15, saying
surface
bad; from Atkinson, after fine marching (2 1/4 days from pony
depot),
reporting Keohane better after sickness. Short note from Evans,
not very cheerful, saying surface bad, temperature high. Think
he
must have been a little anxious. [45] It is an immense relief to
have picked up this depot and, for the time, anxieties are
thrust
aside. There is no doubt we have been rising steadily since
leaving
the Shambles Camp. The coastal Barrier descends except where
glaciers
press out. Undulation still but flattening out. Surface soft on
top,
curiously hard below. Great difference now between night and day
temperatures. Quite warm as I write in tent. We are on tracks
with
half-march cairn ahead; have covered 4 1/2 miles. Poor Wilson
has a
fearful attack snow-blindness consequent on yesterday's efforts.
Wish
we had more fuel.
Night camp R. 38. Temp. -17°. A little despondent again. We had
a
really terrible surface this afternoon and only covered 4 miles.
We
are on the track just beyond a lunch cairn. It really will be a
bad
business if we are to have this pulling all through. I don't
know
what to think, but the rapid closing of the season is ominous.
It
is great luck having the horsemeat to add to our ration.
To-night
we have had a real fine 'hoosh.' It is a race between the season
and
hard conditions and our fitness and good food.
Saturday, February 25
Lunch Temp. -12°. Managed just 6 miles
this
morning. Started somewhat despondent; not relieved when pulling
seemed
to show no improvement. Bit by bit surface grew better, less
sastrugi,
more glide, slight following wind for a time. Then we began to
travel
a little faster. But the pulling is still very hard;
undulations
disappearing but inequalities remain.
Twenty-six Camp walls about 2 miles ahead, all tracks in
sight--Evans'
track very conspicuous. This is something in favour, but the
pulling is tiring us, though we are getting into better ski
drawing
again. Bowers hasn't quite the trick and is a little hurt at my
criticisms, but I never doubted his heart. Very much
easier--write
diary at lunch--excellent meal--now one pannikin very strong
tea--four
biscuits and butter.
Hope for better things this afternoon, but no improvement
apparent. Oh! for a little wind--E. Evans evidently had plenty.
R. 39. Temp. -20°. Better march in afternoon. Day yields 11.4
miles--the first double figure of steady dragging for a long
time,
but it meant and will mean hard work if we can't get a wind to
help
us. Evans evidently had a strong wind here, S.E. I should think.
The
temperature goes very low at night now when the sky is clear as
at
present. As a matter of fact this is wonderfully fair
weather--the
only drawback the spoiling of the surface and absence of wind.
We
see all tracks very plain, but the pony-walls have evidently
been
badly drifted up. Some kind people had substituted a cairn at
last
camp 27. The old cairns do not seem to have suffered much.
Sunday, February 26
Lunch Temp. -17°. Sky overcast at start,
but
able see tracks and cairn distinct at long distance. Did a
little
better, 6 1/2 miles to date. Bowers and Wilson now in front.
Find
great relief pulling behind with no necessity to keep attention
on
track. Very cold nights now and cold feet starting march, as day
footgear doesn't dry at all. We are doing well on our food, but
we
ought to have yet more. I hope the next depot, now only 50
miles,
will find us with enough surplus to open out. The fuel shortage
still
an anxiety.
R. 40. Temp. -21° Nine hours' solid marching has given us 11 1/2
miles. Only 43 miles from the next depot. Wonderfully fine
weather but
cold, very cold. Nothing dries and we get our feet cold too
often. We
want more food yet and especially more fat. Fuel is woefully
short. We
can scarcely hope to get a better surface at this season, but I
wish
we could have some help from the wind, though it might shake us
badly
if the temp. didn't rise.
Monday, February 27
Desperately cold last night: -33° when
we
got up, with -37° minimum. Some suffering from cold feet, but
all got
good rest. We must open out on food soon. But we have done 7
miles
this morning and hope for some 5 this afternoon. Overcast sky
and good
surface till now, when sun shows again. It is good to be
marching the
cairns up, but there is still much to be anxious about. We talk
of
little but food, except after meals. Land disappearing in
satisfactory
manner. Pray God we have no further set-backs. We are naturally
always
discussing possibility of meeting dogs, where and when, &c. It
is
a critical position. We may find ourselves in safety at next
depot,
but there is a horrid element of doubt.
Camp R. 41. Temp. -32°. Still fine clear weather but very
cold--absolutely calm to-night. We have got off an excellent
march
for these days (12.2) and are much earlier than usual in our
bags. 31
miles to depot, 3 days' fuel at a pinch, and 6 days' food.
Things
begin to look a little better; we can open out a little on food
from
to-morrow night, I think.
Very curious surface--soft recent sastrugi which sink underfoot,
and between, a sort of flaky crust with large crystals beneath.
Tuesday, February 28
Lunch. Thermometer went below -40° last
night;
it was desperately cold for us, but we had a fair night. I
decided
to slightly increase food; the effect is undoubtedly good.
Started
marching in -32° with a slight north-westerly breeze--blighting.
Many
cold feet this morning; long time over foot gear, but we are
earlier. Shall camp earlier and get the chance of a good night,
if
not the reality. Things must be critical till we reach the
depot, and
the more I think of matters, the more I anticipate their
remaining so
after that event. Only 24 1/2 miles from the depot. The sun
shines
brightly, but there is little warmth in it. There is no doubt
the
middle of the Barrier is a pretty awful locality.
Camp 42. Splendid pony hoosh sent us to bed and sleep happily
after a
horrid day, wind continuing; did 11 1/2 miles. Temp. not quite
so low,
but expect we are in for cold night (Temp. -27°).
Wednesday, February 29
Lunch. Cold night. Minimum Temp.
-37.5°;
-30° with north-west wind, force 4, when we got up. Frightfully
cold starting; luckily Bowers and Oates in their last new
finnesko;
keeping my old ones for present. Expected awful march and for
first
hour got it. Then things improved and we camped after 5 1/2
hours
marching close to lunch camp--22 1/2. Next camp is our depot and
it is
exactly 13 miles. It ought not to take more than 1 1/2 days; we
pray
for another fine one. The oil will just about spin out in that
event,
and we arrive 3 clear days' food in hand. The increase of ration
has
had an enormously beneficial result. Mountains now looking
small. Wind
still very light from west--cannot understand this wind.
Thursday, March 1
Lunch. Very cold last night--minimum
-41.5°. Cold
start to march, too, as usual now. Got away at 8 and have
marched
within sight of depot; flag something under 3 miles away. We did
11
1/2 yesterday and marched 6 this morning. Heavy dragging
yesterday
and very heavy this morning. Apart from sledging
considerations
the weather is wonderful. Cloudless days and nights and the wind
trifling. Worse luck, the light airs come from the north and
keep us
horribly cold. For this lunch hour the exception has come. There
is
a bright and comparatively warm sun. All our gear is out drying.
Friday, March 2
Lunch. Misfortunes rarely come singly. We
marched
to the (Middle Barrier) depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon,
and
since that have suffered three distinct blows which have placed
us
in a bad position. First we found a shortage of oil; with most
rigid
economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface
(71
miles away). Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet, the toes
showing
very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures. The
third
blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with
some
joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below -40° in the
night,
and this morning it took 1 1/2 hours to get our foot gear on,
but
we got away before eight. We lost cairn and tracks together and
made
as steady as we could N. by W., but have seen nothing. Worse was
to
come--the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and
full
sail we have only done 5 1/2 miles. We are in a very queer
street
since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel
the
cold horribly.
Saturday, March 3
Lunch. We picked up the track again
yesterday,
finding ourselves to the eastward. Did close on 10 miles and
things
looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook is blacker
than ever. Started well and with good breeze; for an hour made
good
headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew
forward; every circumstance was against us. After 4 1/4 hours
things
so bad that we camped, having covered 4 1/2 miles. (R. 46.) One
cannot consider this a fault of our own--certainly we were
pulling
hard this morning--it was more than three parts surface which
held
us back--the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge.
When
the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface,
lately
a very good hard one, is coated with a thin layer of woolly
crystals,
formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be
removed
by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners. God
help us,
we can't keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst
ourselves we
are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I
can
only guess. Pulling on foot gear in the morning is getter slower
and
slower, therefore every day more dangerous.
Sunday, March 4
Lunch. Things looking very black indeed.
As usual
we forgot our trouble last night, got into our bags, slept
splendidly
on good hoosh, woke and had another, and started marching. Sun
shining
brightly, tracks clear, but surface covered with sandy
frostrime. All
the morning we had to pull with all our strength, and in 4 1/2
hours we
covered 3 1/2 miles. Last night it was overcast and thick,
surface bad;
this morning sun shining and surface as bad as ever. One has
little
to hope for except perhaps strong dry wind--an unlikely
contingency
at this time of year. Under the immediate surface crystals is a
hard
sustrugi surface, which must have been excellent for pulling a
week or
two ago. We are about 42 miles from the next depot and have a
week's
food, but only about 3 to 4 days' fuel--we are as economical of
the
latter as one can possibly be, and we cannot afford to save food
and
pull as we are pulling. We are in a very tight place indeed, but
none
of us despondent yet , or at least we preserve every semblance
of
good cheer, but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at
some
sastrugi behind which the surface sand lies thickly heaped. For
the
moment the temperature is on the -20°--an improvement which
makes
us much more comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come
again
soon. I fear that Oates at least will weather such an event very
poorly. Providence to our aid! We can expect little from man now
except the possibility of extra food at the next depot. It will
be
real bad if we get there and find the same shortage of oil.
Shall we
get there? Such a short distance it would have appeared to us on
the
summit! I don't know what I should do if Wilson and Bowers
weren't
so determinedly cheerful over things.
Monday, March 5
Lunch. Regret to say going from bad to
worse. We
got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we
converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something
over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with
the
chill off. (R. 47.) The result is telling on all, but mainly on
Oates,
whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up
tremendously
last night and he is very lame this morning. We started march on
tea
and pemmican as last night--we pretend to prefer the pemmican
this
way. Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better
surface
covered with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge capsized twice; we
pulled on
foot, covering about 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4
miles
about from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor
Soldier
nearly done. It is pathetic enough because we can do nothing for
him;
more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We
none
of us expected these terribly low temperatures, and of the rest
of us
Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from his
self-sacrificing
devotion in doctoring Oates' feet. We cannot help each other,
each has
enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march
when
the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments.
The
others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent.
We
mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's
tough
work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for
long
hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only
say
'God help us!' and plod on our weary way, cold and very
miserable,
though outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in
the
tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of
running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this
time.
Tuesday, March 6
Lunch. We did a little better with help of
wind
yesterday afternoon, finishing 9 1/2 miles for the day, and 27
miles
from depot. (R. 48.) But this morning things have been awful. It
was
warm in the night and for the first time during the journey I
overslept
myself by more than an hour; then we were slow with foot gear;
then,
pulling with all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely
advance
at rate of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we
had
to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is
something
less than 3 1/2 miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining now
and
the wind gone. Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on the sledge
when
we are track-searching--he is wonderfully plucky, as his feet
must
be giving him great pain. He makes no complaint, but his spirits
only come up in spurts now, and he grows more silent in the
tent. We
are making a spirit lamp to try and replace the primus when our
oil
is exhausted. It will be a very poor substitute and we've not
got
much spirit. If we could have kept up our 9-mile days we might
have
got within reasonable distance of the depot before running out,
but nothing but a strong wind and good surface can help us now,
and though we had quite a good breeze this morning, the sledge
came
as heavy as lead. If we were all fit I should have hopes of
getting
through, but the poor Soldier has become a terrible hindrance,
though
he does his utmost and suffers much I fear.
Wednesday, March 7
A little worse I fear. One of Oates' feet
very
bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave. We still talk of what
we
will do together at home.
We only made 6 1/2 miles yesterday. (R. 49.) This morning in 4
1/2
hours we did just over 4 miles. We are 16 from our depot. If we
only
find the correct proportion of food there and this surface
continues,
we may get to the next depot [Mt. Hooper, 72 miles farther] but
not
to One Ton Camp. We hope against hope that the dogs have been to
Mt. Hooper; then we might pull through. If there is a shortage
of oil
again we can have little hope. One feels that for poor Oates the
crisis
is near, but none of us are improving, though we are wonderfully
fit
considering the really excessive work we are doing. We are only
kept
going by good food. No wind this morning till a chill northerly
air
came ahead. Sun bright and cairns showing up well. I should like
to
keep the track to the end.
Thursday, March 8
Lunch. Worse and worse in morning; poor
Oates'
left foot can never last out, and time over foot gear something
awful. Have to wait in night foot gear for nearly an hour before
I
start changing, and then am generally first to be ready.
Wilson's feet
giving trouble now, but this mainly because he gives so much
help to
others. We did 4 1/2 miles this morning and are now 8 1/2 miles
from
the depot--a ridiculously small distance to feel in
difficulties,
yet on this surface we know we cannot equal half our old
marches,
and that for that effort we expend nearly double the energy. The
great question is, What shall we find at the depot? If the dogs
have
visited it we may get along a good distance, but if there is
another
short allowance of fuel, God help us indeed. We are in a very
bad way,
I fear, in any case.
Saturday, March 10
Things steadily downhill. Oates' foot
worse. He
has rare pluck and must know that he can never get through. He
asked
Wilson if he had a chance this morning, and of course Bill had
to say
he didn't know. In point of fact he has none. Apart from him, if
he
went under now, I doubt whether we could get through. With great
care
we might have a dog's chance, but no more. The weather
conditions are
awful, and our gear gets steadily more icy and difficult to
manage. At
the same time of course poor Titus is the greatest handicap. He
keeps
us waiting in the morning until we have partly lost the warming
effect
of our good breakfast, when the only wise policy is to be up and
away
at once; again at lunch. Poor chap! it is too pathetic to watch
him;
one cannot but try to cheer him up.
Yesterday we marched up the depot, Mt. Hooper. Cold comfort.
Shortage
on our allowance all round. I don't know that anyone is to
blame. The
dogs which would have been our salvation have evidently failed.
[46]
Meares had a bad trip home I suppose.
This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came
from W.N.W. as we broke camp. It rapidly grew in strength. After
travelling for half an hour I saw that none of us could go on
facing
such conditions. We were forced to camp and are spending the
rest of
the day in a comfortless blizzard camp, wind quite foul. (R.
52.)
Sunday, March 11
Titus Oates is very near the end, one
feels. What
we or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after
breakfast; he is a brave fine fellow and understands the
situation,
but he practically asked for advice. Nothing could be said but
to
urge him to march as long as he could. One satisfactory result
to
the discussion; I practically ordered Wilson to hand over the
means
of ending our troubles to us, so that anyone of us may know how
to
do so. Wilson had no choice between doing so and our ransacking
the
medicine case. We have 30 opium tabloids apiece and he is left
with
a tube of morphine. So far the tragical side of our story. (R.
53.)
The sky completely overcast when we started this morning. We
could see
nothing, lost the tracks, and doubtless have been swaying a good
deal
since--3.1 miles for the forenoon--terribly heavy
dragging--expected
it. Know that 6 miles is about the limit of our endurance now,
if we
get no help from wind or surfaces. We have 7 days' food and
should be
about 55 miles from One Ton Camp to-night, 6 Â 7 = 42, leaving
us 13
miles short of our distance, even if things get no worse.
Meanwhile
the season rapidly advances.
Monday, March 12
We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our
necessary
average. Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much,
and
now with hands as well as feet pretty well useless. We did 4
miles
this morning in 4 hours 20 min
we may hope for 3 this
afternoon,
7 Â 6 = 42. We shall be 47 miles from the depot. I doubt if we
can
possibly do it. The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and
our physical condition running down. God help us! Not a breath
of
favourable wind for more than a week, and apparently liable to
head
winds at any moment.
Wednesday, March 14
No doubt about the going downhill, but
everything going wrong for us. Yesterday we woke to a strong
northerly
wind with temp. -37°. Couldn't face it, so remained in camp (R.
54)
till 2, then did 5 1/4 miles. Wanted to march later, but party
feeling
the cold badly as the breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and
as
the sun sank the temp. fell. Long time getting supper in dark.
(R. 55.)
This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed
another
cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W.
by
S. or W.S.W., blew through our wind clothes and into our mits.
Poor
Wilson horribly cold, could not get off ski for some time.
Bowers and
I practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last
we
were all deadly cold. Then temp, now midday down -43° and the
wind
strong. We must go on, but now the making of every camp must
be
more difficult and dangerous. It must be near the end, but a
pretty
merciful end. Poor Oates got it again in the foot. I shudder to
think
what it will be like to-morrow. It is only with greatest pains
rest
of us keep off frostbites. No idea there could be temperatures
like
this at this time of year with such winds. Truly awful outside
the
tent. Must fight it out to the last biscuit, but can't reduce
rations.
Friday, March 16 or Saturday 17
Lost track of dates, but
think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch,
the
day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on;
he
proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could
not
do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite
of
its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few
miles. At
night he was worse and we knew the end had come.
Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' last
thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took
pride
in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way
in
which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has
borne
intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very
last
was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did
not--would
not--give up hope to the very end. He was a brave soul. This was
the
end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake;
but
he woke in the morning--yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He
said,
'I am just going outside and may be some time.' He went out into
the
blizzard and we have not seen him since.
I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick
companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely
out
of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder
seemed to
demand his abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at
this
critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave
him
till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was
walking
to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew 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.
I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold
is
intense, -40° at midday. My companions are unendingly cheerful,
but we
are all on the verge of serious frostbites, and though we
constantly
talk of fetching through I don't think anyone of us believes it
in
his heart.
We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals.
Yesterday
we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move dreadfully
slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from
One Ton Depot. We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and
Oates'
sleeping-bags. Diaries, &c., and geological specimens carried at
Wilson's special request, will be found with us or on our
sledge.
Sunday, March 18
To-day, lunch, we are 21 miles from the
depot. Ill
fortune presses, but better may come. We have had more wind and
drift from ahead yesterday; had to stop marching; wind N.W.,
force 4,
temp. -35°. No human being could face it, and we are worn out
nearly .
My right foot has gone, nearly all the toes--two days ago I was
proud
possessor of best feet. These are the steps of my downfall. Like
an ass
I mixed a small spoonful of curry powder with my melted
pemmican--it
gave me violent indigestion. I lay awake and in pain all night;
woke
and felt done on the march; foot went and I didn't know it. A
very
small measure of neglect and have a foot which is not pleasant
to
contemplate. Bowers takes first place in condition, but there is
not
much to choose after all. The others are still confident of
getting
through--or pretend to be--I don't know! We have the last half
fill
of oil in our primus and a very small quantity of spirit--this
alone
between us and thirst. The wind is fair for the moment, and that
is
perhaps a fact to help. The mileage would have seemed
ridiculously
small on our outward journey.
Monday, March 19
Lunch. We camped with difficulty last
night,
and were dreadfully cold till after our supper of cold pemmican
and
biscuit and a half a pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit.
Then,
contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well. To-day
we
started in the usual dragging manner. Sledge dreadfully heavy.
We are
15 1/2 miles from the depot and ought to get there in three
days. What
progress! We have two days' food but barely a day's fuel. All
our
feet are getting bad--Wilson's best, my right foot worst, left
all
right. There is no chance to nurse one's feet till we can get
hot
food into us. Amputation is the least I can hope for now, but
will
the trouble spread? That is the serious question. The weather
doesn't
give us a chance--the wind from N. to N.W. and -40° temp,
to-day.
Wednesday, March 11
Got within 11 miles of depot Monday
night;
[47] had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard. 27 To-day
forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for
fuel.
Thursday, March 22 and 23
Blizzard bad as ever--Wilson and
Bowers unable to start--to-morrow last chance--no fuel and only
one
or two of food left--must be near the end. Have decided it shall
be
natural--we shall march for the depot with or without our
effects
and die in our tracks.
Thursday, March 29
Since the 21st we have had a continuous
gale
from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece
and
bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready
to
start for our depot 11 miles away, but outside the door of the
tent
it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope
for
any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we
are
getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far.
It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.
R. SCOTT.
For God's sake look after our people.
------------
Wilson and Bowers were found in the attitude of sleep, their
sleeping-bags closed over their heads as they would naturally
close
them.
Scott died later. He had thrown back the flaps of his
sleeping-bag
and opened his coat. The little wallet containing the three
notebooks
was under his shoulders and his arm flung across Wilson. So they
were
found eight months later.
With the diaries in the tent were found the following letters:
TO MRS. E. A. WILSON
MY DEAR MRS. WILSON,
If this letter reaches you Bill and I will have gone out together. We are very near it now and I should like you to know how splendid he was at the end--everlastingly cheerful and ready to sacrifice himself for others, never a word of blame to me for leading him into this mess. He is not suffering, luckily, at least only minor discomforts.
His eyes have a comfortable blue look of hope and his mind is peaceful with the satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of the great scheme of the Almighty. I can do no more to comfort you than to tell you that he died as he lived, a brave, true man--the best of comrades and staunchest of friends. My whole heart goes out to you in pity,
Yours, R. SCOTT
TO MRS. BOWERS
MY DEAR MRS. BOWERS,
I am afraid this will reach you after one of the heaviest blows of your life.
I write when we are very near the end of our journey, and I am finishing it in company with two gallant, noble gentlemen. One of these is your son. He had come to be one of my closest and soundest friends, and I appreciate his wonderful upright nature, his ability and energy. As the troubles have thickened his dauntless spirit ever shone brighter and he has remained cheerful, hopeful, and indomitable to the end.
The ways of Providence are inscrutable, but there must be some reason why such a young, vigorous and promising life is taken.
My whole heart goes out in pity for you.
Yours, R. SCOTT.
To the end he has talked of you and his sisters. One sees what a happy home he must have had and perhaps it is well to look back on nothing but happiness.
He remains unselfish, self-reliant and splendidly hopeful to the end, believing in God's mercy to you.
TO SIR J. M. BARRIE
MY DEAR BARRIE,
We are pegging out in a very comfortless spot. Hoping this letter may be found and sent to you, I write a word of farewell. ... More practically I want you to help my widow and my boy--your godson. We are showing that Englishmen can still die with a bold spirit, fighting it out to the end. It will be known that we have accomplished our object in reaching the Pole, and that we have done everything possible, even to sacrificing ourselves in order to save sick companions. I think this makes an example for Englishmen of the future, and that the country ought to help those who are left behind to mourn us. I leave my poor girl and your godson, Wilson leaves a widow, and Edgar Evans also a widow in humble circumstances. Do what you can to get their claims recognised. Goodbye. I am not at all afraid of the end, but sad to miss many a humble pleasure which I had planned for the future on our long marches. I may not have proved a great explorer, but we have done the greatest march ever made and come very near to great success. Goodbye, my dear friend,
Yours ever, R. SCOTT.
We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, &c. No fuel and a long way from food, but it would do your heart good to be in our tent, to hear our songs and the cheery conversation as to what we will do when we get to Hut Point.
Later
We are very near the end, but have not and will not lose our good cheer. We have four days of storm in our tent and nowhere's food or fuel. We did intend to finish ourselves when things proved like this, but we have decided to die naturally in the track.
As a dying man, my dear friend, be good to my wife and child. Give the boy a chance in life if the State won't do it. He ought to have good stuff in him. ... I never met a man in my life whom I admired and loved more than you, but I never could show you how much your friendship meant to me, for you had much to give and I nothing.
TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR EDGAR SPEYER, BART.
Dated March 16, 1912. Lat. 79.5°.
MY DEAR SIR EDGAR,
I hope this may reach you. I fear we must go and that it leaves the Expedition in a bad muddle. But we have been to the Pole and we shall die like gentlemen. I regret only for the women we leave behind.
I thank you a thousand times for your help and support and your generous kindness. If this diary is found it will show how we stuck by dying companions and fought the thing out well to the end. I think this will show that the Spirit of pluck and power to endure has not passed out of our race ...
Wilson, the best fellow that ever stepped, has sacrificed himself again and again to the sick men of the party ...
I write to many friends hoping the letters will reach them some time after we are found next year.
We very nearly came through, and it's a pity to have missed it, but lately I have felt that we have overshot our mark. No one is to blame and I hope no attempt will be made to suggest that we have lacked support.
Good-bye to you and your dear kind wife.
Yours ever sincerely, R. SCOTT.
TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR FRANCIS CHARLES BRIDGEMAN, K.C.V.O., K.C.B.
MY DEAR SIR FRANCIS,
I fear we have shipped up; a close shave; I am writing a few letters which I hope will be delivered some day. I want to thank you for the friendship you gave me of late years, and to tell you how extraordinarily pleasant I found it to serve under you. I want to tell you that I was not too old for this job. It was the younger men that went under first... After all we are setting a good example to our countrymen, if not by getting into a tight place, by facing it like men when we were there. We could have come through had we neglected the sick.
Good-bye, and good-bye to dear Lady Bridgeman.
Yours ever,
R. SCOTT.
Excuse writing--it is -40°, and has been for nigh a month.
TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR GEORGE LE CLEARC EGERTON. K.C.B.
MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,
I fear we have shot our bolt--but we have been to Pole and done the longest journey on record.
I hope these letters may find their destination some day.
Subsidiary reasons of our failure to return are due to the sickness of different members of the party, but the real thing that has stopped us is the awful weather and unexpected cold towards the end of the journey.
This traverse of the Barrier has been quite three times as severe as any experience we had on the summit.
There is no accounting for it, but the result has thrown out my calculations, and here we are little more than 100 miles from the base and petering out.
Good-bye. Please see my widow is looked after as far as Admiralty is concerned.
R. SCOTT.
My kindest regards to Lady Egerton. I can never forget all your kindness.
TO MR. J.J. KINSEY--CHRISTCHURCH
March 24th, 1912.
MY DEAR KINSEY,
I'm afraid we are pretty well done--four days of blizzard just as we were getting to the last depot. My thoughts have been with you often. You have been a brick. You will pull the expedition through, I'm sure.
My thoughts are for my wife and boy. Will you do what you can for them if the country won't.
I want the boy to have a good chance in the world, but you know the circumstances well enough.
If I knew the wife and boy were in safe keeping I should have little regret in leaving the world, for I feel that the country need not be ashamed of us--our journey has been the biggest on record, and nothing but the most exceptional hard luck at the end would have caused us to fail to return. We have been to the S. pole as we set out. God bless you and dear Mrs. Kinsey. It is good to remember you and your kindness.
Your friend, R. SCOTT.
Letters to his Mother, his Wife, his Brother-in-law (Sir William Ellison Macartney), Admiral Sir Lewis Beaumont, and Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Smith were also found, from which come the following extracts:
The Great God has called me and I feel it will add a fearful blow to the heavy ones that have fallen on you in life. But take comfort in that I die at peace with the world and myself--not afraid.
Indeed it has been most singularly unfortunate, for the risks I have taken never seemed excessive.
... I want to tell you that we have missed getting through by a narrow margin which was justifiably within the risk of such a journey ... After all, we have given our lives for our country--we have actually made the longest journey on record, and we have been the first Englishmen at the South Pole.
You must understand that it is too cold to write much.
... It's a pity the luck doesn't come our way, because every detail of equipment is right.
I shall not have suffered any pain, but leave the world fresh from harness and full of good health and vigour.
Since writing the above we got to within 11 miles of our depot, with one hot meal and two days' cold food. We should have got through but have been held for four days by a frightful storm. I think the best chance has gone. We have decided not to kill ourselves, but to fight to the last for that depot, but in the fighting there is a painless end.
Make the boy interested in natural history if you can; it is better than games; they encourage it at some schools. I know you will keep him in the open air.
Above all, he must guard and you must guard him against indolence. Make him a strenuous man. I had to force myself into being strenuous as you know--had always an inclination to be idle.
There is a piece of the Union Jack I put up at the South Pole in my private kit bag, together with Amundsen's black flag and other trifles. Send a small piece of the Union Jack to the King and a small piece to Queen Alexandra.
What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home. What tales you would have for the boys. But what a price to pay.
Tell Sir Clements--I thought much of him and never regretted him putting me in command of the Discovery .
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° 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 lat. 85° 86° we had -20°, -30°. On the Barrier in lat. 82°, 10,000 feet lower, we had -30° in the day, -47° 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.
R. SCOTT.
APPENDIX