impossible to say. A good deal was to be hoped from the warm weather
ahead. Scott and Bowers were probably the fittest men. Scott's shoulder
soon mended and "Bowers is splendid, full of energy and bustle all the
time."[332] Wilson was feeling the cold more than either of them now. His
leg was not yet well enough to wear ski. Oates had suffered from a cold
foot for some time. Evans, however, was the only man whom Scott seems to
have been worried about. "His cuts and wounds suppurate, his nose looks
very bad, and altogether he shows considerable signs of being played
out." ... "Well, we have come through our seven weeks' ice-cap journey
and most of us are fit, but I think another week might have had a very
bad effect on P.O. Evans, who is going steadily downhill."[333] They had
all been having extra food which had helped them much, though they
complained of hunger and want of sleep. Directly they got into the warmer
weather on the glacier their food satisfied them, "but we must march to
keep on the full ration, and we want rest, yet we shall pull through all
right, D.V. We are by no means worn out."[334]

There are no germs in the Antarctic, save for a few isolated specimens
which almost certainly come down from civilization in the upper air
currents. You can sleep all night in a wet bag and clothing, and sledge
all day in a mail of ice, and you will not catch a cold nor get any
aches. You can get deficiency diseases, like scurvy, for inland this is a
deficiency country, without vitamines. You can also get poisoned if you
allow your food to remain thawed out too long, and if you do not cover
the provisions in a depot with enough snow the sun will get at them, even
though the air temperature is far below freezing. But it is not easy to
become diseased.

On the other hand, once something does go wrong it is the deuce and all
to get it right: especially cuts. And the isolation of the polar
traveller may place him in most difficult circumstances. There are no
ambulances and hospitals, and a man on a sledge is a very serious weight.
Practically any man who undertakes big polar journeys must face the
possibility of having to commit suicide to save his companions, and the
difficulty of this must not be overrated, for it is in some ways more
desirable to die than to live if things are bad enough: we got to that
stage on the Winter Journey. I remember discussing this question with
Bowers, who had a scheme of doing himself in with a pick-axe if necessity
arose, though how he could have accomplished it I don't know: or, as he
said, there might be a crevasse and at any rate there was the medical
case. I was horrified at the time: I had never faced the thing out with
myself like that.

They left the Upper Glacier Depot under Mount Darwin on February 8. This
day they collected the most important of those geological specimens to
which, at Wilson's special request, they clung to the end, and which were
mostly collected by him. Mount Darwin and Buckley Island, which are
really the tops of high mountains, stick out of the ice at the top of the
glacier, and the course ran near to both of them, but not actually up
against them. Shackleton found coal on Buckley Island, and it was clear
that the place was of great geological importance, for it was one of the
only places in the Antarctic where fossils could be found, so far as we
knew. The ice-falls stretched away as far as you could see towards the
mountains which bound the glacier on either side, and as you looked
upwards towards Buckley Island they were like a long breaking wave. One
of the great difficulties about the Beardmore was that you saw the
ice-falls as you went up, and avoided them, but coming down you knew
nothing of their whereabouts until you fell into the middle of pressure
and crevasses, and then it was almost impossible to say whether you
should go right or left to get out.

Evans was unable to pull this day, and was detached from the sledge, but
this was not necessarily a very serious sign: Shackleton on his return
journey was not able to pull at this place. Wilson wrote as follows:

"_February 8, Mt. Buckley Cliffs._ A very busy day. We had a very cold
forenoon march, blowing like blazes from the S. Birdie detached and went
on ski to Mt. Darwin and collected some dolerite, the only rock he could
see on the Nunatak, which was nearest. We got into a sort of crusted
surface where the snow broke through nearly to our knees and the
sledge-runner also. I thought at first we were all on a thinly bridged
crevasse. We then came on east a bit, and gradually got worse and worse
going over an ice-fall, having great trouble to prevent sledge taking
charge, but eventually got down and then made N.W. or N. into the land,
and camped right by the moraine under the great sandstone cliffs of Mt.
Buckley, out of the wind and quite warm again: it was a wonderful change.
After lunch we all geologized on till supper, and I was very late turning
in, examining the moraine after supper. Socks, all strewn over the rocks,
dried splendidly. Magnificent Beacon sandstone cliffs. Masses of
limestone in the moraine, and dolerite crags in various places. Coal
seams at all heights in the sandstone cliffs, and lumps of weathered coal
with fossil vegetable. Had a regular field-day and got some splendid
things in the short time."

"_February 9, Moraine visit._ We made our way along down the moraine, and
at the end of Mt. Buckley [I] unhitched and had half an hour over the
rocks and again got some good things written up in sketch-book. We then
left the moraine and made a very good march on rough blue ice all day
with very small and scarce scraps of neve, on one of which we camped for
the night with a rather overcast foggy sky, which cleared to bright sun
in the night. We are all thoroughly enjoying temps. of +10 deg. or
thereabouts now, with no wind instead of the summit winds which are
incessant with temp. -20 deg.."

"_February 10._ ?16 m. We made a very good forenoon march from 10 to 2.45
towards the Cloudmaker. Weather overcast gradually obscured everything in
snowfall fog, starting with crystals of large size.... We had to camp
after 21/2 hours' afternoon march as it got too thick to see anything and
we were going downhill on blue ice...."[335]

[Illustration: BUCKLEY ISLAND--E. A. Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited,
Collotypers.]

The next day in bad lights and on a bad surface they fell into the same
pressure which both the other returning parties experienced. Like them
they were in the middle of it before they realized. "Then came the fatal
decision to steer east. We went on for 6 hours, hoping to do a good
distance, which I suppose we did, but for the last hour or two we
pressed on into a regular trap. Getting on to a good surface we did not
reduce our lunch meal, and thought all going well, but half an hour after
lunch we got into the worst ice mess I have ever been in. For three hours
we plunged on on ski, first thinking we were too much to the right, then
too much to the left; meanwhile the disturbance got worse and my spirits
received a very rude shock. There were times when it seemed almost
impossible to find a way out of the awful turmoil in which we found
ourselves.... The turmoil changed in character, irregular crevassed
surface giving way to huge chasms, closely packed and most difficult to
cross. It was very heavy work, but we had grown desperate. We won through
at 10 P.M., and I write after 12 hours on the march...."[336]

Wilson continues the story:

"_February 12._ We had a good night just outside the ice-falls and
disturbances, and a small breakfast of tea, thin hoosh and biscuit, and
began the forenoon by a decent bit of travelling on rubbly blue ice in
crampons: then plunged into an ice-fall and wandered about in it for
hours and hours."

"_February 13._ We had one biscuit and some tea after a night's sleep on
very hard and irregular blue ice amongst the ice-fall crevasses. No snow
on the tent, only ski, etc. Got away at 10 A.M. and by 2 P.M. found the
depot, having had a good march over very hard rough blue ice. Only 1/2 hour
in the disturbance of yesterday. The weather was very thick, snowing and
overcast, could only just see the points of bearing for depot. However,
we got there, tired and hungry, and camped and had hoosh and tea and 3
biscuits each. Then away again with our three and a half days' food from
this red flag depot and off down by the Cloudmaker moraine. We travelled
about 4 hours on hard blue ice, and I was allowed to geologize the last
hour down the two outer lines of boulders. The outer one all dolerite and
quartz rocks, the inner all dolerite and sandstone.... We camped on the
inner line of boulders, weather clearing all the afternoon."[337]

Meanwhile both Wilson and Bowers had been badly snow-blind, though Wilson
does not mention it in his diary; and this night Scott says Evans had no
power to assist with camping work. A good march followed on February 14,
but "there is no getting away from the fact that we are not pulling
strong. Probably none of us: Wilson's leg still troubles him and he
doesn't like to trust himself on ski; but the worst case is Evans, who is
giving us serious anxiety. This morning he suddenly disclosed a huge
blister on his foot. It delayed us on the march, when he had to have his
crampon readjusted. Sometimes I feel he is going from bad to worse, but I
trust he will pick up again when we come to steady work on ski like this
afternoon. He is hungry and so is Wilson. We can't risk opening out our
food again, and as cook at present I am serving something under full
allowance. We are inclined to get slack and slow with our camping
arrangement, and small delays increase. I have talked of the matter
to-night and hope for improvement. We cannot do distance without the
hours."[338]

There was something wrong with this party: more wrong, I mean, than was
justified by the tremendous journey they had already experienced. Except
for the blizzard at the bottom of the Beardmore and the surfaces near the
Pole it had been little worse than they expected. Evans, however, who was
considered by Scott to be the strongest man of the party, had already
collapsed, and it is admitted that the rest of the party was becoming far
from strong. There seems to be an unknown factor here somewhere.

[Illustration: MT. KYFFIN--E. A. Wilson, del.]

Wilson's diary continues: "_February 15. 133/4 m. geog._ I got on ski again
first time since damaging my leg and was on them all day for 9 hours. It
was a bit painful and swelled by the evening, and every night I put on
snow poultice. We are not yet abreast of Mt. Kyffin, and much discussion
how far we are from the Lower Glacier Depot, probably 18 to 20 m.: and we
have to reduce food again, only one biscuit to-night with a thin hoosh of
pemmican. To-morrow we have to make one day's food which remains last
over the two. The weather became heavily overcast during the afternoon
and then began to snow, and though we got in our 4 hours' march it was
with difficulty, and we only made a bit over 5 miles. However, we are
nearer the depot to-night."

"_February 16. 121/2 m. geog._ Got a good start in fair weather after one
biscuit and a thin breakfast, and made 71/2 m. in the forenoon. Again the
weather became overcast and we lunched almost at our old bearing on
Kyffin of lunch Dec. 15. All the afternoon the weather became thick and
thicker and after 31/4 hours Evans collapsed, sick and giddy, and unable to
walk even by the sledge on ski, so we camped. Can see no land at all
anywhere, but we must be getting pretty near the Pillar Rock. Evans'
collapse has much to do with the fact that he has never been sick in his
life and is now helpless with his hands frost-bitten. We had thin meals
for lunch and supper."

"_February 17._ The weather cleared and we got away for a clear run to
the depot and had gone a good part of the way when Evans found his ski
shoes coming off. He was allowed to readjust and continue to pull, but it
happened again, and then again, so he was told to unhitch, get them
right, and follow on and catch us up. He lagged far behind till lunch,
and when we camped we had lunch, and then went back for him as he had not
come up. He had fallen and had his hands frost-bitten, and we then
returned for the sledge, and brought it, and fetched him in on it as he
was rapidly losing the use of his legs. He was comatose when we got him
into the tent, and he died without recovering consciousness that night
about 10 P.M. We had a short rest for an hour or two in our bags that
night, then had a meal and came on through the pressure ridges about 4
miles farther down and reached our Lower Glacier Depot. Here we camped at
last, had a good meal and slept a good night's rest which we badly
needed. Our depot was all right."[339] "A very terrible day.... On
discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we
reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by
the shock of his frost-bitten fingers, and later by falls during rough
travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in
himself. Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a
fall. It is a terrible thing to lose a companion in this way, but calm
reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the
terrible anxieties of the past week. Discussion of the situation at lunch
yesterday shows us what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on
our hands at such a distance from home."[340]

[Illustration: WHERE EVANS DIED--E. A. Wilson, del.]

FOOTNOTES:

[294] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 536.

[295] It is to be noticed that every return party, including the
Polar Party, was supposed by their companions to be going to
have a very much easier time than, as a matter of fact, they
had.--A. C.-G.

[296] Bowers.

[297] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 530-534.

[298] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 291.

[299] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 540.

[300] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 541-542.

[301] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. pp.
144-146.

[302] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 41.

[303] See pp. xxxviii-xxxix.

[304] See p. xivii.

[305] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 543.

[306] Wilson.

[307] Evidently meaning some miles from crest to crest.

[308] Bowers, _Polar Meteorological Log._

[309] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 543-544.

[310] Simpson, _B.A.E., 1910-1913_, "Meteorology," vol. i. p. 40.

[311] Bowers.

[312] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 550-551.

[313] Bowers.

[314] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 552.

[315] Bowers.

[316] Wilson.

[317] Wilson.

[318] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 541.

[319] Ibid. p. 549.

[320] Wilson.

[321] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 557.

[322] Ibid. pp. 560, 561.

[323] Wilson.

[324] Ibid.

[325] Bowers.

[326] Wilson.

[327] Ibid.

[328] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 559.

[329] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 561.

[330] Wilson.

[331] Ibid.

[332] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 561.

[333] Ibid. pp. 562, 563.

[334] Ibid. p. 566.

[335] Wilson.

[336] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 567.

[337] Wilson.

[338] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. pp. 570-571.

[339] Wilson.

[340] _Scott's Last Expedition_, vol. i. p. 573.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE POLAR JOURNEY (_continued_)

This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall, ...
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, ...
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land.
SHAKESPEARE.

VI. FARTHEST SOUTH


Stevenson has written of a traveller whose wife slumbered by his side
what time his spirit re-adventured forth in memory of days gone by. He
was quite happy about it, and I suppose his travels had been peaceful,
for days and nights such as these men spent coming down the Beardmore
will give you nightmare after nightmare, and wake you shrieking--years
after.

Of course they were shaken and weakened. But the conditions they had
faced, and the time they had been out, do not in my opinion account
entirely for their weakness nor for Evans' collapse, which may have had
something to do with the fact that he was the biggest, heaviest and most
muscular man in the party. I do not believe that this is a life for such
men, who are expected to pull their weight and to support and drive a
larger machine than their companions, and at the same time to eat no
extra food. If, as seems likely, the ration these men were eating was not
enough to support the work they were doing, then it is clear that the
heaviest man will feel the deficiency sooner and more severely than
others who are smaller than he. Evans must have had a most terrible time:
I think it is clear from the diaries that he had suffered very greatly
without complaint. At home he would have been nursed in bed: here he must
march (he was pulling the day he died) until he was crawling on his
frost-bitten hands and knees in the snow--horrible: most horrible perhaps
for those who found him so, and sat in the tent and watched him die. I am
told that simple concussion does not kill as suddenly as this: probably
some clot had moved in his brain.

For one reason and another they took very nearly as long to come down the
glacier with a featherweight sledge as we had taken to go up it with full
loads. Seven days' food were allowed from the Upper to the Lower Glacier
Depot. Bowers told me that he thought this was running it fine. But the
two supporting parties got through all right, though they both tumbled
into the horrible pressure above the Cloudmaker. The Last Return Party
took 71/2 days: the Polar Party 10 days: the latter had been 251/2 days
longer on the plateau than the former. Owing to their slow progress down
the glacier the Polar Party went on short rations for the first and last
time until they camped on March 19: with the exception of these days they
had either their full, or more than their full ration until that date.

Until they reached the Barrier on their return journey the weather can be
described neither as abnormal nor as unexpected. There were 300 statute
miles (260 geo.) to be covered to One Ton Depot, and 150 statute miles
(130 geo.) more from One Ton to Hut Point. They had just picked up one
week's food for five men: between the Beardmore and One Ton were three
more depots each with one week's food for five men. They were four men:
their way was across the main body of the Barrier out of sight of land,
and away from any immediate influence of the comparatively warm sea ahead
of them. Nothing was known of the weather conditions in the middle of the
Barrier at this time of year, and no one suspected that March conditions
there were very cold. Shackleton turned homeward on January 10: reached
his Bluff Depot on February 23, and Hut Point on February 28.

Wilson's diary continues:

"_February 18._ We had only five hours' sleep. We had butter and biscuit
and tea when we woke at 2 P.M., then came over the Gap entrance to the
pony-slaughter camp, visiting a rock moraine of Mt. Hope on the way."

"_February 19._ Late in getting away after making up new 10-foot sledge
and digging out pony meat. We made 51/2 m. on a very heavy surface
indeed."[341]

This bad surface is the feature of their first homeward marches on the
Barrier. From now onwards they complain always of the terrible surfaces,
but a certain amount of the heavy pulling must be ascribed to their own
weakness. In the low temperatures which occurred later bad surfaces were
to be expected: but now the temperatures were not really low, about zero
to -17 deg.: fine clear days for the most part and, a thing to be noticed,
little wind. They wanted wind, which would probably be behind them from
the south. "Oh! for a little wind," Scott writes. "E. Evans evidently had
plenty." He was already very anxious. "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 [Feb. 19] 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." And on February 20, when they made
7 miles, "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 so fit as we were, and the
season is advancing apace." And on February 21, "We never won a march of
81/2 miles with greater difficulty, but we can't go on like this."[342]

A breeze suddenly came away from S.S.E., force 4 to 6 at 11 A.M. on
February 22, and they hoisted the sail on the sledge they had just picked
up. They immediately lost the tracks they were following, and failed to
find the cairns and camp remains which they should have picked up if they
had been on the right course, which was difficult here owing to the thick
weather we had on the outward march. Bowers was sure they were too near
the land and they steered out, but still failed to pick up the line on
which their depots and their lives depended. Scott was convinced they
were outside, not inside the line. The next morning Bowers took a round
of angles, and they came to the conclusion, on slender evidence, that
they were still too near the land. They had an unhappy march still off
the tracks, "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."[343] Then Wilson had
another "bad attack of snow-glare: could hardly keep a chink of eye open
in goggles to see the course. Fat pony hoosh."[344] This day they reached
the Lower Barrier Depot.

[Illustration: SLEDGING IN A HIGH WIND--E. A. Wilson, del.]

They were in evil case, but they would have been all right, these men, if
the cold had not come down upon them, a bolt quite literally from the
blue of a clear sky: unexpected, unforetold and fatal. The cold itself
was not so tremendous until you realize that they had been out four
months, that they had fought their way up the biggest glacier in the
world in feet of soft snow, that they had spent seven weeks under plateau
conditions of rarefied air, big winds and low temperatures, and they had
watched one of their companions die--not in a bed, in a hospital or
ambulance, nor suddenly, but slowly, night by night and day by day, with
his hands frost-bitten and his brain going, until they must have
wondered, each man in his heart, whether in such case a human being could
be left to die, that four men might live. He died a natural death and
they went out on to the Barrier.

Given such conditions as were expected, and the conditions for which
preparation had been made, they would have come home alive and well. Some
men say the weather was abnormal: there is some evidence that it was. The
fact remains that the temperature dropped into the minus thirties by day
and the minus forties by night. The fact also remains that there was a
great lack of southerly winds, and in consequence the air near the
surface was not being mixed: excessive radiation took place, and a layer
of cold air formed near the ground. Crystals also formed on the surface
of the snow and the wind was not enough to sweep them away. As the
temperature dropped so the surface for the runners of the sledges became
worse, as I explained elsewhere.[345] They were pulling as it were
through sand.

In the face of the difficulties which beset them their marches were
magnificent: 111/2 miles on February 25 and again on the following day:
12.2 miles on February 27, and 111/2 miles again on February 28 and 29. If
they could have kept this up they would have come through without a
doubt. But I think it was about now that they suspected, and then were
sure, that they could not pull through. Scott's diary, written at lunch,
March 2, is as follows:

"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 deg. in the night, and this morning it took 11/2 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 51/2 miles. We are in a _very_ queer street, since there
is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold
horribly."[346]

They did nearly ten miles that day, but on March 3 they had a terrible
time. "God help us," wrote Scott, "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. Putting on foot-gear in the morning
is getting slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous."

The following extracts are taken from Scott's diary.

"_March 4. Lunch._ 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 in the -20 deg.--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."

[Illustration: MOUNT LONGSTAFF--E. A. Wilson, del. Emery Walker Limited,
Collotypers.]

"_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 31/2 miles into something over 9. We went to
bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off.... 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 51/2 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 worn
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 91/2 miles for the day, and 27 miles from
depot. 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 31/2 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..."

"_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 61/2 miles yesterday. This morning in 41/2 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 41/2 miles
this morning and are now 81/2 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....

"Yesterday we marched up the depot, Mt. Hooper. Cold comfort. Shortage on
our allowance all round. I don't know that any one is to blame. The dogs
which would have been our salvation have evidently failed. Meares had a
bad trip home I suppose.

"This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came from the
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."

"_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 any one 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.

"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, 6x7 = 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 x 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 deg.. Couldn't face it, so remained in camp till 2, then did 51/4
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.

"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 mitts. 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 mid-day down -43 deg. 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
frost-bites. 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."

[Illustration: A BLIZZARD CAMP--E. A. Wilson, del.]

"_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 we 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 till 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