The Worst Journey in the World (77 page)

It was drifted up some 2-3 feet to windward. Just by the side two pairs
of ski sticks, or the topmost half of them, appeared over the snow, and a
bamboo which proved to be the mast of the sledge.

Their story I am not going to try and put down. They got to this point on
March 21, and on the 29th all was over.

Nor will I try and put down what there was in that tent. Scott lay in the
centre, Bill on his left, with his head towards the door, and Birdie on
his right, lying with his feet towards the door.

Bill especially had died very quietly with his hands folded over his
chest. Birdie also quietly.

Oates' death was a very fine one. We go on to-morrow to try and find his
body. He was glad that his regiment would be proud of him.

They reached the Pole a month after Amundsen.

We have everything—records, diaries, etc. They have among other things
several rolls of photographs, a meteorological log kept up to March 13,
and, considering all things, a great many geological specimens.
And they
have stuck to everything.
It is magnificent that men in such case should
go on pulling everything that they have died to gain. I think they
realized their coming end a long time before. By Scott's head was
tobacco: there is also a bag of tea.

Atkinson gathered every one together and read to them the account of
Oates' death given in Scott's Diary: Scott expressly states that he
wished it known. His (Scott's) last words are:

"For God's sake take care of our people."

Then Atkinson read the lesson from the Burial Service from Corinthians.
Perhaps it has never been read in a more magnificent cathedral and under
more impressive circumstances—for it is a grave which kings must envy.
Then some prayers from the Burial Service: and there with the floor-cloth
under them and the tent above we buried them in their sleeping-bags—and
surely their work has not been in vain.
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That scene can never leave my memory. We with the dogs had seen Wright
turn away from the course by himself and the mule party swerve
right-handed ahead of us. He had seen what he thought was a cairn, and
then something looking black by its side. A vague kind of wonder
gradually gave way to a real alarm. We came up to them all halted. Wright
came across to us. 'It is the tent.' I do not know how he knew. Just a
waste of snow: to our right the remains of one of last year's cairns, a
mere mound: and then three feet of bamboo sticking quite alone out of the
snow: and then another mound, of snow, perhaps a trifle more pointed. We
walked up to it. I do not think we quite realized—not for very long—but
some one reached up to a projection of snow, and brushed it away. The
green flap of the ventilator of the tent appeared, and we knew that the
door was below.

Two of us entered, through the funnel of the outer tent, and through the
bamboos on which was stretched the lining of the inner tent. There was
some snow—not much—between the two linings. But inside we could see
nothing—the snow had drifted out the light. There was nothing to do but
to dig the tent out. Soon we could see the outlines. There were three men
here.

Bowers and Wilson were sleeping in their bags. Scott had thrown back the
flaps of his bag at the end. His left hand was stretched over Wilson, his
lifelong friend. Beneath the head of his bag, between the bag and the
floor-cloth, was the green wallet in which he carried his diary. The
brown books of diary were inside: and on the floor-cloth were some
letters.

Everything was tidy. The tent had been pitched as well as ever, with the
door facing down the sastrugi, the bamboos with a good spread, the tent
itself taut and shipshape. There was no snow inside the inner lining.
There were some loose pannikins from the cooker, the ordinary tent gear,
the personal belongings and a few more letters and records—personal and
scientific. Near Scott was a lamp formed from a tin and some lamp wick
off a finnesko. It had been used to burn the little methylated spirit
which remained. I think that Scott had used it to help him to write up to
the end. I feel sure that he had died last—and once I had thought that
he would not go so far as some of the others. We never realized how
strong that man was, mentally and physically, until now.

We sorted out the gear, records, papers, diaries, spare clothing,
letters, chronometers, finnesko, socks, a flag. There was even a book
which I had lent Bill for the journey—and he had brought it back.
Somehow we learnt that Amundsen had been to the Pole, and that they too
had been to the Pole, and both items of news seemed to be of no
importance whatever. There was a letter there from Amundsen to King
Haakon. There were the personal chatty little notes we had left for them
on the Beardmore—how much more important to us than all the royal
letters in the world.

We dug down the bamboo which had brought us to this place. It led to the
sledge, many feet down, and had been rigged there as a mast. And on the
sledge were some more odds and ends—a piece of paper from the biscuit
box: Bowers' meteorological log: and the geological specimens, thirty
pounds of them, all of the first importance. Drifted over also were the
harnesses, ski and ski-sticks.

Hour after hour, so it seemed to me, Atkinson sat in our tent and read.
The finder was to read the diary and then it was to be brought
home—these were Scott's instructions written on the cover. But Atkinson
said he was only going to read sufficient to know what had happened—and
after that they were brought home unopened and unread. When he had the
outline we all gathered together and he read to us the Message to the
Public, and the account of Oates' death, which Scott had expressly wished
to be known.

We never moved them. We took the bamboos of the tent away, and the tent
itself covered them. And over them we built the cairn.

I do not know how long we were there, but when all was finished, and the
chapter of Corinthians had been read, it was midnight of some day. The
sun was dipping low above the Pole, the Barrier was almost in shadow. And
the sky was blazing—sheets and sheets of iridescent clouds. The cairn
and Cross stood dark against a glory of burnished gold.

Copy of Note left at the Cairn, over the Bodies

November 12th, 1912.
Lat. 79° 50' S.

This Cross and Cairn are erected over the bodies of Capt. Scott,
C.V.O., R.N.; Dr. E. A. Wilson, M.B., B.A. Cantab.; Lt. H. R.
Bowers, Royal Indian Marines. A slight token to perpetuate their
gallant and successful attempt to reach the Pole. This they did
on the 17th January 1912 after the Norwegian expedition had
already done so. Inclement weather and lack of fuel was the cause
of their death.

Also to commemorate their two gallant comrades, Capt. L. E. G.
Oates of the Inniskilling Dragoons, who walked to his death in a
blizzard to save his comrades, about 18 miles south of this
position; also of Seaman Edgar Evans, who died at the foot of the
Beardmore Glacier.

The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of
the Lord.

Relief Expedition.
(Signed by all members of the party.)

My diary goes on:

Midnight, November 12-13.
I cannot think that anything which could be
done to give these three great men—for great they were—a fitting grave
has been left undone.

A great cairn has been built over them, a mark which must last for many
years. That we can make anything that will be permanent on this Barrier
is impossible, but as far as a lasting mark can be made it has been done.
On this a cross has been fixed, made out of ski. On either side are the
two sledges, fixed upright and dug in.

The whole is very simple and most impressive.

On a bamboo standing by itself is left the record which I have copied
into this book, and which has been signed by us all.

We shall leave some provisions here, and go on lightly laden to see if we
can find Titus Oates' body: and so give it what burial we can.

We start in about an hour, and I for one shall be glad to leave this
place.

I am very very sorry that this question of the shortage of oil has
arisen. We in the First Return Party were most careful with our
measurement—having a ruler of Wright's and a piece of bamboo with which
we did it: measuring the total height of oil in each case, and then
dividing up the stick accordingly with the ruler: and we were
always
careful to take
a little less than we were entitled to
, which was
stated to me, and stated by Birdie in his depôt notes, to be one-third of
everything in the depôt.

How the shortage arose is a mystery. And they eleven miles from One Ton
and plenty!

Titus did not show his foot till about three days before he died. The
foot was then a great size, and almost every night it would be
frost-bitten again. Then the last day at lunch he said he could go on no
more—but they said he must: he wanted them to leave him behind in his
bag. That night he turned in, hoping never to wake: but he woke, and then
he asked their advice: they said they must all go on together. A thick
blizzard was blowing, and he said, after a bit, "Well, I am just going
outside, and I may be some time." They searched for him but could not
find him.

They had a terrible time from 80° 30' on to their last camp. There Bill
was very bad, and Birdie and the Owner had to do the camping.

And then, eleven miles from plenty, they had
nine days of blizzard, and
that was the end.

They had a good spread on their tent, and their ski-sticks were standing,
but their ski were drifted up on the ground.

The tent was in excellent condition—only down some of the poles there
were some chafes.

They had been trying a spirit lamp when all the oil was gone.

At 88° or so they were getting temperatures from -20° to -30°. At 82°,
10,000 feet lower, it was regularly down to -47° in the night-time, and
-30° during the day: for no explainable reason.

Bill's and Birdie's feet got bad—the Owner's feet got bad last.

It is all too horrible—I am almost afraid to go to sleep now.

November 13. Early morning.
We came on just under seven miles with a
very cold moist wind hurting our faces all the way. We have left most of
the provisions to pick up again. We purpose going on thirteen miles
to-morrow and search for Oates' body, and then turn back and get the
provisions back to Hut Point and see what can be done over in the west to
get up that coast.

We hope to get two mules back to Hut Point. If possible, we want to
communicate with Cape Evans.

Atkinson has been quite splendid in this very trying time.

November 14. Early morning.
It has been a miserable march. We had to
wait some time after hoosh to let the mules get ahead. Then we went on in
a cold raw fog and some head wind, with constant frost-bites. The surface
has been very bad all day for the thirteen miles: if we had been walking
in arrowroot it would have been much like this was. At lunch the
temperature was -14.7°.

Then on when it was drifting with the wind in our faces and in a bad
light. What we took to be the mule party ahead proved to be the old pony
walls 26 miles from One Ton. There was here a bit of sacking on the
cairn, and Oates' bag. Inside the bag was the theodolite, and his
finnesko and socks. One of the finnesko was slit down the front as far as
the leather beckets, evidently to get his bad foot into it. This was
fifteen miles from the last camp, and I suppose they had brought on his
bag for three or four miles in case they might find him still alive.
Half-a-mile from our last camp there was a very large and quite
unmistakable undulation, one-quarter to one-third of a mile from crest to
crest: the pony walls behind us disappeared almost as soon as we started
to go down, and reappeared again on the other side. There were, I feel
sure, other rolls, but this was the largest. We have seen no sign of
Oates' body.

About half an hour ago it started to blow a blizzard, and it is now
thick, but the wind is not strong. The mules, which came along well
considering the surface, are off their feed, and this may be the reason.

Dimitri saw the Cairn with the Cross more than eight miles away this
morning, and in a good light it would be seen from much farther off.

November 15. Early morning.
We built a cairn to mark the spot near
which Oates walked out to his death, and we placed a cross on it. Lashed
to the cross is a record, as follows:

Hereabouts died a very gallant gentleman, Captain L. E. G. Oates
of the Inniskilling Dragoons. In March 1912, returning from the
Pole, he walked willingly to his death in a blizzard to try and
save his comrades, beset by hardship. This note is left by the
Relief Expedition. 1912.

This was signed by Atkinson and myself.

We saw the cairn for a long way in a bad light as we came back to-day.

The original plan with which we started from Cape Evans was, if the Party
was found where we could still bear out sufficiently to the eastward to
have a good chance of missing the pressure caused by the Beardmore, to go
on and do what we could to survey the land south of the Beardmore: for
this was the original plan of Captain Scott for this year's sledging. But
as things are I do not think there can be much doubt that we are doing
right in losing no time in going over to the west of McMurdo Sound to see
whether we can go up to Evans Coves, and help Campbell and his party.

We brought on Oates' bag. The theodolite was inside.

A thickish blizzard blew all day yesterday, but it was clear and there
was only surface drift when we turned out for the night march. Then again
as we came along, the sky became overcast—all except over the land,
which remains clear these nights when everything else is obscured. We
noticed the same thing last year. Now the wind, which had largely
dropped, has started again and it is drifting. We have had wind and drift
on four out of the last five days.