On October 24, 1911, the advance guard of the Southern Party, consisting of Day, Lashly, Hooper, and myself, left Cape Evans with two motor sledges as planned. We had with us three tons of stores, pony food, and petrol, carried on five 12 ft. sledges, and our own tent, etc., on a smaller sledge. The object of sending forward such a weight of stores was to save the ponies' legs over the variable sea ice, which was in some places hummocky and in others too slippery to stand on. Also the first thirty miles of Barrier was known to be bad travelling and likely to tire the ponies unnecessarily unless they marched light, so here again it was desirable to employ the motors for a heavy drag.

We had fine weather when at 10.30 a.m. we started off, with the usual concourse of well-wishers, and after one or two stops and sniffs we really got under way, and worked our loads clear of the Cape on to the smoother stretch of sea ice, which improved steadily as we proceeded. Hooper accompanied Lashly's car and I worked with Day.

A long shaft protruded 3 ft. clear each end of the motors. To the foremost end we attached the steering rope, just a set of man-harness with a long trace, and to the after end of the shaft we made fast the towing lanyard or span according to whether we hauled sledges abreast or in single line. Many doubts were expressed as to the use of the despised motors—but we heeded not the gibes of our friends who came out to speed us on our way. They knew we were doing our best to make the motors successful, and their expressed sneers covered their sincere wishes that we should manage to get our loads well on to the Barrier.

We made a mile an hour speed to begin with and stopped at Razorback
Island after 3 1/2 miles.

We had lunch at Razorback, and after that we "lumped," man-hauled, and persuaded the two motors and three tons of food and stores another mile onward. The trouble was not on account of the motors failing, but because of a smooth, blue ice surface. We camped at 10 p.m. and all slept the sleep of tired men. October 25 was ushered in with a hard wind, and it appeared in the morning as if our cars were not going to start. We had breakfast at 8 a.m. and got started on both motors at 10.45, but soon found that we were unable to move the full loads owing to the blue ice surface, so took to relaying. We advanced under three miles after ten hours' distracting work—mostly pulling the sledges ourselves, jerking, heaving, straining, and cursing—it was tug-of-war work and should have broken our hearts, but in spite of our adversity we all ended up smiling and camped close on 9 p.m.

The day turned out beautifully fine and calm, but the hard ice was absolutely spoiling the rollers of both cars.

Whilst we were preparing for bed, Simpson and Gran passed our tent and called on us. They were bound for Hut Point. I told Simpson our troubles about the surface, and he promised to telephone from Hut Point to Captain Scott.

Next day we got going with certain difficulties, and met Gran and Simpson four miles from Hut Point. They told us that a large man-hauling party was on its way out from Cape Evans to assist us. The weather was superb and we all got very sunburnt. Captain Scott and seven others came up with us at 2 p.m., but both motors were then forging ahead, so they went on to Hut Point without waiting.

Meantime we lunched, and afterwards struck a bad patch of surface which caused us frequent stops. We reached Hut Point at 8 p.m. after stopping the motors near Cape Armitage, and spent the night in the Hut there, camping with Scott's party, Meares and Dimitri.

The motor engines were certainly good in moderate temperatures, but our slow advance was due to the chains slipping on hard ice. Scott was concerned, but he made it quite clear that if we got our loads clear of the Strait between White Island and Ross Isle, he would be more than satisfied.

Meares and Bowers cooked a fine seal fry for us all, and we spent a happy evening at Hut Point. The Hut, thanks to Meares and Dimitri, was now, for these latitudes, a regular Mayfair dwelling. The blubber stove was now a bricked-in furnace, with substantial chimney, and hot plates, with cooking space sufficient for our needs, however many, were being accommodated.

On October 27 I woke the cooks at 6.30 a.m., and we breakfasted about 8 o'clock, then went up to the motors off Cape Armitage. Lashly's car got away and did about three miles with practically no stop. Our carburettor continually got cold, and we stopped a good deal. Eventually about 1 p.m. we passed Lashly's car and made our way up a gentle slope on to the Barrier, waved to the party, and went on about three-quarters of a mile.

Here we waited for Lashly and Hooper, who came up at 2.30, having had much trouble with their engine, due to overheating, we thought. When Day's car glided from the sea ice, over the tide crack and on to the Great Ice Barrier itself, Scott and his party cheered wildly, and Day acknowledged their applause with a boyish smile of triumph. As soon as Lashly got on to the Barrier, Scott took his party away and they returned to Cape Evans. It would have been a disappointment to them if they had known that we shortly afterwards heard an ominous rattle, which turned out to be the big end brass of one of the connecting rods churning up—due to a bad casting.

Luckily we had a spare, which Day and Lashly fitted, while Hooper and I went on with the 10 ft. sledge to Safety Camp.

Here we dug out our provisions according to instructions and brought them back to our camp to avoid further delay in repacking sledges. We then made Day and Lashly some tea to warm them up. They worked nobly and had the car ready by 11 p.m. We pushed on till midnight in our anxiety to acquit ourselves and our motors creditably. The thermometer showed -19.8 degrees on camping, and temperature fell to -25 degrees during the night.

October 28 was my birthday; all hands wished me many happy returns of the day, and I was given letters from my wife and from Forde and Keohane, who somehow remembered the date from last year—these two, with Browning and Dickason, I had brought into the Expedition from H.M.S. "Talbot," one of my old ships. But to continue: we were all ready to start at 11 a.m. in a stiff, cold breeze, when I discovered that my personal bag had been taken off by the man-hauling party that came to assist us, so I put on ski and went to Hut Point, six miles back. I found Meares there, and he gave me a surprised but hearty welcome and wished me "Happy returns, Teddy." I explained what had happened; it had been done of course the night before when my namesake had taken my personal bag in to Hut Point from Cape Armitage to save me the trouble of carrying it after a hard day's work with the motors. As I had had no need of it, I never noticed its presence at Hut Point, so there it was. Meares made me laugh by an in the most friendly way, as if I was calling on him in his English home, "Stay and have lunch, won't you, Teddy?" Of course I did, but as I was wanted by the Motor Party it was a somewhat hurried meal, fried seal liver and bacon. We were not allowed to eat bacon on account of scurvy precaution, but still, it was my birthday, and nobody let me forget it. Feeling much better and less angry after this unlooked for ski-run, I swung out to the Barrier edge, over the sea ice, up the Barrier slope, and on to the Barrier itself, where I picked up the tracks of the motors and followed them for seven miles. I remember that ski run well: I felt so very lonely all by myself on the silent Barrier, surrounded as I was by lofty white mountains, which lifted their summits to the blue peaceful heavens. I thought over the future of the Southern Party and wondered how things would be one year hence; this was indeed facing the unknown. I enjoyed the keen air, and the crisp surface was so easy to negotiate after my former Barrier visits with a heavy sledge dragging one back, but the very easiness I was enjoying made me think of Amundsen and his dogs.

If the Norwegians could glide along like this, it would be "good-bye" to our hopes of planting Queen Alexandra's flag first at the South Pole. As a matter of fact, while I was then making my way along to overtake the motors, Amundsen and his Polar party were beyond the 80th parallel, forcing their way Southward and hourly increasing their distance from us and from Captain Scott, who had not even started. Yes, Amundsen was over 150 miles farther South, and his sledge runners were slithering over the snow, casting its powdered particles aside in beautiful little clouds while I was rapidly overhauling the motors with their labouring, sorely taxed custodians, Day, Lashly, and Hooper. It seems very cruel to say this, but there's no good in shutting one's eyes to Truth, however unpleasantly clad she may be. I caught the motors late in the afternoon after running nine miles; they had only done three miles whilst I had been doing fifteen. We continued crawling along with our loads, stopping to cool the engines every few minutes, it seemed, but at 11 p.m. they overheated to such an extent that we stopped for the night. I was fairly done, but not too tired to enjoy the supper which Hooper cooked, with its many luxuries produced by him. Hooper had informed Bowers of my birthday, and obtained all kinds of good things, which we despatched huddled together in our tents; for it was about 20 degrees below zero when we turned in well after midnight.

We intentionally lay in our bags until 8.30 next morning, but didn't get those dreadful motors to start until 10.45 a.m. Even then they only gave a few sniffs before breaking down and stopping, so that we could not advance perceptibly until 11.30. We had troubles all day, and were forced to camp on account of Day's sledge giving out at 5 p.m.—we daren't stop for lunch earlier, for once stopped one never could say when a re-start could be made.

We depoted here four big tins of petrol and two drums of filtrate to lighten load of Day's sledge. Started off at six and soon found that the big end brass on No. 2 cylinder of this sledge had given out, so dropped two more tins of petrol and a case of filtrate oils. We thereupon continued at a snail's pace, until at 9.15 the connecting rod broke through the piston. We decided to abandon this sledge, and made a depot of the spare clothing, seal meat, Xmas fare, ski belonging to Atkinson and Wright, and four heavy cases of dog biscuit. I left a note in a conspicuous position on the depot, which we finished constructing at midnight. We wasted no time in turning in.

The clouds were radiating from the S.E., a precursor of blizzard, we feared, and sure enough we got it next day, when it burst upon us whilst we were putting on our footgear after breakfast. There was nothing for it but to get back into our sleeping-bags, wherein we spent the day.

On the 31st we were out of our bags and about, soon after six, to find it still drifting but showing signs of clearing. After breakfast we dug out sledges, and Lashly and Day got the snow out of the motor, a long and rotten job. The weather cleared about 11 a.m. and we got under way at noon. It turned out very fine and we advanced our weights 7 miles 600 yards, camping at 10.40. P.M.

As will be seen, these were long days, and although he did not say it, Day must have felt the crushing disappointment of the failure of the motors—it was not his fault, it was a question of trial and experience. Nowadays we have far more knowledge of air-cooled engines and such crawling juggernauts as tanks, for it may well be argued that Scott's motor sledges were the forerunners of the tanks.

On November 1 we advanced six miles and the motor then gave out. Day and Lashly give it their undivided attention for hours, and the next day we coaxed the wretched thing to Corner Camp and ourselves dragged the loads there.

Arrived at this important depot we deposited the dog pemmican and took on three sacks of oats, but after proceeding under motor power for 1 1/2 miles, the big end brass of No. 1 cylinder went, so we discarded the car and slogged on foot with a six weeks' food supply for one 4-man unit. Our actual weights were 185 lb. per man. We got the whole 740 lb. on to the 10 ft. sledge, but with a head wind it was rather a heavy load. We kept going at a mile an hour pace until 8 p.m.

I had left a note at the Corner Camp depot which told Scott of our trying experiences: how the engines overheated so that we had to stop, how by the time they were reasonably cooled the carburettor would refuse duty and must be warmed up with a blow lamp, what trouble Day and Lashly had had in starting the motors, and in short how we all four would heave with all our might on the spans of the towing sledges to ease the starting strain, and how the engines would give a few sniffs and then stop—but we must not omit the great point in their favour: the motors advanced the necessaries for the Southern journey 51 miles over rough, slippery, and crevassed ice and gave the ponies the chance to march light as far as Corner Camp—this is all that Oates asked for.

It was easier work now to pull our loads straight-forwardly South than to play about and expend our uttermost effort daily on those "qualified" motors.

Even Day confessed that his relief went hand in hand with his disappointment. He and Hooper stood both over six feet, neither of them had an ounce of spare flesh on them.

Lashly and I were more solid and squat, and we fixed our party up in harness so that the tall men pulled in front while the short, heavy pair dragged as "wheelers." Scott described our sledging here as "exceedingly good going," we were only just starting, that is Lashly and myself, for we two were in harness for more than three months on end.

I was very proud of the Motor Party, and determined that they should not be overtaken by the ponies to become a drag on the main body. As it happened, there was never a chance of this occurrence, for Scott purposely kept down his marches to give the weaker animals a chance.

As will be seen, we were actually out-distancing the animal transport by our average marches, for in spite of our full load we covered the distances of 15 1/2 to 17 miles daily, until we were sure that we could not be overtaken, before arriving at the appointed rendezvous in latitude 80 degrees 30 minutes.

Now was the time for marching though, fine weather, good surfaces, and not too cold. The best idea, of our routine can be gleaned by a type specimen diary page of this stage of the journey:

"November 4, 1911.—Called tent at 4.50 a.m. and after building a cairn started out at 7.25. Marched up to 'Blossom' cairn (Lat. 78 degrees 2 minutes 33 seconds S. Long. 169 degrees 3 minutes 25 seconds E.) where we tied a piece of black bunting to pull Crean's leg—mourning for his pony. We lunched here and then marched on till 6.55 p.m., when we camped, our day's march being 15 miles 839 yards. I built a snow cairn while supper was being prepared. Surface was very good and we could have easily marched 20 miles, but, we were not record breaking, but going easy till the ponies came up. All the same we shall have to march pretty hard to keep ahead of them. Minimum temperature: -12.7 degrees, temperature on camping +5 degrees."

We were very happy in our party, and when cooking we all sang and yarned, nobody ever seemed tired once we got quit of the motors. We built cairns at certain points to guide the returning parties. We had a light snowfall on November 6 and occasional overcast, misty weather, but in general the visibility was good, and although far out on the Barrier we got some view of the Victoria Land mountain ranges. Very beautiful they looked, too, but their very presence gave an awful feeling of loneliness.

I must admit it all had a dreadful fascination for me, and after the others had got into their sleeping-bags I used to build up a large snow cairn, and whilst resting, now and again I gazed wonderingly at that awful country.

The Bluff stood up better than the rest, as of course it was so much nearer to us, and the green tent looked pitifully small and inadequate by itself on the Barrier, nothing else human about us. Just the sledge trail and the thrown-up snow on the tent valance, a confused whirl of sastrugi leading in no direction particularly, a glistening sparkle here, there, and everywhere when the sun was shining, and the far distant land sitting Sphinx-like on the Western horizon, with its shaded white slopes, and its bare outcrops of black basalt. Wilson in our "South Polar Times" wrote some lines entitled, "The Barrier Silence"—sometimes the silence was broken by howling blizzard, then and only then, except by the puny handful of men who have passed this way. Only in Scott's first and Shackleton's "Nimrod" Expedition had men ever come thus far.

We reached One Top Depot on November 9, and took on four cases of biscuits and one pair of ski, which brought our loads up to 205 lb. per man. Even this extra weight permitted us to keep our marches over 12 miles, but we had the virtue of being very early risers, a sledging habit to which I owe my life.

We snatched many an hour outward and home, ward due to this.

In Latitude 80 degrees we found an extraordinary change in the surface: so soft in fact that we found ourselves sinking in from 8 to 10 inches—this gave us a very hard day on 13th November when, with load averaging over 190 lb. per man, we hauled through it for 12 miles. Fears were expressed for the ponies at this stretch, for here they would be pulling full loads. The 14th offered no better conditions of surface, but we stuck it out for 10 hours' solid foot slogging, when we camped after hauling 12 miles.

Apart from the surface we enjoyed the weather, a wonderful calm and beautiful blue sky. On November 15, after building a guiding snow cairn, we continued southward to Lat. 80 degrees 31 minutes 40 seconds S. Long. 169 degrees 23 minutes E., where we camped to await Scott, his party, and the ponies. I proposed to build an enormous cairn here to mark the 80 1/2 degree depot, so after lunch we inspected ourselves and found nothing worse than sunburnt faces and a slight thinning down all round.

We commenced the cairn after a short rest.

November 16 passed quietly with no signs of the ponies, and on November 17 we remained in camp all day wondering rather why the ponies had not come up with us. We thought they must be doing very poor marching. To employ our time we worked hours at the cairn, which soon assumed gigantic proportions. We called it Mount Hooper after our youngest member. Day amused us very distinctly at Mount Hooper Camp.

Day, gaunt and gay, but what a lovable nature if one can apply such an adjective to him. He entertained the rest of us for a week out of "Pickwick Papers." The proper number of hours in the forenoon were spent in building the giant depot cairn, then lunch, and then the cosy sleeping-bags and Day's reading. It was unforgettable, and I think we all watched his face, which took somehow the expression of the character he was reading about.

We put in a good deal of sleep in those days and went walks, such as they were, in a direct line away from the tent and directly back to the tent. We must surely have been the first in the world to spend a week holiday-making on that frozen Sahara, the Great Ice Barrier.

There is little enough to record during this wait at Mount Hooper. We could have eaten more than our ration, and to save fuel we occasionally had dry hoosh for supper, which means that we broke all our biscuits up and melted the pemmican over the primus, half fried the biscuit in the fat pemmican, and made a filling dish. The temperature varied between twenty below zero and a couple of degrees above.

November 20 found us growing impatient, for I find in my diary that day:

"Once again we find no signs of the ponies: we all say D—— and look forward to the next meal: Day reads more Pickwick to us and keeps us out of mischief. I got sights for error and rate of chronometer watches, but these are not satisfactory with so short an epoch as our stay at Mount Hooper, when change in altitude is so slow. Beyond working out the sights I did really nothing. Temperature at 8 p.m. +7 degrees, Wind South-West 3-4. Cirrus clouds radiating from S.W. Minimum temperature -14 degrees."

But at last relief from our inactivity came to us. On 21st November, just before 5 a.m., Lashly woke me and said the ponies had arrived. Out we all popped to find Atkinson with poor, old "Jehu," Wright with "Chinaman," and Keohane with my old friend "James Pigg."

They looked tired, the ponies' leaders, and we looked as though we had come out of a bull fight in a barn, with our hair grown long and full of the loose reindeer hairs from the sleeping-bags, all mixed with our beards and jerseys. After hallos and handshakes, smiles and grunts, we asked for news, and were gratified to find that all was well with men and beasts alike. What delay there was was due to blizzards and to the marches being purposely kept down to give the weaker animals a chance: Day facetiously remarked, "We haven't seen anything of Amundsen"—seeing that the valiant Norseman was in Latitude 85 degrees 30 minutes S. nearly eleven thousand feet up above the altitude of the Barrier at this date one is not surprised.

For all our peace of mind it was well we did not know it.

We yarned away about ourselves and our experiences, then got our cooker under way to have breakfast and to await the arrival of Captain Scott and the seven lustier ponies. They arrived before our breakfast was ready; more greetings and much joy in the motor party. Scott expressed his satisfaction at our share in the advance, hurriedly gave us further instructions, and then proceeded, leaving us to join at their camp 3 1/2 miles farther south: Accordingly we deposited a unit of provisions at the cairn, put up a bamboo with a large black flag on it, left two of the boxes of biscuit from One Ton Depot and three tins of paraffin, and then set out.

We came up to the Main Camp at 10 o'clock in the forenoon, pitched our tent, had a conference with Captain Scott, cadged some biscuits, and then cooked lunch and got into our sleeping-bags to await the hour of 6 p.m. before commencing our southward march as pioneers and trail breakers.

Scott had with him the following, leading ponies: Wilson, Oates, Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Edgar Evans, and Crean, besides the aforesaid three with the "crocks."

Meares and Dimitri drove dog teams and every one was in good health and sparkling spirits. Our leader ordered the motor party, or man-hauling party, as we were now termed, to go forward and advance 15 miles daily, and to erect cairns at certain prearranged distances, surveying, navigating, and selecting the camping site. The ponies were to march by night and rest when the sun was high and the air warmer. Meares's dogs were to bring up the rear—and start some hours after the ponies since their speed was so much greater.

So we started away at 8.15 p.m., marched 7 miles and a bittock to lunch, putting up a "top-hat" cairn at 4 miles, two cairns at the lunch camp, one cairn three miles beyond, and so on according to plan.

Atkinson's tent gave us some biscuit, cheese, and seal liver, so that day we lived high. After lunch we continued until the prescribed distance had been fully covered.

We noticed that there were ice crystals like spikes, with no glide about them, and the surface continued thus until 3 a.m. when there was a sudden change for the better. Quite substantial pony walls were built by the horsemen when they camped—all these marks ensuring a homeward marching route like a buoyed channel.