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tealinCape Evans had been cut off from Hut Point and points south since the sea ice had gone out in February. It was still HQ, though, and after all the business with the ship bringing supplies and taking people home, the remainder of the crew were settling in for another winter. There was assorted housekeeping to be done – the fresh mules from India (Titus' suggestion) were housed in the stables where the ponies had been, the pendulum* moved from its outbuilding to Ponting's deserted darkroom, and so on – and then the remaining scientists fell into the regular rhythm of work. Part of this was taking meteorological data, as the official meteorologist had departed, but the wind gauge on the roof of the hut, which had been dubbed the 'blizzometer,' kept getting clogged with snow and had to be cleaned out regularly in order to take readings.
*This was for some sort of gravity measurement .. I learned what it was and then promptly forgot how it worked but I know the answer can be found in Scott's Last Expedition Vol. II with the rest of the scientific essays, so I will go back and learn it properly someday.
Frank Debenham (remember him?) had only been back at base for a few weeks. He'd been on an expedition of his own with the other geologist, Griff Taylor; Terra Nova had picked them up from where they were and dropped him off at Cape Evans after a lengthy delay due to wind and pack ice (Griff she took back north when she left for good). ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO YESTERDAY it was his job to clean out the blizzometer ... on the roof of the hut in 71mph winds. He recorded in his journal that day that he thought the Polar Party were waiting at Hut Point for the bay to freeze over, and that this rough weather was going to postpone that yet further.
But the Polar Party were nowhere near Hut Point. They were still holed up in their tent eleven (or 12.7) miles from One Ton Depot, where they'd pitched it on the 19th, pinned there by foul weather and running out of fuel and food. Scott's diary has a week's gap between the last two entries, but he wrote a pile of mostly undated letters to family, friends, and the expedition's representatives back in England, and Bill and Birdie wrote their last letters as well.
From Birdie:
From Bill to his wife Oriana:
From Scott to Mrs Bowers:
From Scott to Oriana Wilson:
To his friend J.M. Barrie (yes, that J.M. Barrie):
And to his wife, Kathleen:
If all this has not been too much, or if you just happen to like melancholy acoustic guitar, a fellow named Jake Wilson* has recorded an album themed on the Polar Party. I have listened, and it is quite good! If you wish to do likewise, you can find the whole thing streaming here.
*No idea if he's a relation; it is a very common name ...
*This was for some sort of gravity measurement .. I learned what it was and then promptly forgot how it worked but I know the answer can be found in Scott's Last Expedition Vol. II with the rest of the scientific essays, so I will go back and learn it properly someday.
Frank Debenham (remember him?) had only been back at base for a few weeks. He'd been on an expedition of his own with the other geologist, Griff Taylor; Terra Nova had picked them up from where they were and dropped him off at Cape Evans after a lengthy delay due to wind and pack ice (Griff she took back north when she left for good). ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO YESTERDAY it was his job to clean out the blizzometer ... on the roof of the hut in 71mph winds. He recorded in his journal that day that he thought the Polar Party were waiting at Hut Point for the bay to freeze over, and that this rough weather was going to postpone that yet further.
But the Polar Party were nowhere near Hut Point. They were still holed up in their tent eleven (or 12.7) miles from One Ton Depot, where they'd pitched it on the 19th, pinned there by foul weather and running out of fuel and food. Scott's diary has a week's gap between the last two entries, but he wrote a pile of mostly undated letters to family, friends, and the expedition's representatives back in England, and Bill and Birdie wrote their last letters as well.
From Birdie:
My own dearest Mother,
As this may possibly be my last letter to you – I am sorry it is such a short scribble. ... Each depot has been a harder struggle to reach but I am still strong and hope to reach this one with Dr Wilson and get the food and fuel necessary for our lives. God alone knows what will be the outcome of the 22 miles march we have to make but my trust is still in Him and in the abounding Grace of my Lord and Saviour whom you brought me up to trust in and who has been my stay through life. In His keeping I leave you and am only glad that I am permitted to struggle on to the end. When man's extremity is reached God's help may put things right. Although the end will be painless enough for myself I should so like to come through for your own dear sake. It is splendid to pass however with such companions as I have and as all five of us have mothers and wives you will not be alone. There will be no shame however and you will know that I have struggled to the end. Much and dearest love to your dear self and May and Edie.
Oh how I do feel for you when you hear all, you will know that for me the end was peaceful as it is only sleep in the cold. Your ever loving son to the end of this life and the next when God shall wipe away all the tears from our eyes –H.R. Bowers
From Bill to his wife Oriana:
Life has been a struggle for some weeks now on this return journey from the Pole – so much so that I have not been able to keep my diary going. ... Birdie and I are going to try and reach the Depot 11 miles north of us and return to this tent where Captain Scott is lying with a frozen foot ... I shall simply fall and go to sleep in the snow ...
I would like to have written to Mother and Dad and all at home, but it has been impossible. ...
My beloved wife, these are small things, life itself is a small thing to me now, but my love for you is for ever and a part of our love for God. ... God knows I am sorry to be the cause of sorrow to anyone in the world, but everyone must die – and at every death there must be some sorrow. ... I feel so happy now in having got time to to write to you. One of my notes will surely reach you. ... Your little testament and prayer book will be in my hand or in my breast pocket when the end comes. All is well.
From Scott to Mrs Bowers:
I'm afraid this will reach you after one of the heaviest blows of your life.
I write when we are very near the end of our journey, and I am finishing it in company with two gallant, noble gentlemen. One of these is your son. He had come to be one of my closest and soundest friends, and I appreciate his wonderful upright nature, his ability and energy. As the troubles have thickened his dauntless spirit shone ever brighter and he has remained cheerful, hopeful, and indomitable to the end.
The ways of Providence are inscrutable, but there must be some reason why such a young, vigorous and promising life is taken.
From Scott to Oriana Wilson:
If this letter reaches you, Bill and I will have gone out together. We are very near it now and I should like you to know how splendid he was at the end – everlastingly cheerful and ready to sacrifice himself for others, never a word of blame to me for leading him into this mess. He is not suffering, luckily, at least only minor discomforts.
His eyes have a comfortable blue look of hope and his mind is peaceful with the satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of the great scheme of the Almighty. I can do no more to comfort you than to tell you he died as he lived, a brave, true man – the best of comrades and the staunchest of friends.
To his friend J.M. Barrie (yes, that J.M. Barrie):
... We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, &c. No fuel and a long way from food, but it would do your heart good to be in our tent, to hear our songs and the cheery conversation as to what we will do when we get to Hut Point.
And to his wife, Kathleen:
Make the boy [their son Peter] interested in natural history if you can; it is better than games; they encourage it at some schools. I know you will keep him in the open air.
Above all, he must guard and you must guard him against indolence. Make him a strenuous man. I had to force myself into being strenuous, as you know – I always had an inclination to be idle. ...
What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better it has been than lounging in too great comfort at home. What tales you would have for the boy. But what a price to pay!
If all this has not been too much, or if you just happen to like melancholy acoustic guitar, a fellow named Jake Wilson* has recorded an album themed on the Polar Party. I have listened, and it is quite good! If you wish to do likewise, you can find the whole thing streaming here.
*No idea if he's a relation; it is a very common name ...
