South with Scott Part 19

On the 30th January Lashly and I had been fourteen weeks out, and we had exhausted practically every topic of conversation beyond food, distances made good, temperatures, and the weather. Crean, as already set down, had started with the Main Southern Party a week after Lashly and I had first set out as the pioneers with those wretched failures, the motor sledges.

By this time I had made the unpleasant discovery that I was suffering from scurvy. It came on with a stiffening of the knee joints, then I could not straighten my legs, and finally they were horrible to behold, swollen, bruised, and green. As day followed day my condition became worse: my gums were ulcerated and my teeth loose. Then finally I got haemorrhage. Crean and Lashly were dreadfully concerned on my behalf, and how they nursed me and helped me along no words of mine can properly describe. What men they were. Those awful days--I trudged on with them for hundreds of miles, and each step hurt me more. I had done too much on the outward journey, for what with building all the depot cairns ahead of the pony party, and what with the effects of the spring sledge journey, too much had been asked of me. I had never been out of harness from the day I left Hut Point, for even with the motor sledges we practically pulled them along. Crean had had an easier time, for he had led a pony up to the foot of the Beardmore Glacier, and Lashly had not done the spring sledging journey, which took a certain amount out of me with its temperatures falling to 73 degrees below zero. The disappointment of not being included in the Polar Party had not helped me much, and I must admit that my prospects of winning through became duller day by day. I suffered absolute agonies in forcing my way along, and eventually I could only push myself by means of a ski-stick, for I could not step out properly. I somehow waddled on ski until one day I fainted when striving to start a march. Crean and Lashly picked me up, and Crean thought I was dead. His hot tears fell on my face, and as I came to I gave a weak kind of laugh.

They rigged the camp up once more and put me in my bag, and then those two gallant fellows held a short council of war. I endeavoured to get them to leave me when they came in with their suggestions, but it was useless to argue with them, and I now felt that I had shot my bolt. I vainly tried to persuade them to leave me in my sleeping-bag with what food they could spare, but they put me on the sledge, bag and all, and strapped me as comfortably as they could with their own sleeping-bags spread under me to make for greater ease.

How weary their marches must have been--ten miles of foot slogging each day. I could see them from the sledge by raising my head--how slowly their legs seemed to move--wearily but n.o.bly they fought on until one day a blizzard came and completely spoilt the surface. The two men had been marching nearly 1500 miles, their strength was spent, and great though their hearts were, they had now to give up. In vain they tried to move the sledge with my wasted weight upon it--it was hopeless.

Very seriously and sadly they re-erected our tent and put me once again inside. I thought I was being put into my grave. Outside I heard them talking, low notes of sadness, but with a certain thread of determination running through what they said. They were discussing which should go and which should stay. Crean had done, if anything, the lighter share of the work, as already explained, and he therefore set out to march thirty-five miles with no food but a few biscuits and a little stick of chocolate.

He hoped to find relief at Hut Point. Failing this, he would go on if possible to Cape Evans.

Crean came in to say good-bye to me. I thanked him for what he was doing in a weak, broken sort of way, and Lashly held open the little round tent door to let me see the last of him. He strode out n.o.bly and finely--I wondered if I should ever see him, again. Then Lashly came in to me, shut the tent door, and made me a little porridge out of some oatmeal we got from the last depot we had pa.s.sed.

After I had eaten it he made me comfortable by laying me on Crean's sleeping-bag, which made my own seem softer, for I was very, very sore after being dragged a hundred miles on a jolting, jumping sledge. Then I slept and awoke to find Lashly's kind face looking down at me. There were very few wounded men in the Great War nursed as I was by him.

A couple of days pa.s.sed, and every now and then Lashly would open up the tent door, go out and search the horizon for some possible sign of relief. The end had nearly come, and I was past caring; we had no food, except a few paraffin saturated biscuits, and Lashly in his weakened state without food could never have marched in. He took it all very quietly--a n.o.ble, steel true man--but relief did come at the end of that day when everything looked its blackest.

We heard the baying of the dogs, first once, then again. Lashly, who was lying down by my side quietly talking, sprang to his feet, looked out, and saw!

They galloped right up to the tent door, and the leader, a beautiful gray dog named Krisravitsa, seemed to understand the situation, for he came right into the tent and licked my hands and face. I put my poor weak hands up and gripped his furry ears. Perhaps to hide my feelings I kissed his old hairy, Siberian face with the kiss that was meant for Lashly. We were both dreadfully affected at our rescue.

Atkinson and the Russian dog-boy, Dimitri, had come out hot-foot to save us, and of all men in the Expedition none could have been better chosen than "Little Aitch," our clever naval doctor. After resting his dogs and feeding me with carefully prepared foodstuffs, he got me on one sledge and Lashly on the other, the dogs were given their head, and in little more than three hours we covered the thirty-five miles into Hut Point, where I was glad to see Crean's face once more and to hear first hand about his march. It had taken him eighteen hours' plodding through those awful snows from our camp to Hut Point, where fortunately he met Atkinson and Dimitri and told them of my condition.

After the Expedition was over the King gave Lashly and Crean the Albert Medal for their bravery in helping me win through.

It is little enough tribute that I have dedicated this book to these two gallant fellows.

CHAPTER XVI

THE POLE ATTAINED--SCOTT'S LAST MARCHES

The details of Scott's final march to the Pole, and the heartrending account of his homeward journey, of Evans's sad death, of Oates's n.o.ble sacrifice, and of the martyr like end of Wilson, Bowers, and Scott himself have been published throughout the length and breadth of the civilised world. In "Scott's Last Expedition"--Vol. I. the great explorer's journals are practically reproduced in their entirety. Mr.

Leonard Huxley, who arranged them in 1913, had had to do with Scott's first work, "The Voyage of the 'Discovery'," and, as Mr. Huxley has said, these two works needed but little editing. Scott's last fine book was written as he went along, and those of us who have survived the Expedition and the Great War, and we are few, are more than proud to count ourselves among the company he chose.

A synopsis of his march from 87 degrees 35 minutes to the South Pole, and a recapitulation of the events which marked the homeward march must certainly find their way into this book, which is after all only the husk of the real story.

However much the story is retold--and it has been retold by members of the Expedition as well as by others--the re-telling will never approach the story as told by Scott himself: for the kernel one must turn to Volume I, of "Scott's Last Expedition": However, perhaps I can give something of interest; here is what little Bowers says in extracts from his diary, given me by his mother:

"_January_ 4.--Packed up sledge with four weeks and three days' food for five men, five sleeping-bags, etc. I had my farewell breakfast with Teddy Evans, Crean and Lashly. Teddy was frightfully cut up at not going to the Pole, he had set his heart on it so.

"I am afraid it was a very great disappointment to him, and I felt very sorry about it. Poor Teddy, I am sure it was for his wife's sake he wanted to go. He gave me a little silk flag she had given him to fly on the Pole. After so little sleep the previous night I rather dreaded the march.

"We gave our various notes, messages, and letters to the returning party and started off. They accompanied us for about a mile before turning, to see that all was going on well.

"Our party was on ski with the exception of myself. I first made fast to the central span, but afterwards connected up to the bow of the sledge, pulling in the centre between the inner ends of Captain Scott's and Dr. Wilson's traces.

"This was found to be the best place, as I had to go my own step.

Teddy and party gave us three cheers and Crean was half in tears. They had a featherweight sledge to go back with, of course, and ought to run down their distance easily.

"We found we could manage our load easily, and did 6.3 miles before lunch, completing 12.5 by 7.15 p.m. Our marching hours are nine per day. It is a long slog with a well-loaded sledge, and more tiring for me than the others as I have no ski. However, as long as I can do my share all day and keep fit, it does not matter much one way or the other.

"We had our first north wind on the Plateau to-day, and a deposit of snow crystals made the surface like sand latterly on the march. The sledge dragged like lead. In the evening it fell calm, and although the temperature was 16 degrees it was positively pleasant to stand about outside the tent and bask in the sun's rays. It was our first calm since we reached the summit too. Our socks and other damp articles which we hang out to dry at night became immediately covered with long feathery crystals exactly like plumes.

"Socks, mitts, and finneskoe dry splendidly up here during the night.

We have little trouble with them compared with spring and winter journeys. I generally spread my bag out in the sun during the 1 1/2 hours of lunch time, which gives the reindeer hair a chance to get rid of the damage done by the deposit of breath and any perspiration during the night...."

He seemed to have made no entry for some days after this, but he is interesting to quote later.

The Polar Party covered the 145 geographical miles that remained in a fortnight; on the 7th January they reached apparently the summit of the Plateau, 10,570 ft. in Lat.i.tude 88 degrees 18 minutes 70 seconds S.

Longitude 157 degrees 21 minutes E., but their marches fell short of expectations due to the bad surfaces met with.

Scott kept copious notes in his diary of everything that mattered. He was delighted with his final selection, and as usual pithy and to the point when describing. Here, for example, is something of what he wrote of his companions:

(From Scott's Last Expedition, Vol. 1)

"WILSON.--Quick, careful and dexterous, ever thinking of some fresh expedient to help the camp life; tough as steel on the traces, never wavering from start to finish.

"PETTY OFFICER EVANS.--A giant worker, with a really remarkable headpiece--he is responsible for every sledge, every sledge-fitting, tents, sleeping-bags, harness, and when one cannot recall a single expression of dissatisfaction with any one of these items, it shows what an invaluable a.s.sistant he has been....

"BOWERS.--Little Bowers remains a marvel--he is thoroughly enjoying himself. I leave all the provision arrangements in his hands, and at all times he knows exactly how we stand ... Nothing comes amiss to him, and no work is too hard....

"OATES.--Each is invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period with the ponies: now he is a foot slogger and goes hard the whole time, does his share of camp work and stands the hardships as well as any of us.

I would not like to be without him either. So our five people are perhaps as happily selected as it is possible to imagine."

Certainly no living man could have taken Scott's place effectively as leader of our Expedition--there was none other like him. He was the Heart, Brain, and Master.

On January 11 just the slightest descent had been made, the height up being now 10,540 ft., but it will be noticed that they were then getting temperatures as low as 26 degrees below zero: my party on that date got 10 degrees higher thermometer readings. Surface troubles continued to waylay them, and their distances, even with five men, were disappointing, due undoubtedly to this.

On 13th both Bowers and Scott write of a surface like sand, and of tugging and straining when they ought to be moving easily. On 14th some members began to feel the cold unmistakably, and on the following day the whole party were quite done on camping.

The saddest note on the outward march is struck on January 16 when Bowers sighted a cairn of snow and a black speck, which turned out to be a black flag tied to a sledge runner, near the remains of a camp--this after such a hopeful day on the 15th, when a depot of nine days food was made only 27 miles from the Pole--and Scott wrote in his diary:

"... It ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian Flag forestalling ours...."

Still, there it was, dog tracks, many of them, were picked up and followed to the Polar Area. Scott, Wilson, Oates, Bowers, and Seaman Evans reached the South Pole on 17th January, 1912, a horrible day, temperature 22 degrees below zero. The party fixed the exact spot by means of one of our little four-inch theodolites, and the result of their careful observations located the Pole at a point which only differed from Amundsen's "fix" by half a mile, as shown by his flag.

This difference actually meant that the British and Norwegian observers differed by _one scale division on the theodolite_, which was graduated to half a minute of arc.

Experts in navigation and surveying will always look on this splendidly accurate determination as a fine piece of work by our own people as well as by the Norwegian Expedition.

Lady Scott has remarked on the magnificent spirit shown by her husband and his four specially-selected tent-mates when they knew that Queen Alexandra's little silk Union Jack had been antic.i.p.ated by the flag of another nation. Scott and his companions had done their best, and never from one of them came an uncharitable remark.

In our Expedition Committee Minute Book it is recorded that the following were found at the Pole: