South with Scott Part 17

We repacked the sledges after breakfast. This place was called the Upper Glacier Depot--and it marked the commencement of the third and final stage of the Poleward Journey. We said good-bye to Atkinson's party, and they started down the Glacier after depositing the foodstuffs they had sledged up the Beardmore for the Polar Party and the last supporting party. Atkinson and his tent-mates now had to face a homeward march of 584 miles. They spent Christmas Day collecting geological specimens, and reached Cape Evans on January 28. They had some sickness in the shape of enteritis and slight scurvy, but Dr. Atkinson's care and medical knowledge brought them through safely. Captain Scott with his two sledge teams now pushed forward, keeping an average speed of 15 miles per day, with full loads of 190 lb. a man.

When we started off we were:

Scott. Self.

Wilson. Bowers.

Oates. Crean.

Seaman Evans Lashly.

We steered S.W. to begin with to avoid the great pressure ridges and ice falls which barred our way to the South. We began to rise very perceptibly, and, looking back after our march, realised what enormous frozen falls stretch across the top of the Beardmore. I noted that these, with Scott's consent should be called "The Shackleton Ice Falls,"

according to _his_ track he went _up_ them. When we looked back on starting our march we could see the depot cairn with a black flag tied to a pair of 10 foot sledge runners for quite three miles--it promised well for picking up. Next day we were away early, marching 8 1/2 miles to lunch camp, and getting amongst creva.s.ses as big as Regent Street, all snow bridged.

We rushed these and had no serious falls; the dangerous part is at the edge of the snow bridge, and we frequently fell through up to our armpits just stepping on to or leaving the bridge. We began now to experience the same tingling wind that Shackleton speaks of, and men's noses were frequently frost-bitten. On Christmas Eve we were 8000 feet above the Barrier, and we imagined we were clear of creva.s.ses and pressure ridges.

We now felt the cold far more when marching than we had done on the Beardmore.

The wind all the time turned our breath into cakes of ice on our beards.

Taking sights when we stopped was a bitterly cold job: fingers had to be bared to work the little theodolite screws, and in the biting wind one's finger-tips soon went. Over 16 miles were laid behind us on Christmas Eve when we reached Lat.i.tude 85 degrees 35 minutes S., Longitude 159 degrees 8 minutes E. I obtained the variation of the compa.s.s here--179 degrees 35 minutes E., so that we were between the Magnetic and Geographical Poles.

The temperature down to 10 degrees below zero made observing unpleasant, when one had cooled down and lost vitality at the end of the day's march.

Christmas Day, 1911, found our two tiny green tents pitched on the King Edward VII. Plateau--the only objects that broke the monotony of the great white glittering waste that stretches from the Beardmore Glacier Head to the South Pole. A light wind was blowing from the South, and little whirls of fine snow, as fine as dust, would occasionally sweep round the tents and along the sides of the sledge runners, streaming away almost like smoke to the Northward. Inside the tents breathing heavily were our eight sleeping figures--in these little canvas shelters soon after 4 a.m. the sleepers became restless and occasionally one would wake, glance at one's watch, and doze again. Exactly at 5 a.m. our leader shouted "Evans," and both of us of that name replied, "Right-o, sir."

Immediately all was bustle, we scrambled out of our sleeping-bags, only the cook remaining in each tent. The others with frantic haste filled the aluminium cookers with the gritty snow that here lay hard and windswept.

The cookers filled and pa.s.sed in, we, gathered socks, finnesko, and putties off the clothes lines which we had rigged between the ski which struck upright in the snow to save them from being drifted over in the night. The indefatigable Bowers swung his thermometer in the shade until it refused to register any lower, glanced at the clouds, made a note or two in his miniature meteorological log book, and then blew on his tingling fingers, noted the direction of the wind, and ran to our tent.

Inside all had lashed up their bags and converted them into seats, the primus stove burnt with a curious low roar, and peculiar smell of paraffin permeated the tent. By the time we had changed our footgear the savoury smell of the pemmican proclaimed that breakfast was ready. The meal was eaten with the same haste that had already made itself apparent.

A very short smoke sufficed, and Captain Scott gave the signal to strike camp. Out went everything through the little round door, down came both tents, all was packed in a jiffy on the two 12-foot sledges, each team endeavouring to be first, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time both teams swung Southward, keeping step, and with every appearance of perfect health. But a close observer, a man trained to watch over men's health, over athletes training, perhaps, would have seem something amiss.

The two teams, in spite of the Christmas spirit, and the "Happy Christmas" greetings, they exchanged to begin with, soon lost their springy step, the sledges dragged more slowly, and we gazed ahead almost wistfully.

Yes, the strain was beginning to tell, though none of us would have confessed it. Lashly and I had already pulled a sledge of varying weight--but mostly a loaded one--over 600 miles, and all had marched this distance.

During the forenoon something was seen ahead like the tide race over a rocky ledge--it was another ice fall stretching from East to West, and it had to be crossed, there could be no more deviation, for since Atkinson's party turned we had been five points West of our course at times. Alas, more wear for the runners of the sledge, which meant more labour to the eight of us, so keen to succeed in our enterprise--soon we are in the thick of it; first one slips and is thrown violently down, then a sledge runs over the slope of a great ice wave.

The man trying to hold it back is relentlessly thrown, and the bow of the sledge crashes on to the heel of the hindermost of those hauling ahead with a thud that means "pain." But the victim utters no sound, just smiles in answer to the anxious questioning gaze of his comrades.

Something happened in the last half of that Christmas forenoon. Lashly, whose 44th birthday it was, celebrated the occasion by falling into a creva.s.se 8 feet wide.

Our sledge just bridged the chasm with very little to spare each end, and poor Lashly was suspended below, spinning round at the full length of his harness, with 80 feet of clear s.p.a.ce beneath him. We had great difficulty in hauling him upon account of his being directly under the sledge. We got him to the surface by using the Alpine rope. Lashly was none the worse for his fall, and one of my party wished him a "Happy Christmas,"

and another "Many Happy Returns of the Day," when he had regained safety.

Lashly's reply was unprintable.

Soon after this accident we topped the ice fall or ridge, and halted for lunch--we had risen over 250 feet, according to aneroid; it seemed funny enough to find the barometer standing at 21 inches instead of 30.

Lunch camp, what a change. The primus stove fiercely roaring, the men light up their pipes and talk Christmas--dear, cheery souls, how proud Scott must have been of them; no reference to the discomforts of the forenoon march, just brightness and the nicest thoughts for one another, and for "those," as poor Wilson unconsciously describes them, by humming: "Keep our loved ones, now far absent, 'neath Thy care." After a mug of warming tea and two biscuits we strike camp, and are soon slogging on.

But the creva.s.ses and icefalls have been overcome, the travelling is better, and with nothing but the hard, white horizon before us, thoughts wander away to the homeland--sweet little houses with well-kept gardens, glowing fires on bright hearths, clean, snowy tablecloths and polished silver, and then the dimpled, smiling faces of those we are winning our spurs for. Next Christmas may we hope for it? Yes, it must be.

But with the exception of Lashly and Crean that daydream never came true, for alas, those whose dearest lived for that Christmas _never_ came home, and the one other spared lost his wife, besides his five companions.

The two teams struggled on until after 8 p.m., when at last Scott signalled to camp. How tired we were--almost cross. But no sooner were the tents up than eyes looked out gladly from our dirty, bearded faces.

Once again the cooker boiled, and for that night we had a really good square meal--more than enough of everything--pemmican with pieces of pony meat in it, a chocolate biscuit, "ragout" raisins, caramels, ginger, cocoa, b.u.t.ter, and a double ration of biscuits. How we watched Bowers cook that extra thick pemmican. Had he put too much pepper in? Would he upset it? How many pieces of pony meat would we get each? But the careful little Bowers neither burnt nor upset the hoosh: it was up to our wildest expectations. No one could have eaten more.

After the meal we gasped, we felt so comfortable.

But we had such yarns of home, such plans were made for next Christmas, and after all we got down our fur sleeping-bags, and for a change we were quite warm owing to the full amount of food which we so sorely needed.

After the others in my tent were asleep, little Birdie Bowers, bidding me "Good-night," said, "Teddy, if all is well next Christmas we will get hold of all the poor children we can and just stuff them full of nice things, won't we?"

It was unthinkable then that five out of the eight of us would soon be lying frozen on the Great Ice Barrier, their lives forfeited by a series of crus.h.i.+ng defeats brought about by Nature, who alone metes out success or failure to win back for those who venture into the heart of that ice-bound continent.

Our Lat.i.tude was now 85 degrees 50 minutes S., we were 8000 feet above the Barrier. Temperature -8 degrees, with a fresh southerly wind, but we didn't care that night how hard it blew or whether it was Christmas or Easter. We had done 17 miles distance and success lay within our grasp apparently.

On the following day we were up at six and marched a good 15 miles south with no opposition from creva.s.ses or pressure ridges. The march over the Plateau continued without incident--excepting that on December 28 my team had a great struggle to keep up with Captain Scott's.

The surface was awfully soft, and though we discarded our outer garments we sweated tremendously. At about 11 a.m. Scott and I changed places. I found his sledge simply glided along whereas he found no such thing. The difference was considerable. After lunch we changed sledges and left Scott's team behind with ease. We stopped at the appointed time, and after supper Captain Scott came into our tent and told us that we had distorted our sledge by bad strapping or bad loading. This was, I think, correct, because Oates had dropped his sleeping-bag off a few days back through erring in the other direction and not strapping securely--we meant to have no recurrence and probably racked our sledge by heaving too hard on the straps.

The 29th was another day of very hard pulling. We were more than 9000 feet up--very nearly at the "summit of the summit." Quoting my diary I find set down for December 30 and 31 as follows.

"Sat.u.r.day, _December_ 30.

"Away at 8 a.m. Had a h.e.l.l of a day's hauling. We worked independently of the other sledge, camping for lunch at 1 p.m. about half a mile astern of them. Then off again, and hauled till 7.15 p.m., when we reached Captain Scott's camp, he being then stopped 3/4-hour. The surface was frightful and they had a heavy drag. Our distance to-day was 12 miles 1200 yards statute. We all turned in after our welcome hoosh, too tired to write up diaries even.

"Bill came in and had a yarn while we drank our cocoa.

"We are now about 9200 feet above the Barrier, temperature falls to about -15 degrees now. Position 86 degrees 49 minutes 9 seconds S., 162 degrees 50 minutes E."

"_December_ 31.

"Out at 5.45, and then after a yarn with Captain Scott and our welcome pemmican, tea and biscuit. We in our tent depoted our ski, Alpine rope, and ski shoes, saving a considerable weight. We then started off a few minutes ahead of Captain Scott, and his team never got near us, in fact they actually lost ground. We marched for 5 1/2 hours solid, and had a good heavy drag, but not enough to distress us. We stopped at 1.30 p.m., having done 8 miles 116 yards statute. After our lunch we made a depot and put two weekly units in the snow cairn, which we built and marked with a black flag. The seamen (Evans and Crean) and Lashly spent the afternoon converting the 12 foot sledges to 10 foot with the spare runners, while the remainder of us foregathered in Captain Scott's tent, which Evans fitted with a lining to-day, making it beautifully warm. We sat in the tents with the door open and the sun s.h.i.+ning in--doing odd jobs. I worked out sights and wrote up this diary, which was a few days adrift. Temperature -10 degrees.

"We are now Past Shackleton's position for December 31, and it does look as if Captain Scott were bound to reach the Pole. Position 86 degrees 55 minutes 47 minutes S., 175 degrees 40 minutes E.

"At 7 p.m. Captain Scott cooked tea for all hands.

"At 8 p.m. the first sledge was finished and the men went straight on with the second. This was finished by midnight, and, having seen the New Year in, we had a fine pemmican hoosh and went to bed."

New Year's Day found us in Lat.i.tude 87 degrees 7 minutes S. Height, 9300 feet above Barrier--a southerly wind, with temperature 14 degrees below zero.

On 2nd January I found the variation to be exactly 180 degrees. A skua gull appeared from the south and hovered round the sledges during the afternoon, then it settled on the snow once or twice and we tried to catch it.

Did 15 miles with ease, but we were now only pulling 130 lb. per man.

On January 3 Scott came into my tent before we began the day's march and informed me that he was taking his own team to the Pole. He also asked me to spare Bowers from mine if I thought I could make the return journey of 750 miles short-handed--this, of course, I consented to do, and so little Bowers left us to join the Polar party. Captain Scott said he felt that I was the only person capable of piloting the last supporting party back without a sledge meter. I felt very sorry for him having to break the news to us, although I had foreseen it--for Lashly and I knew we could never hope to be in the Polar party after our long drag out from Cape Evans itself.

We could not all go to the Pole--food would not allow this. Briefly then it was a disappointment, but not too great to bear; it would have been an unbearable blow to us had we known that almost in sight were Amundsen's tracks, and that all our dragging and straining at the trace had been in vain.

On 4th January we took four days' provision for three men and handed over the rest of our load to Scott.

Then we three, Lashly, Crean, and myself, marched south to Lat.i.tude 87 degrees 34 minutes S. with the Polar party, and, seeing that they were travelling rapidly yet easily, halted, shook hands all round, and said good-bye, and since no traces of the successful Norwegian had been found so far, we fondly imagined that our flag would be the first to fly at the South Pole. We gave three huge cheers for the Southern party, as they stepped off, and then turned our sledge and commenced our homeward march of between 750 and 800 statute miles. We frequently looked back until we saw the last of Captain Scott and his four companions--a tiny black speck on the horizon, and little did we think that we would be the last to see them alive, that our three cheers on that bleak and lonely plateau summit would be the last appreciation they would ever know.