by Chris Turney
In the report that followed the expedition, the Meteorological Office assumed—quite reasonably—that Royds’s undeclared magnetic wind directions were true geographic bearings. A review of the meteorological report in the Times Literary Supplement made painful reading: ‘How much longer shall we have to wait in England for those entrusted with national affairs to appreciate a little more seriously the requirements of scientific investigation? Probably until the constant leak and loss which we suffer in ignorance are made plainer by one or more exceptional disasters.’
It did not matter that Scott considered the Meteorological Office to be at fault; the damage was done. Other aspects of the Discovery’s scientific program had also been criticised. John Walter Gregory, the scientist who had so nearly led the expedition, remarked: ‘It is disappointing to learn that we cannot expect any additions to the deep-sea fauna of the Southern ocean,’ and, ‘More than once during the course of the expedition the observations desired were accidentally noticed, but the conditions are not stated with sufficient precision to be of service.’ At the 1908 meeting of the Physical Society of London the organisation’s president, Charles Chree, stated that another national Antarctic expedition should have something akin to a ‘scientific court martial’ to make sure the outputs were of sufficient quality. The message was clear: Scott was on a short leash.
‘I have arranged for a scientific staff larger than that which has been carried by any previous expedition, and for a very extensive outfit of scientific instruments and impedimenta,’ Scott told the RGS. He enlisted his old friend and colleague from the Discovery Edward Wilson, who agreed to be the chief of scientific staff, zoologist and the expedition’s doctor. Together they set about choosing the men they needed for the job.
One of the most important questions for scientists of the era was how the Antarctic fitted into the world’s climate system. Early on it had been suggested that there was a low-pressure system that sat over the region, with the air flowing southwards until it reached the pole, where it rose, returning at high altitude northwards to descend over the tropics. With the rising air, it was reasoned, there would be ample snowfall over Antarctica, helping to build and maintain the icecap. But in 1898, at a Royal Society discussion in London, John Murray concluded from Ross’s observations of southerly winds bringing clear skies to the extreme south that there was a vast high-pressure system—an anticyclone—over the South Geographic Pole. If this opposing view was true, it implied air was descending over the pole, not rising. Snowfall would be considerably less, meaning Antarctica had to be made up of ancient ice that built extraordinarily slowly compared to that in the north.
There were some tantalising clues to which theory was correct. The Belgica expedition noted a change in prevailing winds, from westerly in winter to easterly in summer. One interpretation of this was that the hypothesised anticyclone shifted towards the eastern hemisphere in winter as a result of a cold centre developing on that side. This not only meant a high-pressure system was the dominant feature over the ice, but that a major part of the continental mass lay to the east—something now known to be the case. Observations of clouds and smoke spouting from the volcano Mount Erebus also seemed to show there was a poleward flow of the upper air, and that the cold surface layer was probably no more than fifteen hundred metres high.
If this was all correct, how to explain the huge amount of ice seen in Antarctica? After the Discovery expedition Scott had remarked, ‘I must add that the warm snow-bearing southerly winds which we experienced have not yet been explained. Even in the depth of winter this wind had sometimes a temperature of +10° to +15° [Fahrenheit].’ Scott had previously reported that warmer conditions were associated with the greatest amount of snowfall, paradoxically suggesting that during the last ice age conditions were warmer in Antarctica than they were in the present. Evidently no one knew how the new continent worked.
Louis Bernacchi had been responsible for the weather observations on Borchgrevink’s Antarctic expedition and later wrote extensively on the subject. Over twelve months Bernacchi had used a cornucopia of scientific equipment to make daily observations, including maximum and minimum temperatures, atmospheric pressure and wind speed. Great care had to be taken during these observations; many of the instruments struggled in the conditions. For instance, although spirit thermometers had to be used because mercury froze in the Antarctic winter, the fluid was not entirely accurate for measuring such low temperatures. Cup anemometers were used for wind speed, but these gave questionable readings over time, eventually being destroyed by gusts that exceeded 145 kilometres per hour. On his return Bernacchi made a series of recommendations on how to improve the quality of future measurements. With these, and the experience gained by the unfortunate Royds, Scott’s team had essential guidance for the new expedition.
To direct this work Scott and Wilson chose George Simpson, a professional meteorologist who had been working in the Indian Meteorological Service. Simpson enthusiastically raised £500 from his local town to purchase automatic recording thermometers, barometers, anemometers and balloons to capture as much of the Antarctic climate as possible. He diligently followed the recommendations of the Royal Geographical Society’s Hints to Travellers and had the instruments calibrated at Kew. There would be no question over the quality of the data this time.
Scott consulted far and wide on other specialists to recruit, including Edgeworth David, who had now largely patched things up with his wife back in Australia. Top of David’s list was Douglas Mawson, who was visiting London at the end of the year. Mawson cabled ahead to Scott and asked whether he would be available to meet to discuss Antarctic research. Scott agreed, but was surprised to find the young Australian was not offering to enlist with him.
Instead, Mawson asked Scott if he had ‘thought of the coast W. of C. Adare’. Mawson noted in his diary: ‘He said that he had not. I expounded the value of it to him and stated that I would join him if he would land me and a party of 3 on that coast. He was much interested in it…I was put down as a member of his expedition to be confirmed by me within 3 weeks. We had talked from noon till 3 pm. He offered me not less than £800 for the 2 years and that I should be one of 3 to form the final pole party provided nothing unforeseen happened before the final dash.’
The offer to go for the pole did not appeal to Mawson, who wanted to lead a largely scientific endeavour. His choice of Cape Adare was significant. During Borchgrevink’s first visit to Antarctica he had collected geological specimens, and David’s later study of them had suggested a connection to Australia. It was a hint of the landbridge connecting the continents that Mawson had pondered when he wrote to David about joining him in the south with Shackleton.
Later that month Mawson met Scott and Wilson at the expedition headquarters. Scott felt he had his hands full with the expedition plans and, according to Mawson, ‘took up a defensive attitude when I told him I would go to the north coast myself. He stated that it had always been his intention to do what he could around the north coast but could promise nothing—In fact he had now set his mind on picking the plums out of the north coast by a boat reconnaissance on the return of the ship.’ Mawson might still have joined Scott if he had been made chief scientist, but Wilson already had that position. It seems Mawson was happy to keep his distance: ‘I did not like Dr Wilson,’ he noted in his diary.
Wilson later wrote to Edgeworth David, telling him that Mawson would not be joining them. ‘His reason,’ Wilson explained, ‘was that there was no work to be done which he considered worth his while, either at King Edward’s Land, or from McMurdo Sound, either S. or W. He would have reconsidered his position had Captain Scott seen his way to landing him as one of the party any where on the coast westward along from Cape North. But until King Edward’s Land is worked out this could not form part of our programme.’ In February 1910 Mawson’s proposed research agenda was low on the British expedition’s list of priorities.
David recommended three young men as alt
ernative geologists: Raymond Priestley, who had been south with Shackleton, Frank Debenham and Griffith Taylor. The last was known for his strong views, which were sometimes forcibly given; Taylor would in later life declare, ‘I do not believe that either mental or physical work of a high order is possible for the average Britisher when the wet bulb registers much above 75 degrees,’ and would argue the climate of the Australian interior meant it would be best settled by Mongoloids. Still, he was a superb geologist.
Mawson knew him, and expressed his frustration at the British leader’s unwillingness to consider Cape Adare: ‘I am almost getting up an expedition of my own—Scott will not do certain work that ought to be done—I quite agree that to do much would be to detract from his chances of the Pole and because of that I am not pressing the matter any further. Certainly I think he is missing the main possibilities of scientific work in the Antarctic by travelling over Shackleton’s old route. However he must beat the Yankees…’
Other men were brought in to support the expedition for logistic or financial reasons. Before Scott’s effort, one member of an exploration team would traditionally be assigned the role of photographer. Now they had a professional within the ranks. Herbert Ponting, a ‘camera artist’, would record the expedition in photographs and on film. The work would help raise much-needed funds, particularly for the second year of the expedition, as Ponting could show a supportive public film and photographs on his return from the first southern summer.
Apsley Cherry-Garrard—Cherry, as he was known on the expedition—and a military man, Captain Lawrence ‘Titus’ Oates, both paid £1000 and joined. And, learning of a possible competing Welsh Antarctic Expedition to be led by Edward ‘Teddy’ Evans—one of the officers on the Morning, which had brought Shackleton home from Antarctica in 1903—Scott invited the young naval lieutenant to join him as his second-in-command. Evans readily agreed.
Nineteen hundred and nine was not a good year to go knocking on people’s doors asking for money. The Liberal chancellor David Lloyd George’s People’s Budget aimed to eliminate poverty in Britain by redistributing the national wealth through taxes on the better-off. The rich were not feeling—outwardly, at least—flush. And it was the rich who Antarctic explorers traditionally sought help from.
Scott was not the only one to struggle. The Scottish were one of the first to find it too much, and they failed to get their Antarctic venture off the ground. The possibility of American competition aided the British fundraising effort, but across the Atlantic the public battle between Peary and Cook over the North Pole failed to galvanise opinion about joining the race south. Financial support dwindled, ending the prospect of an American expedition to Antarctica.
With the American and Scottish teams seemingly out of the running, Scott was more determined than ever to make his expedition a reality. Travelling across the country he gave public lectures, held private talks, and approached companies and schools to sponsor equipment. For all his efforts, though, Scott was nervous about promising rich mineral reserves, and his approaches to possible backers were lacklustre. ‘It would be foolish,’ he said to a Manchester audience in February 1910, ‘to hold out a great prospect of the discovery of workable minerals. But if there were such minerals in the South Polar region it was certain we could not get them without going to look for them.’ His deputy, Evans, was not so shy on the subject and used the promise of riches to great effect, garnering substantial funds for the coffers.
The trips around the country were not all about acquiring donations. They were also a chance to meet scientists and engineers to discuss expedition plans. The pioneering Marie Stopes, an expert in ancient plants, allegedly danced the night away with Scott in Manchester, and the young scientist extolled the virtues of finding Glossopteris leaves during the expedition. She implored the naval officer to take her south with him. Scott declined, but later visited Stopes at the university to learn more about the fossils she had described so excitedly on the dance floor. Unlike the lead-up to Scott’s previous journey, fundraising was indirectly helping to develop the expedition’s research program.
Scott had intended to take the Discovery south again, but the vessel had been sold and its new owners would not release it. There were not many other choices. Though Shackleton’s Nimrod was available, Scott selected the old whaling vessel that had been sent south in 1904 to extract him and his men, the Terra Nova. The ship cost £12,500, more than a quarter of his original budget, and was in a sorry state. As Evans would later write, ‘Poor little ship, she looked so dirty and uncared for…I often blushed when admirals came down to see our ship, she was so very dirty.’
Removing the whale-blubber tanks, with their overpowering stench, workers scrubbed the Terra Nova inside and out, and prepared the vessel in earnest for the expedition’s needs. New living spaces were installed, laboratories were put on the poop, the hull was reinforced and a large freezer placed on the upper deck. Because the freezer was free of iron, it was also home to the ship’s compass and the Lloyd-Creak dipping circle—meaning the measurements would be taken alongside 150 frozen mutton carcasses.
As early as 1906 Scott was toying with the innovative idea of a motorised sledge for travelling on the ice. The following year he had approached his friend and colleague from the Discovery expedition Reginald Skelton, a naval engineering officer, about helping with its design and going south with him. Skelton threw all his spare time into the project. Originally the plan was to have ‘an ordinary sledge propelled by a broad drum or wheel with “paddles” or “ridges” on its rim, the wheel to be situated between the sledge runners, like the stern wheel of a river steamer and driven by say an 8–10 HP petrol motor’. With two air-cooled cylinders, this new type of sledge was designed to carry twenty-two times what a man could pull, at a healthy pace of five kilometres an hour. If it worked, it would make a world of difference.
In March 1908 the first prototype was ready for tests in the French Alps. The results were not encouraging: the engine and wheels could not handle the conditions, and the men went home dejected. Skelton went back to the drawing board, returning to a notion he had been playing with for some time. Writing to Scott, Skelton remarked: ‘I was trying to think of some arrangement to lay its own track…the same arrangement of engine as before, but the sledge is lengthened and a second broad wheel added and a flexible band with ridges as its outer surface.’ This pioneering concept was the forerunner of the tank that would be used in France during World War I.
By March 1910 the redesigned sledge was ready for testing in Norway. Watched on by Nansen, the new motors successfully negotiated slopes and dragged sledges behind, apparently effortlessly. Although there was no steering—a man up front would pull on a rope attached to the front to alter direction—the press loved the contraption. With time of the essence, Scott had to hope that the motorised sledges would be as effective in the south and transport supplies across the Great Ice Barrier. He later recorded in his diary: ‘A small measure of success [for the expedition] will be enough to show their possibilities, their ability to revolutionise Polar transport.’
Scott was fascinated by Shackleton’s near miss with the South Geographic Pole and, remembering Armitage’s obsession with horses, decided to try them himself. Cecil Meares, a mysterious multilingual adventurer with alleged links to British Intelligence, was dispatched to Siberia to buy dogs, about which he knew a lot, and ponies, about which he knew nothing. The quality of the two hundred or so horses available at the market was not brilliant, from all accounts, and became even less so with Scott’s instructions to buy only white and grey steeds after Shackleton’s observation that the darker horses tended to fare worst of all on the Nimrod expedition. The belief was that white animals might better resist the cold, and nineteen were bought, delighting the pony seller who was said to conclude the deal with a ‘plenty big smile’.
Oates, a decorated veteran of the Boer War who would be responsible for the horses on the expedition, was appalled at their state an
d described them as the ‘greatest lot of crocks I have ever seen’. Frank Debenham, one of the geologists, described it as a ‘curious blunder’. Perhaps suspecting the horses may not be enough, Scott also invited an expert Norwegian skier, Tryggve Gran—who had also been considering taking his own expedition south—to train members of the team in the use of skis.
If all this failed, the expedition could always fall back on man-hauling the sledges. Scott famously wrote of his Discovery expedition:
Dogs greatly increase the radius of action, but to pretend that they can be worked to this end without pain, suffering, and death is futile. Such sordid necessity robs sledge travelling by dogs of much of its glory. In my mind, no journey ever made with dogs can approach the height of the fine conception which is realized when a party of men go forth to face hardships, dangers, and difficulties with their own unaided efforts, and by days and weeks of hard physical labour succeed in solving some problem of the great unknown. Surely in this case the conquest is more nobly and splendidly won.
Teddy Evans abhorred the idea of being second-in-command alongside the engineer Skelton, who held a higher rank as commander. Skelton, recognising that this was not a naval operation, said he would be happy to take a civilian title if it would help. The offer was not enough. Evans flatly refused to work with him, and Scott was forced to let Skelton go, despite the three years of work he had done for the expedition. It was not an auspicious start.
And yet, for all the personality clashes, the team was remarkably cosmopolitan. Many of the British members had enlisted from across the Empire, and were accompanied by Gran from Norway, the Australian geologists and two Russian dog drivers who had joined with Meares.