The Worst Journey in the World (25 page)

After having done seventeen miles we got a lull and stopped to camp right
away. We were pretty quick about it, and fortunately got the ponies
picketed, and tent pitched, before the wind came down on us again. We
were pretty hungry by the time the walls were erected. Still we were
quite happy, ate everything we could get, except the three lumps of sugar
I always kept for old Uncle Bill out of my whack. The little blow blew
itself out towards evening and in perfect calm and sunshine I got a
splendid set of observations. Erebus and Terror were showing up as clear
as a bell and I got a large number of angles for Evans' survey. We
started out as usual, and had the most pleasant, as well as the longest,
of our return marches on the last day of summer, February 22. We did
eighteen miles right off the reel, the sun was brilliant from midnight
onwards. He now half immersed himself below the horizon for a short
interval once in 24 hours. All old cairns were visible a tremendous
distance, six or seven miles at least for big ones. Mount Terror lay
straight ahead and looked so clear that it seemed impossible to imagine
it 70 miles away. At the end of our march we saw a small cairn beyond our
8th outward camp mound. Nobody would have rigged up another cairn so
close without an object, so the thought of a dead horse flashed through
my mind at once. Titus was so sure that Blücher would never get back,
that he had bet Gran a biscuit on it. I saw the cairn had a fodder bale
on the top, and later saw a note made fast to the wire. It was in Teddy
Evans' handwriting and to our surprise recorded Blossom's death. Titus
was so sure that Blossom would survive Blücher that we started to think
back and thus the mystery of X Cairn was clear to me. I was quite certain
now that both the ancient ponies had died and that Jimmy Pigg had
returned alone. The following day (February 23) was a good marching day
also, but a bit cloudy latterly. We did fourteen miles as this evidence
of pony failure made us all the more anxious about ours, though really
they were going very well. About eight miles on we came to one of Evans'
camps and the solitary pony wall told its own tale of the death of the
other two. He must have had a miserable return. At eleven miles there
were two bales of fodder depôted, we were only 50 miles odd from our
destination off Cape Armitage, and had one meal over three days' food.
If, therefore, we could average 15 miles a day that would suffice. It was
a silly risk in view of blizzards and other possibilities, chiefly our
own inexperience. As it was I took it and left the fodder there for next
year.

February 24 was another march into impenetrable gloom. Fortunately Corner
Camp, though dark enough, was not shaded in mist. I examined it for notes
and evidence and found some. The sun set properly now, and had we been
farther from home I should have changed to day marching. I have seldom
seen such a scene of utter desolation as Corner Camp presented on that
gloomy day. The fog then settled down and like people of the mist, we
struck off blindly to the N.W. At 3.15 A.M. a light S. breeze came away;
I dreaded a blizzard with so little pony food, and already regretted my
folly in leaving the fodder. After doing twelve miles we had to camp, as
it was impossible even to march straight in the white haze. We made five
colossal walls and turned in, hoping for the best. Fortune favours the
reckless, as well as the brave, at times, and it did this time, as the
blizzard still held off. The signs of one impending were unmistakable
notwithstanding. Weary Willie did less well on February 25, and as the
surface became heavier, we had to camp after only doing eleven miles.

I thought best in view of the threatening appearance of the weather to
have a six hours' rest, and march into Safety Camp the same day, a
distance of eight miles. We found to our horror that Gran had dropped
the top cap of our primus at the last camp. Cold food stared us in face!

However, we did manage to melt some snow for a cheering drink by cutting
a piece of tin as near the shape of the cap as possible. Our biscuit was
finished owing to the ravages of my pony. Before turning in I saw some
specks to the N. and skipping my theodolite on its tripod, looked through
the telescope and saw two tents and a number of ski stuck up.
(This was
Scott's man-hauling party together with Jimmy Pigg, going out to Corner
Camp.)
This we concluded was either a man-hauling, or man and beast party
bound for Corner Camp. We overslept and so did not get away till the
afternoon. It was still very cloudy and threatening. I found that I had
steered considerably to the southward of the right direction in the fog,
and it is lucky we met with no crevasses off White Island. Safety Camp at
last appeared, and the last four miles seemed interminable. We had given
the animals their last feed before starting, not a particle remained, but
they stuck it. The surface was very heavy. Once, however, that they had
seen the camp they never stopped. I suppose they knew they were nearly
home. We marched in about 9.30 P.M. I said 'Thank God' when I looked at
the weather, and the empty sledges. The dogs were in camp, also the dome
tent
(we had some tents shaped like a dome in addition to those we used
for sledging)
, out of which Uncle Bill (the real 'Uncle Bill Wilson') and
Meares emerged. We soon had the ponies behind walls and well fed,
borrowed their primus for ourselves, and had a square meal of pemmican
and biscuit with fids of seal liver in it.

(End of Bowers' Account.)

THE RETURN OF THE DOG PARTY

The history of the dog-teams was eventful. We travelled fast, doing
nearly 78 miles in the first three days, by which time we were
approaching Corner Camp. The dogs were thin and hungry and we were
pushing them each day just so long as they could pull, running ourselves
for the most part. Scott determined to cut the corner, that is to miss
Corner Camp and cut diagonally across our outward track. It was not
expected that this would bring us across any badly crevassed area.

We started on the evening of February 20 in a very bad light. It was
coldish, with no wind. After going about three miles I saw a drop in the
level of the Barrier which the sledge was just going to run over. I
shouted to Wilson to look out, but he had already jumped on to the sledge
(for he was running) having seen Stareek put his paws through. It was a
nasty crevasse, about twenty feet across with blue holes on both sides.
The sledge ran over and immediately on the opposite side was brought up
by a large 'haystack' of pressure which we had not seen owing to the
light. Meares' team, on our left, never saw any sign of pressure. The
light was so bad that we never saw this cairn of ice until we ran into
it.

We ran level for another two miles, Meares and Scott on our left. We were
evidently crossing many crevasses. Quite suddenly we saw the dogs of
their team disappearing, following one another, just like dogs going down
a hole after some animal.

"In a moment," wrote Scott, "the whole team were sinking—two by two we
lost sight of them, each pair struggling for foothold. Osman the leader
exerted all his strength and kept a foothold—it was wonderful to see
him. The sledge stopped and we leapt aside. The situation was clear in
another moment. We had been actually travelling along the bridge
(or snow
covering)
of a crevasse, the sledge had stopped on it, whilst the dogs
hung in their harness in the abyss, suspended between the sledge and the
leading dog. Why the sledge and ourselves didn't follow the dogs we shall
never know."

We of the other sledge stopped hurriedly, tethered our team and went to
their assistance with the Alpine rope. Osman, the big leader, was in
great difficulties. He crouched resisting with all his enormous strength
the pull of the rope upon which the team hung in their harness in mid
air. It was clear that if Osman gave way the sledge and dogs would
probably all be lost down the crevasse.

First we pulled the sledge off the crevasse, and drove the tethering peg
and driving stick through the cross pieces to hold it firm. Scott and
Meares then tried to pull up the rope from Osman's end, while we hung on
to the sledge to prevent it slipping down the crevasse. They could not
move it an inch. We then put the strain as much as possible on to a peg.
Meanwhile two dogs had fallen out of their harness into the crevasse and
could be seen lying on a snow-ledge some 65 feet down. Later they curled
up and went to sleep. Another dog as he hung managed to get some purchase
for his feet on the side of the crevasse, and a free fight took place
among several more of them, as they dangled, those that hung highest
using the backs of those under them to get a purchase.

"It takes one a little time," wrote Scott, "to make plans under such
sudden circumstances, and for some minutes our efforts were rather
futile. We could not get an inch on the main trace of the sledge or on
the leading rope, which was binding Osman to the snow with a throttling
pressure. Then thought became clearer. We unloaded our sledge, putting in
safety our sleeping-bags with the tent and cooker. Choking sounds from
Osman made it clear that the pressure on him must soon be relieved. I
seized the lashing off Meares' sleeping-bag, passed the tent poles across
the crevasse, and with Meares managed to get a few inches on the leading
line; this freed Osman, whose harness was immediately cut.

"Then securing the Alpine rope to the main trace we tried to haul up
together. One dog came up and was unlashed, but by this time the rope had
cut so far back at the edge that it was useless to attempt to get more of
it. But we could now unbend the sledge, and do that for which we should
have aimed from the first, namely, run the sledge across the gap and work
from it. We managed to do this, our fingers constantly numbed. Wilson
held on to the anchored trace whilst the rest of us laboured at the
leader end. The leading rope was very small and I was fearful of its
breaking, so Meares was lowered down a foot or two to secure the Alpine
rope to the leading end of the trace; this done, the work of rescue
proceeded in better order. Two by two we hauled the animals up to the
sledge and one by one cut them out of their harness. Strangely the last
dogs were the most difficult, as they were close under the lip of the
gap, bound in by the snow-covered rope. Finally, with a gasp we got the
last poor creature on to firm snow. We had recovered eleven of the
thirteen."
^[114]

The dogs had been dangling for over an hour, and some of them showed
signs of internal injuries. Meanwhile the two remaining dogs were lying
down the crevasse on a snow-ledge. Scott proposed going down on the
Alpine rope to get them; all his instincts of kindness were aroused, as
well as the thought of the loss of two of the team. Wilson thought it was
a mad idea and very dangerous, and said so, asking however whether he
might not go down instead of Scott if anybody had to go. Scott insisted,
and we paid down the 90-foot Alpine rope to test the distance. The ledge
was about 65 feet below. We lowered Scott, who stood on the ledge while
we hauled up the two dogs in turn. They were glad to see him, and little
wonder!

But the rescued dogs which were necessarily running about loose on the
Barrier, in their mangled harnesses, chose this moment to start a free
fight with the other team. With a hurried shout down the crevasse we had
to rush off to separate them. Nougis I. had been considerably mauled
before this was done—also, incidentally, my heel! But at last we
separated them, and hauled Scott to the surface. It was all three of us
could do and our fingers were frost-bitten towards the end.

Scott's interest in the incident, apart from the recovery of the dogs,
was scientific. Since we were running across the line of cleavage when
the dogs went down, it was to be expected that we should be crossing the
crevasses at right angles, and not be travelling, as actually happened,
parallel to, or along them. While we were getting him up the sixty odd
feet to which we had lowered him he kept muttering: "I wonder why this is
running the way it is—you expect to find them at right angles," and
when down the crevasse he wanted to go off exploring, but we managed to
persuade him that the snow-ledge upon which he was standing was utterly
unsafe, and indeed we could see the nothingness below through the blue
holes in the shelf. Another regret was that we had no thermometer: the
temperature of the inside of the Barrier is of great interest and a
fairly reliable record of the average temperature throughout the year
might have been obtained when so far down into it. Altogether we could
congratulate ourselves on a fortunate ending to a nasty business. We
expected several more miles of crevasses, and the wind was getting up,
driving the surface drift like smoke over the ground, with a very black
sky to the south. We pitched the tent, had a good meal and mended the dog
harness which had been ruthlessly cut in clearing the dogs. Luckily we
found no more crevasses for it was now blowing hard, and rescue work
would have been difficult, and we pushed on as far as possible that
night, doing eleven miles after lunch, and sixteen for the day. It had
been strenuous, for we had been working in or over the crevasse for 2½
hours, and dogs and men were tired out. It cleared and became quite warm
as we camped. There was a pleasant air of friendship in the tent that
night, rather more than usual. That is generally the result of this kind
of business.

We reached Safety Camp next day (February 22) anxious for news of the
ship's doings, the landing of Campbell's party, and of the ponies which
had been sent back from the Bluff Depôt. Lieutenant Evans, Forde and
Keohane, the pony leaders, were there, but only one pony. The other two
had died of exhaustion soon after they left us and we had passed the
cairns which marked their graves without knowledge. Their story was grim,
and they had had a mournful journey back. First Blossom, and then Blücher
collapsed, their ends being hastened by the blizzard of February 1.