The Worst Journey in the World Part 56

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. G.o.d 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 till 2, then did 5 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 pa.s.sed another cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind s.h.i.+fted 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 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A BLIZZARD CAMP--E. A. Wilson, del.]

"_Friday, March 16, or Sat.u.r.day, 17._ Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor t.i.tus 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 and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and a.s.suredly the end is not far.

"I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold is intense, -40 at mid-day. My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frost-bites, and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don't think any one 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, etc., 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.... 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 quant.i.ty 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 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 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 worse, 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 21._ Got within 11 miles of depot Monday night; had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard. To-day forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for fuel."

"_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."

_Last entry._ "For G.o.d's sake, look after our people."

The following extracts are from letters written by Scott:

_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 finis.h.i.+ng it in company with two gallant, n.o.ble 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....

_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 ...

Good-bye. 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. Good-bye, my dear friend.

Yours ever,

R. SCOTT.

We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, etc. 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.[347]

The following extracts are from letters written to other friends:

" ... 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."

"Wilson, the best fellow that ever stepped, has sacrificed himself again and again to the sick men of the party...."

" ... 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."

"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."

MESSAGE TO THE PUBLIC

The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organization, 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.