The parties were again rearranged leaving Crean with Bowers, Cherry-Garrard and Keohane. But Scott’s real concerns were elsewhere and it is also clear that the gulf between Scott and his deputy, Teddy Evans, was widening. When Evans was admonished for not keeping up, he had to forcibly point out that he and Lashly had been man-hauling for five weeks longer than everyone else. It was a fair point, but it intensified the growing rift between the two men.
On 11 December they deposited a large cache of supplies – including a bottle of medicinal brandy – for the returning parties and called it ‘Lower Glacier Depot’. Meares and Dimitri turned round and headed for Cape Evans carrying a note from Scott to his wife, Kathleen, which gave a fairly pessimistic view of prospects. Scott, although barely six weeks into his journey, wrote that ‘things are not so rosy as they might be, but we keep our spirits up and say the luck must turn’.
Progress for the three four-man groups was painfully slow, with only 4 miles covered on 13 December and the strain was beginning to tell, even on the toughest of men. Lashly, who was never one to complain and regarded as one of the party’s strong men, reported ‘very heavy going’ and Teddy Evans said they were ‘panting and sweating’ as they frequently sank into soft snow, often eighteen inches deep. Scott gloomily reported a ‘most damnably dismal day’ and Wilson said it was ‘killing work’ when the sledge hung up in the soft, sticky snow. Crean’s tent-mate, Bowers, said it was ‘the most back-breaking work’ he had ever encountered.
Crean and Keohane followed behind Cherry-Garrard and Bowers in the harness and it was Bowers who would provide a chilling account of how strenuously the four men were labouring up the Beardmore. His description of man-hauling, clearly written from bitter experience, has rarely been bettered. He wrote:
‘It was all we could do to keep the sledge moving for short spells of a few hundred yards, the whole concern sinking so deeply into the soft snow as to form a snowplough. The starting was worse than pulling as it required from ten to fifteen desperate jerks on the harness to move the sledge at all. The sledges sank in over twelve inches and all the gear, as well as the thwartship pieces, were acting as brakes. I have never pulled so hard, or so nearly crushed my inside into my backbone by the everlasting jerking with all my strength on the canvas band round my unfortunate tummy.’7
Bowers also gave an interesting insight into the character and strength of purpose which helped the men overcome the daily ordeal of pulling the heavy loads in frightful conditions and build the essential camaraderie between themselves. He told his mother in a letter:
‘One gets down to the bedrock with everybody, sledging under trying conditions. The character of a man comes out and you see things that were never expected. You get to know each other inside out and respect some more and, unfortunately, some less.’
Despite the heavy going, they hauled a relatively good 10 miles on 14 December, although Scott began the day with another gloomy observation, which may have strengthened the belief among some later observers that he should have turned back at this point. He recorded:
‘We are just starting our march with no very hopeful outlook.’8
On 14 December 1911, hundreds of miles away, Amundsen and his four companions had reached the South Pole. At 3 p.m. the small cavalcade of men and dogs came to an abrupt halt on the polar plain and the sledge-meters were checked. Amundsen’s casual, almost matter-of-fact recollection was:
‘The goal was reached, the journey ended.’9
Amundsen insisted that all five men should plant the Norwegian flag together as a measure of his gratitude to his companions. He wrote:
‘This was the only way in which I could show my gratitude to my comrades in this desolate spot. Five weather-beaten, frostbitten fists they were that grasped the pole, raising the waving flag in the air, and planted it as the first at the geographical South Pole.’10
Crean marked the historic day by breaking into an 18-inch wide crevasse as he pitched the tent. The area was a mass of treacherous, frequently unseen crevasses and Keohane remarked that it was impossible to move 5 yards from the tent in safety. The fissure ran barely a foot from the tent door and as if to emphasise the Irishman’s narrow escape, Cherry-Garrard threw an empty oil can into the gaping abyss. ‘It echoed for a terribly long time,’ he remembered. Having come so close to death, Crean would remember the historic day for a different reason. While the Norwegians were enjoying their moment of triumph, the thoughts of Scott’s party were increasingly dwelling on the delicate question of who would be going to the Pole. The intention was to drop off one four-man team near the top of the Beardmore and the ‘last supporting party’ of four somewhere on the Polar Plateau. Wilson, for example, speculated about being in the last eight but was doubtful about making the final four.
On 20 December Scott made his initial choice and sent back his first supporting group, Atkinson, Wright, Cherry-Garrard and Keohane. It was a bitter disappointment, particularly to the Canadian Wright who had been an energetic and enthusiastic member of the man-hauling party, though he was undoubtedly very tired. He confided to his diary that he was ‘too wild to write more tonight. Scott a fool’. Keohane was more philosophical but admitted: ‘sorry to part with old Crean.’11
Scott said he ‘dreaded the necessity’ of choosing and explained to Cherry-Garrard that the seamen, with their specialist knowledge, would be needed for the journey. Wilson, now closer than ever to Scott, also told Cherry-Garrard that it was a toss-up between him and Oates for the last eight. Cherry-Garrard, who was also upset at being told he was leaving, recorded in his diary:
‘There is a mournful air tonight – those turning back and those going on.’12
A new cache of stores was built, the Upper Glacier Depot, and the men prepared to turn for home. The returning party generously gave away any spare gear they would not need for the homeward run and anything which might be valuable to the remaining men. Cherry-Garrard gave Crean half of his scarf and left some tobacco for both Scott and Oates. Then, after a slightly emotional farewell, the four turned around and went back down the Beardmore.
It was 584 miles (940 km) back to Cape Evans and almost 300 miles (480 km) to the Pole.
The two parties, now approaching the Polar Plateau, were feeling more hopeful. Scott’s team was Wilson, Oates and Taff Evans and the other four were Teddy Evans, Bowers, Lashly and Tom Crean. They were pulling 190 lb (86 kg) per man, which included twelve weeks’ rations and Scott wrote:
‘We are struggling on, considering all things against the odds. The weather is a constant anxiety, otherwise arrangements are working exactly as planned. Here we are practically on the summit and up to date in provision line. We ought to get through.’13
It was still not clear who would be in the final party that would make the historic march to the Pole. The first clear indication of Scott’s plans emerged unknown to anyone else on 22 December when Scott started a new notebook for his diary. On the flyleaf he wrote simply:
‘Ages: Self 43, Wilson 39, Evans (PO) 37, Oates 32, Bowers 28. Average 36.’14
However, the flyleaf entry in Scott’s journal was apparently not shown to his seven comrades who remained blissfully unaware of their leader’s decision. Instead, they were each able to while away the endless hours labouring in the man-hauling harnesses, silently wondering whether they would be chosen for the final march to the South Pole and lasting fame.
Christmas Day brought a terrifying reminder of the hazards of polar travel as the men heaved and strained their way up the final miles of the crevasse-strewn Beardmore. Lashly, who was pulling alongside Crean, suddenly plunged through the ice, yanking Crean and Bowers off their feet with the effect of the unexpected jolt. He was left hanging by his sledging harness, spinning helplessly over a 50-ft drop which he said was a ‘ghastly sight’. A couple of days earlier his rope attachment had looked a little worn and by good fortune had been replaced.
Crean’s harness had jammed under the 12-ft (3.6-m) sledge which was lying
half across an 8-ft (2.5-m) bridge of ice. But he was temporarily immobilised and had to be freed by Bowers and Teddy Evans before they could begin rescuing Lashly.
They crawled gingerly towards the edge of the precipice but could not see Lashly because of a large overhanging piece of ice which blocked their view. All that was visible was the rope and they feared that he had gone. The men called down the gaping chasm and Lashly was able to reassure his comrades that, while badly shaken, he was still very much alive. He recalled:
‘I was all right, it is true, but I did not care to be dangling in the air on a piece of rope, especially when I looked round and saw what kind of place it was. It seemed about 50 feet deep and 8 feet wide and 120 feet long. This information I had ample time to gain while dangling there. I could measure the width with my ski sticks, as I had them on my wrists.’15
An alpine rope was quickly found and a bowline made for Lashly to step into before hauling him out. It was his forty-fourth birthday and Crean cheerfully wished him ‘many happy returns of the day’ as he was pulled to his feet. Lashly’s reply, said Evans, was ‘unprintable’. Lashly’s diary innocently records that he ‘thanked him politely’.
After composing themselves, the eight men gathered for Christmas dinner, an improvised affair huddled together in two small green tents pitched 9,000 ft (2,740 m) up the Beardmore Glacier in temperatures of –7 °F (–22 °C). In defiance of the isolation, the bone-chilling cold and all-round discomfiture, the men enjoyed a splendid four-course dinner. Mankind’s enduring adaptability was never better displayed.
First course was a full whack of pemmican with slices of horse meat flavoured with onion and curry powder and thickened with biscuit, followed by an arrowroot, cocoa and biscuit hoosh. A plum pudding was then produced and the feast was rounded off with a mixture of caramels and ginger, plus generous mugs of cocoa. Lashly said he ‘could not hardly move’ afterwards.
The warmth of the hearty meal flowed through their tired, cold bodies and for a brief period, the toil and hazards of dragging their heavy sledges in sub-zero temperatures was forgotten. The men were able to indulge in the more diverting pleasure of chatting with comrades on a full stomach and the moment struck a chord with Teddy Evans, who remembered the scene years later in his book, South With Scott:
‘But we had such yarns of home, such plans were made for next Christmas, and after all we got down our fur sleeping bags and for a change we were quite warm owing to the full amount of food which we so sorely needed.’16
Normal business resumed in the morning, although the men were understandably a little slower off the mark after their feast. Pulling remained very hard and the rivalry between Scott and Evans intensified.
At the same time, the fatigue was readily apparent, particularly for Teddy Evans and Lashly who had now man-hauled for over 700 miles (1,125 km) across the Barrier and up the Beardmore. Along with Crean, the four were repeatedly lagging behind Scott’s party, partly because their sledge runners were not as good but largely because Evans and Lashly were close to exhaustion. Evans, perhaps pointing the finger at Wilson, a doctor, said that ‘a man trained to watch over men’s health … would have seen something amiss’.
On New Year’s Eve, Scott took the astonishing decision to ask Evans, Bowers, Lashly and Crean to abandon their skis, although his own party kept theirs. Scott did not explain his motives but with hindsight it is clear that Scott was narrowing his choice of the men he would take to the Pole. Scott also decided to establish Three Degree Depot and reduce the size of the sledges from 12 ft to 10 ft to ease the pulling weight, a minor event which was to have significant consequences.
Crean, Lashly and Taff Evans were deployed for many hours in the open air cutting down the sledges in the sub-zero temperatures of the Polar Plateau while the other five sat in the warmth of their tent discussing future prospects and drinking tea. But bad luck, which had dogged the party from the outset, struck again. Evans cut his hand very badly while working on one sledge. Stupidly, he did not report the accident to the doctor, Wilson, or to Scott, probably because he knew that the injury would force him out of the final party.
Taff Evans, a simple man, had banked on going to the Pole as a means of achieving fame, some money and perhaps even as a means of leaving the navy. His ambition was to retire from the navy and open a pub and the Pole was the key to fulfilling his ambition. However, the wound to his hand did not heal properly and, as events showed, was to become a factor in the big Welshman’s subsequent breakdown on the awful journey back from the Pole.
The new year, 1912, began in typical fashion, the eight men pulling and straining for ten hours in temperatures which sank to –14°F. Scott said prospects seemed brighter but reported that Teddy Evans’ team was ‘not in very high spirits’. He had made up his mind.
The bombshell was dropped on 3 January when Scott announced that he was taking a party of five men, not four, to the Pole. Crean, Lashly and Teddy Evans were to return home and Bowers would be added to the party of Scott, Wilson, Oates and Taff Evans for the final march of about 150 miles (240 km) to the Pole.
Crean, who had stood loyally behind Scott for the best part of ten years, was devastated. What offended him most was that Scott could not bear to face him, man-to-man, and explain the reasons why he was not going to the Pole.
There are two slightly different versions of how Crean learnt his fate, though Gran is the source for both stories, which he wrote down after discussions with Crean.
When Scott entered the smoke-filled tent with news of his polar plans, Crean, a pipe-smoker all his life, was coughing. Scott saw an opportunity to avoid confronting the loyal Irishman with the uncomfortable truth and had unexpectedly found a suitable excuse to avoid facing him.
In his book, Kampen om Sydpolen, Gran said that Scott greeted the Irishman’s cough with the comment:
‘You’ve got a bad cold, Crean.’17
But Crean, who was no fool, immediately saw Scott’s true meaning and was not prepared to let the disingenuous ‘excuse’ pass meekly into history. He retorted:
‘I understand a half-sung song, sir.’18
However, in the English translation of his diaries, Gran recounted the tale after chatting with Crean back at Cape Evans and wrote down the following exchanges. After sticking his head through the tent door, Scott said:
‘You’ve got a nasty cough, Crean, you must be careful with a cold like that!’19
Crean’s response in this version was more straightforward and the Irishman replied:
‘You think I can’t take a hint, sir!’20
There is very little difference between the two versions of events, although there is almost half a century between when they were written by the Norwegian. Gran’s book, Kampen om Sydpolen was not published until 1961, almost 50 years after the event, whereas the entry in his diary was written on 28 May 1912, less than five months after the episode and followed a chat with Crean at Cape Evans. However, Gran’s diary was unequivocal about what he clearly saw as Scott’s real motives. Gran’s own interpretation was:
‘Crean’s “cough” was an excuse for Scott, but Crean understood his Captain and saw through him.’21
Crean was ordered out of the tent as Scott asked Teddy Evans if he could ‘spare’ Bowers from his team. Evans, by now very tired after the exertions of so long in the harness and deeply disappointed at being excluded from the polar party, was in no position to argue. His writings dismiss the disappointment, almost as though he was half-expecting it. In South With Scott he wrote:
‘Briefly then it was a disappointment, but not too great to bear.’22
Perhaps more accurately, Bowers observed that Evans was ‘frightfully cut up’ and had expected to be in the final group. In a symbolic moment of surrender, Evans gave Bowers a small silk flag which his wife had given him to fly at the Pole. Scott, perhaps uneasy at his own decision, barely discussed the move in his diary. He simply recorded:
‘Last night I decided to reorganise and this
morning told off Teddy Evans, Lashly and Crean to return. They are disappointed, but take it well.’23
It was an astonishing decision. The entire enterprise had been founded on groups of four, notably the food and fuel which was carefully measured and broken into units of four. The little tent would be even more cramped and cooking for five on the howling Polar Plateau would take much longer, slowing the party’s progress at the very time when they needed to travel fast. Ponting’s revealing film footage of the men at Cape Evans camping and cooking showed how difficult it was for a party of four fit men squeezed into a small tent. A fifth man would inevitably pose extra and unwanted difficulties and discomfiture.
At the same time, Crean, Lashly and Evans would have to do the work of four men and spend valuable time at the homeward depots separating each unit of food and fuel to ensure that one quarter was left behind for the men on the way back from the Pole.
An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor Page 13
