OHYAT: Philia II

William Lashly and Tom Crean pulled their sledge with scurvy-riddled dying Teddy Evans strapped on top until a blizzard came and made the surface too soft to make any headway with the extra weight. They had no choice but to stop. The two stronger men erected the tent, possibly for the last time, and carried Teddy inside – "I thought I was being put into my grave," he wrote. Then Crean and Lashly held a conference outside, in which Crean volunteered to set out to bring help back from the base while Lashly stayed and tended to Teddy. Hut Point was 35 miles away, across soft snow and badly crevassed ice, in volatile weather, and it might turn out that no one was there and he'd have to go all the way to Cape Evans ... but what else could be done? There was one day's worth of food left, so he took only what he thought would get him through the trip: a few biscuits and a stick of chocolate. They'd dumped their skis earlier to save weight and allow them to carry Teddy, so he'd have to slog it on foot. Walking was not only slower but was more dangerous; without the ski to disperse his weight he'd be more likely to fall through the snow lid of any crevasse he encountered, and as he was alone, if he had an accident, that would probably have been the end of all three of them. But ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, he set off all the same.

Crean came in to say good-by to me. I thanked him for what he was going to do in a weak, broken sort of way, and Lashly held open the little round tent door to let me see the last of him. He strode out nobly and finely – I wondered if I should ever see him again.

– Teddy Evans, South With Scott