An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor (22 page)

However, Crean, Lashly and Evans had returned with a generally optimistic assessment of the polar party’s prospects of reaching the South Pole and returning safely. Crean had kept a constant watch on the horizon, expecting to be caught up by the five men on their way back to Cape Evans.

But, unknown to the outside world, the tragedy started to unfold almost from the moment Scott left Crean, Lashly and Evans on the bleak Polar Plateau straining their eyes for a final glimpse of their doomed colleagues. Although they moved off in hopeful mood, it took Scott less than 24 hours to appreciate the added difficulties of taking the fifth man, Bowers, when the entire operation had been built around four-man teams. On 5 January, the day after leaving the final supporting party, he wrote:

The travelling surface was abominable, a clogging, cloying soft snow covering the frozen wave-like undulations of the ‘sastrugi’, which grew to several feet in height and made dragging the sledge immensely hard. It meant they were moving ever slower in ever falling temperatures. On 7 January they covered only 5 miles in four hours in temperatures of –23 °F (–30 °C). Scott also discovered Evans’ badly cut hand and Bowers, a short man whose little legs sunk deep into the snow, was having a torrid time without his skis which had been depoted miles back on the Plateau. On 14 January he made the first reference to the rundown condition of Oates who, said Scott, was ‘feeling the cold and fatigue more than rest of us’.

Scott, though tired from the heavy hauling, was confident of reaching his goal and on 15 January he wrote:

A day later on Tuesday 16 January, the keen-eyed Bowers spotted a small black speck on the otherwise unblemished white horizon, which spelt the end of their dreams. Initially they thought it might be some piled up snow, but soon it became grimly apparent that this was a man-made object. They pulled on and eventually came across a black flag tied to a sledge bearer, surrounded by clear traces of dog tracks in the snow. ‘The worst has happened,’ Scott wrote.

The next day they marched on to the Pole in temperatures down to –22 °F (–30 °C) and Scott mournfully recorded:

Oates, who took the defeat better than the others, said the dejected men were ‘not a happy party’ that night and Scott
memorably summed up the enormous sense of disappointment after hauling and pulling for almost 900 wearisome miles (1,450 km) in dreadful conditions:

The following day they came across a tent erected by Amundsen which contained a record of the Norwegian’s achievement, a personal letter to Scott and a few items of surplus equipment such as a sextant and some socks. Amundsen, to safeguard news of his great achievement against accident on the return journey, had also asked Scott to deliver a letter to King Haakon VII of Norway. It was humiliating for Scott. His colleague, Raymond Priestley, would later write that Amundsen’s letter transformed Scott from ‘explorer to postman’.

After putting up their ‘poor slighted Union Jack’ and taking a few poignant photographs, the men turned for home. It was, like the last supporting party, going to be a desperate race against time and Scott was well aware of the hazards ahead. As they began the journey, he wrote:

The return journey began fairly late on 18 January, helped by the ground cloth from their tent which they rigged up as a makeshift sail to catch the strong wind blowing into their backs. But it was getting perceptibly colder, with the temperature down to –30 °F (–34 °C) by 23 January and Scott reporting that Evans was ‘a good deal run down’.

Food, too, was causing a problem and on 29 January Scott conceded that the men were not eating enough to satisfy the demands of their continuous heavy labour. In short, they were hungry and getting hungrier as they pulled with increasing effort to cover the distances between supply depots. It is also likely that they were very thirsty.

A day later the men’s worrying physical problems began to emerge, first Wilson straining a tendon in his leg and then Evans began to lose two fingernails because of severe frostbite. Scott was worried about both Evans’ physical and mental condition and wrote:

The route to the pole: Amundsen and Scott’s tracks on their historic 1,800-mile journeys in 1911–2.

On 3 February the indefatigable Bowers stopped writing his diary and on 4 February Evans fell into a shallow crevasse. Scott commented that his long-time comrade was becoming ‘rather dull and incapable’. The next day Scott recorded that Evans was ‘a good deal crocked up’ with frostbitten and suppurating fingers and a ‘very bad’ nose. On 7 February he noted that Evans was ‘going steadily downhill’.

Evans had taken the Norwegian victory very badly, perhaps because it dealt such a severe blow to his ambitions of leaving the navy as a famous explorer and even making some money from his adventures. His demoralisation may also have stemmed from the fact that, psychologically, he was the least equipped to cope with defeat. Wilson suggested in his diary that his failure to cope was because he had never been sick before. Oates wondered how he would manage the remaining 500 miles (800 km) to base camp.

Wilson, the doctor in the party, believed that Evans’ deteriorating health came from concussion sustained when he fell into the crevasse. More likely is the fact that Evans, like the others, was suffering from a serious loss of vitamin C and was in the initial stages of scurvy. A side-effect of scurvy is that the blood vessels became very fragile and it is probable that the fall triggered some form of brain haemorrhage. By 14 February Evans had virtually ceased to function as a full member of the team and on 16 January Scott grimly revealed:

The next day, 17 February, Petty Officer Edgar Evans died. It was ‘a very terrible day’ according to Scott. Shocked and alarmed at the loss of the party’s strongest man, the four survivors pressed on down the last leg of the Beardmore and arrived at Shambles Camp where they feasted on depoted pony meat. For once the hungry men were full.

New life came with a full stomach but as they prepared for the 400-mile (640-km) slog across the Barrier, a new hurdle
emerged as the travelling surface became almost impossible. On 19 February they exhausted themselves all day to cover only 4.6 miles on a surface which was likened to desert sand. Although the loss of the big Welshman provided them with a welcome dose of extra rations, Scott conceded that the party was missing the enormous strength of a fit, vigorous Evans.

As they plodded defiantly onto the Barrier, the men struck another insurmountable hurdle when they discovered a shortage of oil at the depots. The leather washers had perished in the cold and oil had evaporated, leaving the men facing the unhappy prospect of eating cold food and having little spare fuel to melt snow for drinking water. Temperatures were now plummeting and on 28 February the usually calm, influential Wilson ceased keeping his diary.

The men were over 300 miles (480 km) from safety and March began with temperatures sinking to –41.5 °F (–41 °C), or 73.5° of frost. With the rate of progress now slowed to one mile an hour, the men were obliged to march for at least ten hours per day to reach their supply depots.

The next blow came on 2 March when Oates uncovered his feet to show severe frostbite. The pulling had become extremely hard and by now the tired, cold and hungry men were spending one and a half hours each morning simply putting on their footgear, which further slowed them down. It was becoming clear that they were not moving quickly enough and on 5 March Scott wrote:

On 7 March, Amundsen’s ship
Fram
sailed quietly into Hobart, capital of Tasmania, with news that he had reached the South Pole. Amundsen’s triumph was in stark contrast to the defeat staring in the face of Scott and his companions.

Over the next few days Oates’ condition deteriorated and he was unable to get into the man-hauling harness, a
humiliating moment for the once proud cavalry officer. On 10 March Scott reported ‘things steadily downhill’ and said that Oates ‘must know that he can never get through’. Oates asked Wilson if he had any chance of pulling through and Wilson lied when he said he did not know.

By now the exhausted men were only capable of covering 6 miles a day and Scott did a dismal and disheartening sum. In his diary he calculated:

It was a forlorn hope as the winter season approached, with temperatures plunging to –43 °F (–42 °C) at midday on 14 March. Scott insisted that they could not afford to reduce the rations to give them extra marching time.

They were now roughly at the spot where, according to his original plans, Scott had intended to place One Ton Depot. But to save the ponies from more hardship on the depot-laying journey a year earlier, he had placed One Ton about 30 miles further north. Had they reached One Ton, the men might have stood some slim chance of survival. They were in very poor condition but the massive depot contained sufficient quantities of food and fuel which might have given them time to recuperate and regain some strength. The major difficulty would have been the weather, which was deteriorating fast and would have made the 140-mile (225-km) journey to Hut Point perilous and probably impossible.

It is hardly surprising that at this point Scott became confused and mixed up his dates. He was therefore not sure whether it was Friday 16 March or Saturday 17 March when he recorded the ultimate tragedy for Oates.

Oates, bravely, asked to be left behind in his bag, but the three men refused to leave him. In the morning he woke up to the sound of a howling blizzard and, according to Scott, said:
‘I am just going outside and may be some time.’ As he slowly and painfully crawled through the tent flap, the temperature outside in the raging blizzard was –40 °F (–40 °C).

17 March 1912 was the thirty-second birthday of Lawrence Edward Grace Oates.

Scott depoted some surplus gear to lighten their load and set out to make One Ton, some 25–30 miles (40–48 km) away. A stiff wind was blowing and the temperature was down to –35 °F (–37 °C) on 18 March and –40 °F (–40 °C) the next day. Scott’s feet were now in a terrible state and he grimly conceded that ‘amputation is the least I can hope for’.

Scott, Wilson and Bowers stumbled forward by about 4½ miles and on 19 March came to within 11 miles (18 km) of One Ton Depot where they were laid up by another severe blizzard. The men had two days’ food and the fuel had run out, so they were even deprived of the small comfort of a hot drink. The blizzard pummelled their little green tent for the rest of the week and the end probably came on 29 March 1912, exactly 149 days after they had started out from Cape Evans. Scott made his last and most famous entry into his diary on 29 March: