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The human history and drama of Antarctica
Already the ancient Greeks
sensed that Antarctica was there. They figured that the earth
was round - and should be balanced in the south not to tumble
over. Thus the name Antarctica: Antarktos, or opposite Arktos,
the star constellation in the northern sky.
Schackleton is the most fabled and popular of the Antarctic
explorers. He endured unbelievable hardships and wrote about his
adventures in stories that captured the hearts of an entire
world. 
The
first man to set foot on the continent is believed to be a US
sealer in 1821. The final quest to reach the South Pole was
achieved by Norwegian Roald Amundsen and his team in 1882, just
weeks ahead of British Robert Falcon Scott and his men.
The fateful competition between Amundsen and Scott ended in tragedy. Scott and his team
died on their march back. In his last days, Scott kept a diary.
These are some of his final words:
Tuesday, January 16
Camp 68. Height 9760. T.
-23.5° . The worst has happened, or nearly the worst. We
marched well in the morning and covered 71/2 miles. Noon sight
showed us in Lat. 89° 42’ S., and we started off in high
spirits in the afternoon, feeling that to-morrow would see us at
our destination. About the second hour of the march Bowers’
sharp eyes detected what he thought was a cairn; he was uneasy
about it, but argued that it must be a sastrugus. Half an hour
later he detected a black speck ahead.
Soon we knew that this could not be a natural snow feature. We
marched on, found that it was a black flag tied to a sledge
bearer; near by the remains of a camp; sledge tracks and ski
tracks going and coming and the clear trace of dogs’ paws –
many dogs. This told us the whole story. The Norwegians have
forestalled us and are first at the Pole. It is a terrible
disappointment, and I am very sorry for my loyal companions.
Many thoughts come and much discussion have we had. Tomorrow we
must march on to the Pole and then hasten home with all the
speed we can compass. We are descending in altitude –
certainly also the Norwegians found an easy way up.
Wednesday, January 17
Camp 69. T. -22° at
start. Night -21° . The Pole. Yes, but under very different
circumstances from those expected. We have had a horrible day
– add to our disappointment a head wind 4 to 5, with a
temperature -22° , and companions laboring on with cold feet
and hands.
We started at 7.30, none
of us having slept much after the shock of our discovery. We
followed the Norwegian sledge tracks for some way; as far as we
make out there are only two men. In about three miles we passed
two small cairns. Then the weather overcast, and the tracks
being increasingly drifted up and obviously going too far to the
west, we decided to make straight for the Pole according to our
calculations. At 12.30 Evans had such cold hands we camped for
lunch – an excellent ‘week-end one’. We had marched 7.4
miles. Lat. Sight gave 89° 53’ 37". We started out and
did 6 ½ miles due south. To night little Bowers is laying
himself out to get sights in terrible difficult circumstances;
the wind is blowing hard, T. -21° , and there is that curious
damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in no
time. We have been descending again, I think, but there looks to
be a rise ahead; otherwise there is very little that is
different from the awful monotony of past days. Great God! This
is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have labored to
it without the reward of priority. Well, it is something to have
got here, and the wind may be our friend tomorrow. We have had a
fat Polar hoosh in spite of our chagrin, and feel comfortable
inside – added a small stick of chocolate and the queer taste
of a cigarette brought by Wilson. Now for the run home and a
desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it.
Thursday morning, January 18
Decided after summing up
all observations that we were 3.5 miles away from the Pole –
one mile beyond it and 3 to the right. More or less in this
direction Bowers saw a cairn or tent.
We have just arrived at
this tent, 2 miles from our camp, therefore about 1-½ miles
from the Pole. In the tent we find a record of five Norwegians
having been here, as follows:
Roald Amundsen
Olav Olavson Bjaaland
Hilmer Hanssen
Sverre H Hassel
Oscar
Wisting
16 Dec. 1911
The tent is fine – a
small compact affair supported by a single bamboo. A note from
Amundsen, which I keep, asks me to forward a letter to King
Haakon!
The following articles
have been left in the tent: 3 half bags of reindeer containing a
miscellaneous assortment of mitts and sleeping socks, very
various in description, a sextant, a Norwegian artificial
horizon and a hypsometer without boiling-point thermometers, a
sextant and hypsometer of English make.
Left a note to say I had
visited the tent with companions. Bowers photographing and
Wilson sketching. Since lunch we have marched 6.2 miles S.S.E.
By compass (i.e. northwards). Sights at lunch gave us ½ to 3/4
of a mile from the Pole, so we call it the Pole Camp. (Temp.
Lunch -21° ). We built a cairn, put up our poor slighted Union
Jack, and photographed ourselves – mighty cold work all of it
– less than ½ a mile south we saw stuck up an old underrunner
of a sledge. This we commandeered as a yard for a floorcloth
sail. I imagine it was intended to mark the exact spot of the
Pole as near as the Norwegians could fix it (Height 9500) A note
attached talked of the tent as being 2 miles from the Pole.
Wilson keeps the note. There is no doubt that our predecessors
have made thoroughly sure of their mark and fully carried out
their program. I think the Pole is about 9500 feet in height;
this is remarkable, considering that in Lat. We were about
10,500.
We carried the Union Jack
about ¾ of a mile north with us and left it on a piece of stick
as near as we could fix it. I fancy the Norwegians arrived at
the Pole on the 15th of Dec. and left on the 17th,
ahead of a date quoted by me in London as ideal, viz Dec. 22. It
looks as though the Norwegian party expected colder weather on
the summit than they got; it could scarcely be otherwise from
Shackleton’s account. Well, we have turned back now on the
goal of our ambition and must face our 800 miles of solid
dragging – and goodbye to most of the daydreams!
Friday, March 16 or Saturday 17
Lost track of dates, but
think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch,
the day before yesterday poor Titus Oates said he couldn’t go
on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping bag. That we
could not do, and we induced him to come on, on the afternoon
march. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and
we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end
had come.
Should this be found I
want these facts recorded. Oates’ last thoughts were of his
mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that
his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met
his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense
suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was
able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not –
would not- give up hope till the very end. He was a brave soul.
This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping
not to wake; but he woke in the morning – yesterday. It was
blowing a blizzard. He said, "I am just going outside and
may be some time." He went out into the blizzard and we
have not seen him since.
I take this opportunity of
saying that we have stuck to our sick companions to the last. In
case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely out of food and he lay
insensible, the safety of the remainder seemed to demand his
abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at this
critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave
him till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was
walking to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we
knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman. We
all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and assuredly
the end is not far.
I can only write at lunch
and then only occasionally. The cold is intense, -40° at
midday, My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on
the verge of serious frostbites, and though we constantly talk
of fetching trough I don’t think any one of us believes it in
his heart.
We are cold on the march
now, and at all times except meals. Yesterday we had to lay up
for a blizzard and today we move dreadfully slowly. We are at
No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from One Ton Depot. We
leave her our theodolite, a camera and Oates’ sleeping bags.
Diaries and geological specimens carried at Wilson’s special
request, will be found with us or on our sledge.
Thursday, March 22 and 23
Blizzard bad as ever –
Wilson and Bowers unable to start – tomorrow last chance –
no fuel and only one or two of food left – must be near the
end. Have decided it shall be natural – we shall march for the
depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks.
Thursday, March 29
Since the 21st
we have had a continuous gale from WSW and SW. We had fuel to
make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th.
Every day we have been ready to start for our depot 11 miles
away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of
whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things
now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting
weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far.
It seems a pity, but I do
not think I can write more.
R. SCOTT
Last
entry
For God’s sake look
after our people.
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