The Worst Journey in the World (78 page)

November 16. Early morning.
When we were ready to start with the dogs
it was blowing a thick blizzard, but the mules had already started some
time, when it was not thick. We had to wait until nearly 4 A.M. before we
could start, and came along following tracks. It is very warm and the
surface is covered with loose snow, but the slide in it seems good. We
found the mules here at the Cairn and Cross, having been able to find
their way partly by the old tracks.

I have been trying to draw the grave. Of all the fine monuments in the
world none seems to me more fitting; and it is also most impressive.

November 17. Early morning.
I think we are all going crazy together—at
any rate things are pretty difficult. The latest scheme is to try and
find a way over the plateau to Evans Coves, trying to strike the top of a
glacier and go down it. There can be no good in it: if ever men did it,
they would arrive about the time the ship arrived there too, and their
labour would be in vain. If they got there and the ship did not arrive,
there is another party stranded. They would have to wait till February 15
or 20 to see if the ship was coming, and then there would be no
travelling back over the plateau: even if we could do it those men there
could not.

It was almost oppressively hot yesterday—but I'll never grumble about
heat again. It has now cleared a lot and we came along on the cairns
easily—but on a very soft downy surface, and the travelling has not been
fast. We bring with us the Southern Party's gear. The sledge, which was
the 10-foot which they brought on from the bottom of the glacier, has
been left.

November 18. Early morning.
I am thankful to say that the plateau
journey idea has been given up.

Once more we have come along in thick, snowy weather. If we had not men
on ski to steer we could never keep much of a course, but Wright is
steering us very straight, keeping a check on the course by watching the
man behind, and so far we have been picking up all the cairns. This
morning we passed the pony walls made on November 10. And yet they were
nearly level with the ground; so they are not much of a mark. Yank has
just had a disagreement with Kusoi—for Kusoi objected to his trying to
get at the meat on the sledge. The mules have been sinking in a long way,
and are marching very slowly. Pyaree eats the tea-leaves after meals:
Rani and Abdullah divide a rope between them at the halts; and they have
eaten the best part of a trace since our last camp. These animals eat
anything but their proper food, and this some of them will hardly touch.

It cleared a bit for our second march, and we have done our 13 miles, but
it was very slow travelling. Now it is drifting as much as ever. Yank,
that redoubtable puller, has just eaten himself loose for the third time
since hoosh. This time I had to go down to the pony walls to get him.

We have had onions for the first time to-night in our hoosh—they are
most excellent. Also we have been having some Nestlé's condensed milk
from One Ton Depôt—which I do not want to see again, the depôt I mean.
Peary must know what he is about, taking milk as a ration: the sweetness
is a great thing, but it would be heavy: we have been having it with
temperature down to -14°, when it was quite manageable, but I don't know
what it would be like in colder temperatures.

November 19. Early morning.
We have done our 13 miles to-day and have
got on to a much better surface. By what we and others have seen before,
it seems that last winter must have generally been an exceptional one.
There have been many parties out here: we have never before seen this
wind-swept surface, on which it is often too slippery to walk
comfortably. I do not know what temperatures the Discovery had in April,
but it was much colder last April than it was the year before. And then
nothing had been experienced down here to compare with the winds last
winter.

There was a high wind and a lot of drift yesterday during the day, and
now it is blowing and drifting as usual. During the last nine days there
has only been one, the day we found the tent, when it has not been
drifting during all or part of the day. It is all right for travelling
north, but we should be having very uncomfortable marches if we were
marching the other way.

November 20. Early morning.
To-day we have seemed to be walking in
circles through space. Wright, by dint of having a man behind to give him
a fixed point to steer upon, has steered us quite straight, and we have
picked up every cairn. The pony party camped for lunch by two cairns, but
they never knew the two cairns were there until a piece of paper blew
away and had to be fetched: and it was caught against one of the cairns.
They left a flag there to guide us, and though we saw and brought along
the flag, we never saw the cairns. The temperature is -22.5°, and it is
now blowing a full blizzard. All this snow has hitherto been lying on the
ground and making a very soft surface, for though the wind has always
been blowing it has never been very strong. This snow and wind, which
have now persisted for nine out of the last ten days, make most
dispiriting marches; for there is nothing to see, and finding tracks or
steering is a constant strain. We are certainly lucky to have been able
to march as we have.

Note on Mules.
—The most ardent admirer of mules could not say that
they were a success. The question is whether they might be made so. There
was really only one thing against them but that is a very important
one—they would not eat on the Barrier. From the time they went away to
the day they returned (those that did return, poor things) they starved
themselves, and yet they pulled biggish loads for 30 days.

If they would have eaten they would have been a huge success. They
travelled faster than the ponies and, with one exception, kept together
better than the ponies. If both were eating their ration it is
questionable whether a good mule or a good pony is to be preferred. Our
mules were of the best, and they were beautifully trained and equipped by
the Indian Government: yet on November 13, a fortnight from the start,
Wright records, "mules are a poor substitute for ponies. Not many will
see Hut Point again, I think. Doubt if any would have got much farther
than this if surfaces had been as bad this year as last."
^[275]

Though they would not eat oats, compressed fodder and oil-cake, they were
quite willing to eat all kinds of other things. If we could have arrived
at the mule equivalent to a vegetarian diet they might have pulled to the
Beardmore without stopping. The nearest to this diet at which we could
arrive was saennegrass, tea-leaves, tobacco ash and rope—all of which
were eaten with gusto. But supplies were very limited. They ate
dog-biscuit as long as they thought we were not looking—but as soon as
they realized they were meant to eat it they went on hunger-strike again.
But during halts at cairns Rani and Pyaree would stand solemnly chewing
the same piece of rope from different ends. Abdullah always led the line,
and followed Wright's ski tracks faithfully, so that if another man was
ahead and Wright turned aside Abdullah always turned too. It was quite a
manoeuvre for Wright to read the sledge-meter at the back of the
sledge. As for Begum: "Got Begum out of a soft patch by rolling her
over."
^[276]

On the whole the mules failed to adapt themselves to this life, and as
such must at present be considered to be a failure for Antarctic work.
Certainly those of our ponies which had the best chance to adapt
themselves went farthest, such as Nobby and Jimmy Pigg, both of whom had
experience of Barrier sledging before they started on the Polar Journey.

November 21. Early morning.
It has cleared at last, the disturbance
rolling away to the east during our first march. The surface was very bad
and the mules were not going well. At this time last year many of the
ponies were still quite difficult to make stand just before starting. But
these mules start off now most dolefully. I am afraid they will not all
get back to Hut Point.

Two and a half miles after lunch, i.e. just over forty miles from the
depôt, we turned out to the eastward and found the gear left by the
Second Return Party, when Evans was so ill. The theodolite, which
belonged to Evans, is I believe there, but though we dug all round we
were unable to find it. The ski were all upright, drifted to within six
inches of the shoes. Most of the gear was clothing, which we have left,
with the skis, in the tank. We brought on a roll of Birdie's photographs,
taken on the plateau, and three geological specimens: deep-seated rocks I
think. This was all of importance that there was there.

The N Ration, which we have now come to, consists of about 40 oz. of
food. At present, doing the work we are doing, and with these high
temperatures, -23° when we started, for instance, and -17° now, the men
do not want it. For what it was intended for, hard man-hauling, it would
probably be an excellent ration, and very satisfying.

November 22. Early morning.
We could not have had a more perfect night
to march. Yesterday at 4 P.M., holding the thermometer in the sun, the
spirit rose to 30°: it was almost too warm in the tent. The cairns show
very plainly—in such weather navigation of this kind would be dead easy.
But they are already being eaten away and toppling. The pony walls are
drifted level—huge drifts, quite hard, running up to windward and down
to lee.

The dogs are getting more hungry, and want to get at the mules, which
makes them go better. They went very well to-day, but too fast once, for
we had a general mix-up: Bieliglass under the sledge and the rest all
tangled up and ready for a fight at the first chance. How one of the
front pair of dogs got under the sledge is a mystery.

Among the Polar Party's gear is a letter to the King of Norway. It was
left by the Norwegians for Scott to take back. It is wrapped in a piece
of thin windcloth with one dark check line in it. Coarser and rougher
and, I should say, heavier than our Mandelbergs.

November 23. Early morning.
We were to make Dimitri Depôt this morning,
but we came on in a fog, and the mule party camped after running down the
distance. Wright came back and said, "If we have passed it, it's over
there"—and as he pointed the depôt showed—not more than 200 yards away.
So that is all right. We, the dog party, go on in advance to-morrow, so
that no time may be lost, and if the ice is still good, Atkinson will get
over to Cape Evans.

November 24. Early morning.
A glut of foot-walloping in soft snow and
breaking crusts. We have done between 17 and 18 miles to-day. We saw no
crevasses, and have marked the course well, building up the cairns and
leaving two flags—so the mule party should be all right. The dogs were
going well behind the ponies, but directly we went ahead they seemed to
lose heart. I think they are tired of the Barrier: a cairn now awakens
little interest: they know it is only a mark and it does not mean a
camp: they are all well fed, and fairly fat and in good condition. With a
large number of dogs I suppose one team can go ahead when it is going
well—changing places with another—each keeping the others going. But I
do not think that these dogs now will do much more; but they have already
done as much as any dogs of which we have any record.

The land is clearing gradually. I have never seen such contrasts of black
rock and white snow, and White Island was capped with great ranges of
black cumulus, over which rose the pure white peaks of the Royal Society
Range in a blue sky. The Barrier itself was quite a deep grey, making a
beautiful picture. And now Observation Hill and Castle Rock are in front.
I don't suppose I shall ever see this view again: but it is associated
with many memories of returning to home and plenty after some long and
hard journeys: in some ways I feel sorry—but I have seen it often
enough.

November 25. Early morning.
We came in 24 miles with our loads, to find
the best possible news—Campbell's Party, all well, are at Cape Evans.
They arrived here on November 6, starting from Evans Coves on September
30. What a relief it is, and how different things seem now! It is the
first real bit of good news since February last—it seems an age. We mean
to get over the sea-ice, if possible, as soon as we can, and then we
shall hear their story.

November 26. Early morning.
Starting from Hut Point about 6.45 P.M.
last evening, we came through by about 9 P.M., and sat up talking and
hearing all the splendid news till past 2 A.M. this morning.

All the Northern Party look very fat and fit, and they are most cheerful
about the time they have had, and make light of all the anxious days they
must have spent and their hard times.

I cannot write all their story. When the ship was battling with the pack
to try and get in to them they had open water in Terra Nova Bay to the
horizon, as seen from 200 feet high. They prepared for the winter,
digging their hut into a big snowdrift a mile from where they were
landed. They thought that the ship had been wrecked—or that every one
had been taken off from here, and that then the ship had been blown north
by a succession of furious gales which they had and could not get back.
They never considered seriously the possibility of sledging down the
coast before the winter. They got settled in and were very warm—so warm
that in August they did away with one door, of which they had three, of
biscuit boxes and sacking.

Their stove was the bottom of an oil tin, and they cooked by dripping
blubber on to seal bones, which became soaked with the blubber, and
Campbell tells me they cooked almost as quickly as a primus. Of course
they were filthy. Their main difficulty was dysentery and ptomaine
poisoning.