A First Rate Tragedy

by Diana Preston

  ‘Miserable, Utterly Miserable’

  Twenty-third August saw the end of the Antarctic night, but a gale blotted out the returning light. It was three more days before the sun once again gilded the floes. ‘It was glorious to stand bathed in brilliant sunshine once more. We felt very young, sang and cheered . . .’ wrote the forty-three-year-old Scott euphorically. They also drank champagne and even the animals perked up in the sparkling air, going ‘half dotty’ in Teddy Evans’s words. The expedition had come through the winter relatively unscathed. The Cape Crozier party had returned safely, if on their last legs. Atkinson had got lost in a blizzard, blundered about for five hours but survived, albeit with a badly frostbitten hand disfigured with slug-like blisters. ‘The other excitement’, as Wilson put it, ‘was that one of the ponies very nearly died of colic.’

  Everyone’s thoughts now turned to the Polar journey. However, as Scott began to lay his final plans, the expedition’s finances back in England were in a sorry state. The news of Amundsen’s arrival in the Bay of Whales had reached England and did not help Scott’s appeal. Instead of arousing patriotic generosity, people wondered why they should subscribe to an expedition which now looked likely to fail. Kathleen Scott had received the unwelcome information that there was barely enough money to meet outgoings until the end of October. The London and the New Zealand agents between them needed £1,500. Kathleen sensibly suggested that the expedition’s accounts be published to show how desperate things were and set off on a round of energetic fund-raising. Unlike Scott she felt no embarrassment, though she baulked at an offer from the Daily Mirror, who wanted to print a photograph of Peter to help launch a new appeal. She could not ‘bear my weeny being bandied about in the half-penny press’. Practical as ever, she also doubted whether it would really raise much money. However, her natural resilience was dented by an unusual sense of foreboding. On 20 September she wrote: ‘Rather a horrid day today. I woke up having had a bad dream about you, and then Peter came very close to me and said emphatically: “Daddy won’t come back,” as tho’ in answer to my silly thoughts. Happily I am not often silly.’

  Scott, meanwhile, was ignorant of the latest financial crisis, but he did know that on the voyage south he had failed to raise the funds for which he had hoped. He confided in Ponting more than once that ‘he was troubled by the fact that the cost of the enterprise had greatly exceeded his estimate, and that there would be a considerable deficit to face’. In mid-October he gathered his men together, explained that the expedition was in debt and asked all those who could to forgo their pay for the next twelve months. Those men who could afford to responded with warmth and generosity and Scott signed a formal note of indemnity, relieving the expedition fund of the liability for a number of salaries including his own.

  Meanwhile, as the weeks drew on the sledging equipment was readied and dogs and ponies exercised. Scott spent much time at his lino-covered table in his cubicle, the ‘holy of holies’ as the others called it, going over the details for the assault on the Pole with Bowers, checking and rechecking lists of equipment and calculations. The latter included ‘Sunny Jim’ Simpson’s data on the weather and temperature likely to be encountered on the journey, as well as other information on the most suitable diet and the amount of food and fuel to be carried. In the light of the experience of the winter party, more fat was added to the rations for the Polar team, which they called ‘the summit rations’. In fact, Scott regarded Bowers as the only man he could trust to get the figures right.

  Gathering his men together on 13 September Scott presented his detailed plans. They followed the principles he had outlined in May when he told them that he intended to rely on ponies and then on manhauling. His experiences during the depot journey had failed to convince him that the dogs could be taken far and he had recorded that: ‘With this sentiment the whole company appeared to be in sympathy. Everyone seems to distrust the dogs when it comes to glacier and summit.’ Indeed, Bowers had positively welcomed the news of the manhauling ‘in these days of the supposed decadence of the British race’.1 It seemed the correct and manly thing to do, though it meant that the Polar party would have to manhaul for over 1,200 miles.

  Scott now explained that his plan assumed a journey of nearly 1,600 miles to the Pole and back in 144 days. The southern party would consist of twelve men, only four of whom would go to the Pole. Others would support them up to the final stages of the journey, turning back successively. The motors would set out in advance of the main party, dragging fuel and forage. The ponies would pull light loads until Corner Camp and then full loads to One Ton Camp and beyond. The dog teams would pull more fodder for the ponies. The intention was to shoot the ponies when they had reached the end of their endurance and to send the dogs back. After that it would be manhauling all the way to the Pole and back. Scott wrote in his diary that ‘The scheme seems to have earned full confidence: it remains to play the game out’. He also recorded his gratitude to Bowers and Edgar Evans for the fact that ‘there is not a single detail of our equipment which is not arranged with the utmost care and in accordance with the tests of experience’.

  Scott was an ardent student of human nature. He had spent much of the winter observing his companions and writing shrewd rather than universally flattering pen-portraits, many of which were edited out or toned down in the published version of his diary. His observations also helped him decide how to deploy his men on the southern journey. The main party was to include Wilson, Bowers, Oates, Cherry-Garrard together with Atkinson, Wright, and Petty Officers Evans, Crean and Keohane. The advance motor party was to be under the command of Teddy Evans, whom Scott described on the eve of his departure in a letter to his agent in New Zealand as ‘a thoroughly well-meaning little man’ but a bit of a duffer outside naval work and unsuited to be his second-in-command. These comments chime with similar ones Scott made in his diary in May of that year, which were excised before it was published, including that ‘he is not a rock to be built on’ . . . ‘well meaning but slow to learn . . . very desirous to help everyone, but he is mentally incapable of doing so’. They seem to reflect his settled view of his second-in-command.2

  Of course, the plans fuelled intense speculation about who would be in the Polar party. Wilson wondered whether he would have the chance to go to the Pole but reflected that there were many ‘young bloods’ more youthful and fitter than he. He was, however, sorry to realize that the returning party would arrive too late to sail home on the Terra Nova, or to answer the letters she would have brought, but wrote: ‘Obviously I cannot shirk the southern sledge journey on this account, having come down here to take part in it.’ Oates tried to reckon up his chances. ‘I think I have a fairish chance that is if Scott and I don’t fall out. It will be pretty tough having four months [with him], he fusses dreadfully.’3 Ponting recorded a telling discussion in the privacy of his darkroom:

  The point was raised as to what a man should do if he were to break down on the Polar journey, thereby becoming a burden to others. Oates unhesitatingly and emphatically expressed the opinion that there was only one possible course – self-sacrifice. He thought that a pistol should be carried, and that ‘If anyone breaks down he should have the privilege of using it’.

  In the month before departure there was a series of mishaps. The dogs were attacked by a mysterious disease and several died, while some of the ponies looked very shaky. Petty Officer Forde’s hand was badly frostbitten, making him unfit for sledging; Clissold, the excellent cook who should have gone with the motor party, tumbled off a small iceberg and concussed himself while posing or ‘ponting’ as it had come to be known – Griffith Taylor, with his usual wit, had defined ‘to pont’ as ‘to spend a deuce of a time posing in an uncomfortable position’. Debenham hurt his knee playing football on the ice, also for the benefit of Ponting’s camera. The photographer later described a furious Scott advancing on him with the words: ‘So that’s another member of the expedition you’ve jiggered up!’ Scott apologized
later the same evening and was ‘so charming I loved him all the more, and as one realized the anxieties with which he was weighted one’s whole heart went out to him in pity’.4 Ponting had in fact spent some time instructing Scott in the rudiments of photography. Scott was ‘pleased as a boy’ though he made many mistakes and grew impatient.

  There is a sense of frustration in Scott’s writing as the time for departure approached, as if he felt that he alone understood the seriousness of what lay ahead while the others treated it all as a bit of a lark. Ponting put his finger on it when he described Scott’s behaviour over the winter months and in particular the periods of moodiness and reticence:

  It was obvious on such occasions that he was silently weighted with the problems of the future – so infinitely increased by the heavy losses to his transport. When this mood was upon him I felt instinctively that he was oppressed by the sense of obligation to his country to push the venture to success, be the enhanced difficulties what they may.

  Scott was in the classic trap of doubting his own capacity to pull the venture off, but being afraid, both because of his buttoned-up character and leadership responsibilities, to reveal his uncertainties to anyone or be seen to be seeking advice. This left him at times in a state of nervous indecision.

  After the disaster of the depot journey Scott was particularly worried about the ponies. As Oates fed them up and exercised them Scott noted their characteristics as carefully as he did those of his men. There were ten – Victor, Nobby (who had had the narrow escape from the killer whales), Jehu, Chinaman, Michael, Snatcher, Bones, James Pigg, Christopher – an animal of truly fiendish temperament – and Snippets. Oates’s view remained that the ponies were ‘without exception the greatest lot of crocks I have ever seen that were seriously meant for use’.5 He too was worried about the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders – the success of the whole expedition was predicated on the ponies’ performance and his anxiety led to anger with Scott for expecting so much from such an unpromising bunch. He wrote:

  I am of course very annoyed as it is perfectly wretched starting off with a lot of cripples and Scott won’t believe how bad they are, he thinks I am always making them out worse than they are. Scott has put two or three people’s backs up lately and Meares, who looks after the dogs . . . had a regular row with him, myself I dislike Scott intensely and would chuck the whole thing if it was not that we are a British Expedition and must beat those Norwegians.

  He also wrote that though Scott had always been very civil to him and they had the reputation for getting on, ‘the fact of the matter is he is not straight, it is himself first the rest nowhere’.6 However, he wrote those comments when he was hungry and acknowledged that he might feel more kindly towards his leader when he had eaten. A letter sent on the very eve of his departure to his mother told her that if anything happened to him she should remember that ‘when a man is having a hard time he says hard things about other people which he would regret afterwards’.7

  Oates’s reservations about Scott after a long winter spent with him were echoed to an extent by Debenham. In a letter to his mother he set out his views on Scott with complete frankness:

  I must tell you what I think of him. I am afraid I am very disappointed in him, tho’ my faith died very hard. There’s no doubt he can be very nice and the interest he takes in our scientific work is immense, he is also a fine sledger himself and as an organiser is splendid. But there I’m afraid one must stop. His temper is very uncertain and leads him to absurd lengths even in simple arguments. In crises he acts very peculiarly. In one, where Atkinson was lost for 6 hours in a blizzard, I thought he acted splendidly but in all the others I have been quite disgusted with him. What he decides is often enough the right thing I expect, but he loses all control of his tongue and makes us all feel wild . . . but it is difficult to judge one’s leader . . . But the marvellous part of it is that the Owner is the single exception to a general sense of comradeship and jollity amongst all of us.8

  However, like Oates’s, these remarks must be taken in their context. The winter had been a debilitating time for everyone and Scott could undoubtedly be a martinet. The stress of planning the coming journey, his responsibility for everyone’s safety, his fear that Amundsen would rob them of the prize, had not improved his usually quick temper and sharp tongue. The remarkable thing is that Scott’s relationship with most of his men was still so good.

  The two motor sledges set out on their pioneering journey on 24 October with Teddy Evans, Day, Lashly and Hooper, each pulling three loaded sledges with orders to proceed via Corner Camp to One Ton Depot and then south to 80°30'S. Scott watched them depart towards the Barrier with an anxious eye. If the motors worked they would make the journey to the foot of the great Beardmore Glacier much easier.

  On the eve of his own departure Scott wrote to Kathleen and reassured her about his attitude to Amundsen:

  I don’t know what to think of Amundsen’s chances. If he gets to the Pole it must be before we do, as he is bound to travel fast with dogs, and pretty certain to start early. On this account I decided at a very early date to act exactly as I should have done had he not existed. Any attempt to race must have wrecked my plan, besides which it doesn’t appear the sort of thing one is out for. You can rely on my not doing or saying anything foolish, only I am afraid you must be prepared for the chance of finding our venture much belittled. After all, it is the work that counts not the applause that follows.9

  In fact Amundsen had set out with four companions on 15 October and was already beyond the 80th parallel. He had had to abort an earlier attempt with seven companions in September, returning after seven days because of the extreme cold. An ugly disagreement had ensued in which one of his most senior men, Johansen, criticized Amundsen in front of the other men for abandoning him and a frostbitten colleague on the ice in the race to regain their hut. Amundsen ruthlessly dropped Johansen and two others from the Polar party when it set out again.

  Scott’s letter of farewell to his ‘dear, dear Mother’ was very affectionate, reassuring her that he had never been fitter, that his ‘little cavalcade’ was ready for the long southern journey and that it would not be long until he returned. He admitted that ‘there will be a tough bit at the end’ but he wrote of his belief that he and his companions would pull through.10 Scott also wrote to Edgar Evans’s wife, referring to the petty officer as ‘such an old friend of mine’ and praising his contribution to the expedition.11 To Birdie Bowers’s mother he wrote a glowing tribute to Birdie’s energy, tact and popularity, concluding with the poignant remark, ‘He has such a happy knack of coming through difficulties with a smiling face that I haven’t any doubt he will be as flourishing in health and spirits when you see him next . . .’12

  On 1 November 1911 Scott and his party set out at last. In the rush Queen Alexandra’s Union Jack flag for the Pole was left behind, but Scott was able to phone Cape Evans from Hut Point. Meares had laid an aluminium-clad telephone line between the two, something which Scott found wonderful in this primitive land. Ironically, it was the Norwegian Gran who carried the flag on the first lap, skiing rapidly after the party. ‘The irony of fate, my dear Gran,’ was Scott’s response.13 Ponting followed the party out to Safety Camp and his cinematograph captured the scene of small figures plodding off to an unknown destiny. Scott was feeling fatalistic. He had written: ‘I am past despondency. Things must take their course . . . All things considered, I shall be glad to get away and put our fortune to the test . . . The future is in the lap of the gods; I can think of nothing left undone to deserve success.’

  However, as he had often observed, fortune had as much to do with success as merit. And fortune did not appear to be smiling on him. In the first place ‘those dreadful motors’ failed.14 One broke down just fourteen miles from Hut Point, the big end of one of its four cylinders broken. The other managed to crawl nearly fifty miles to just beyond Corner Camp. Lashly described how the ‘trouble always staring us in th
e face’ was the overheating of the engines.15 A recent analysis, in 1982, of some of the fuel left at Cape Evans showed that it was of low octane, which probably accounted for the overheating problems.16

  Scott was disappointed but wrote to Lord Howard de Walden, who had sponsored the development of the sledges, to say that there was nothing wrong with the principles behind them. He predicted correctly that there was a big future for traction motors of this sort in Canada and other places and urged him to ensure that the patents were properly protected. However, Oates had scant sympathy over the motors’ fate, writing grumpily in his diary, ‘Three motors at £3000 each, 19 ponies at £5 each, 32 dogs at 30/- each. If Scott fails to get to the Pole he jolly well deserves it.’ The motor party, Teddy Evans, Day, Lashly and Hooper, now switched to manhauling, and, once beyond One Ton Depot, began laying smaller depots in advance of the main party.

  In the second place the weather was dire. Scott was to face conditions on this journey that he had never foreseen and which he had not thought possible. At first, though, they made good progress and Oates recorded Scott’s satisfaction with the ponies’ performance while Scott wrote ‘even Oates is pleased’. However, within the first week blizzards struck and on 12 November Scott was recording weather that was ‘horrid, overcast, gloomy, snowy. Our spirits became very low’. Cherry-Garrard was right when he observed that ‘indefinite conditions always tried Scott most’. The ponies were clearly faltering under their burdens of 500 pounds apiece and Scott’s diary becomes increasingly preoccupied with them – ‘I am very anxious about these beasts – very anxious . . .’ – and deeply appreciative of Oates’s efforts – ‘if they pull through well, all the thanks will be due to Oates’. Oates had even invented a fringed device to save the ponies from snowblindness. As Teddy Evans wrote: ‘The Soldier hated to see his animals suffering . . .’17 However, there was little he could do to protect them from the cold. Bowers described how: ‘Huge icicles form under [the ponies’] noses during the march. Victor generally rubs his off on my sleeve.’