The second ascent of Mount Erebus was carried out in December, 1912, by a party under Raymond Priestley, and although it cannot be described in a little volume like this a really fine scientific journey was made by Griffith-Taylor, Debenham, Gran, and Petty Officer Forde. They had the best time of the lot, for they carried out their explorations in blissful ignorance of the tribulations of Scott, Campbell, Atkinson and myself, whose stories I have tried to summarise.

For breezy reading and real bright narrative commend me to Griffith-Taylor. Volume II. of "Scott's Last Expedition" contains the story of the "Western journeys" as written by him, and they give quite truly the Silver Lining to the Cloud which formed about the rest of our Expedition.

For lightheartedness and good fellowship our Australian geologists should be given first prize. It is of little use writing about distances covered and dangers overcome in this connection, but if one considers that the Western Geological Party surveyed, examined, charted, photographed, and to some extent plodded over a mountainous, heavily glaciated land lying in an area of the entire acreage of Kent, Sussex, Hants, Dorset, Devon, and Cornwall, one gets a fair idea of what "Griff" and Co. were playing at.

Taylor was the first professional physiographer to visit the Antarctic Continent, and besides being an all round man of science he was an admirable fellow, with the widest outlook on life of any man amongst us.

I cannot pretend to write on geology; Taylor, Debenham, and Priestley are still drawing up reports on Antarctic physiography and glacial geology on our fossils collected, on the Barrier Movement, and the retreating ice of that Frozen Wonderland. Some day another expedition, more up to date than ours, will force its way into the Heart of that Frigid Zone. If this expedition sets out soon, I hope I may command it when I am still fresh and fit—if that great good fortune comes my way I shall telegraph to Griff and ask him to be my "Uncle Bill," and to help me as Wilson helped Scott.

As this is only a popular version of the last Scott Antarctic Expedition I have not collected any scientific appendices, and I have tried not to throw any bouquets at one member more than another—if I have failed I have done it accidentally, for one has no favourites after nearly ten years. My especial friends in the Expedition were the lieutenants, Campbell, Pennell, Rennick, Bowers, and Bruce, and of the scientists I was most fond of Nelson.

The concluding part of this narrative is concerned with our little ship, for which we had such affection.

To connect the story up one must go back to the time when on March 3, 1912, the "Terra Nova" made her last call for the year at Cape Evans—here she embarked those members returning home, who for various causes had not been collected before. Then it will be remembered that Keohane was taken to Hut Point and landed with Atkinson, and afterwards, owing to the thickening up of the ice in McMurdo Sound, the ship's head was turned Northward. The ice conditions off the Bay where Campbell was landed were terrific, and the little whaler had a tough time forcing her way out into the Ross Sea once more after failure to relieve him.

She arrived in New Zealand on April 1, to learn of Amundsen's success, and I went home a physical wreck with Francis Drake, the secretary, to carry out Scott's wishes in the matter of finance. It was many months before I could get about in comfort; but my wife nursed me back to health. Several scientific and other members dispersed to their respective duties in civil life. Pennell temporarily paid off the seamen who had joined in New Zealand, and took the ship away to survey Admiralty Bay in the Sounds according to arrangements made with the New Zealand Government. During this operation we had the great misfortune to lose by drowning Stoker Petty Officer Robert Brissenden.

Finally the little "Terra Nova" filled up with coal and left for the South to pick up Scott and his expedition. She was once more under my command as her original Captain, Pennell very gracefully and unselfishly standing down to the position of second in command.

The programme included an extensive sounding cruse, guided to some degree by what Professor David of Sydney University wished for, to throw further light on the great earth folds. The voyage was like its predecessors, except that we purposely kept in Longitude 165 W. to sound over new portions of the ocean, every opportunity being taken to gain fresh information and fulfil the requirements of the biological programme too. We had hardly our share of gales this voyage, and although we expected to meet with the pack in about 66 S. Latitude, it was not reached until we had attained the 69th parallel—two degrees farther South than we had found it in the "Terra Nova"'s first two voyages.

The only other expedition that had explored the Eastern part of the Ross Sea so far was that under Ross in the "Erebus" and "Terror." We did not gain anything by forcing the pack so far East, however, for we encountered a heavy belt of ice through which we fought our way for 400 miles.

The weather mostly served us well, and great credit is due to Rennick, Lillie, and Pennell for their sounding, biological, and magnetic work respectively—they were indefatigable, and even though it blew hard on occasions, thanks to Rennick's expert handling of the Lucas machine we obtained several soundings in 3000 fathoms when less ardent hydrographers would have surrendered to the bad weather.

January 15 found us passing through loose pack—sometimes the ship was in large open leads—we stopped on one of these and sounded. To our surprise we found 368 fathoms, volcanic rock—in 72 degrees 0 minutes S., 168 degrees 17 minutes W. we found the depth 2322 fathoms, so we had struck the continental shelf right enough in Latitude 73 degrees. By 8 p.m. we were in even shallower water—in fact we discovered a shoal in only 158 fathoms—it was a great discovery for us, and Lillie immediately put over the Agassiz trawl. After dragging it along the bottom for half an hour we hauled in and found the net full of stuff. Big-mouthed fish, worms, spiders, anemones, sea-cucumbers, polyzoa, prawns, little fish like sardines, one spiky fish like nothing on earth, starfish and octopus, limpets with jointed shells, sponges, ascidians; isopods, and all kinds of sea lice. Enough to keep Lillie busy for weeks.

The evening before we finally broke through into open water was beautifully still, and a low cloud settled down in the form of a thick fog—it was a change from the fine, clear weather—frost rime settled everywhere, and for a time we had to stop. There was a weird stillness over all, and whenever the ship was moved amongst the ice-floes a curious hiss was heard; this sound is well known to all ice navigators: it is the sear of the floe against the greenheart sheathing which protects the little ship, and it is to the ice-master what the strange smell of the China Seas is to the far Eastern navigator, what the Mediterranean "cheesy odours" and the Eucalyptus scents of Australia are to the P. and O. officers, and what the pungent peat smoke of Ireland is to the North Atlantic seaman. I suppose the memory of the pack ice hissing around a wooden ship is one of the little voices that call—and they sometimes call as the memory of "a tall ship and a star to steer her by" calls John Masefield's seamen "down to the sea again." I sometimes feel a mute fool at race meetings, society dinner parties, and dances, the lure of the little voices I know then at its strongest. It is felt by the Polar explorer in peace times and in the hey-day of prosperity, and it is surely that which called Scott away, when he had everything that man wants, and made him write as he lay nobly dying out there in the snowy wild:

"How much better has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home."

But this is yielding dream to my narrative, and I must apologise and continue with the closing chapter.

After this fog, which held us up awhile, we got into one more lot of pack varying in thickness and containing some fine long water lanes, and then we made for Cape Bird, which we rounded on January 18, to find open water right up to Cape Evans.

A tremendous feast was prepared, the table in the wardroom decked with little flags and silk ribbons. Letters were done up in neat packets for each member, and even champagne was got up from the store: chocolates, cigarettes, cigars, and all manner of luxury placed in readiness.

The ship was specially scrubbed and cleaned, yards were squared, ropes hauled taut and neatly coiled down, and our best Jacks and Ensigns hoisted in gala fashion to meet and acclaim our leader and our comrades. Glasses were levelled on the beach, and soon we discerned little men running hither and thither in wild excitement; a lump stuck in my throat at the idea of greeting the Polar Party with the knowledge that Amundsen had anticipated us, it was something like having to congratulate a dear friend on winning second prize in a great hard won race—which is exactly what it was. But it was not even to be that: the ship rapidly closed the beach, engines were stopped, and a thrill of excitement ran through us. The shore party gave three cheers, which we on board replied to, and espying Campbell I was overjoyed, for I feared more on his behalf than on the others, owing to the small amount of provisions he had left him at Evans Coves. I shouted out, "Campbell, is every one well," and after a moment's hesitation he replied, "The Southern Party reached the South Pole on the 17th January, last year, but were all lost on the return journey—we have their records." It was a moment of hush and overwhelming sorrow—a great stillness ran through the ship's little company and through the party on shore.

I have been reminded of it particularly on the anniversaries of Armistice
Day.

The great silence was broken by the order to let the anchor fall: the splash which followed and the rattle of the chain gave us relief, and then Campbell and Atkinson came off in a boat to tell us in detail how misfortune after misfortune had befallen our leader and his four brave comrades. Slowly and with infinite sadness the flags were lowered from the mastheads and Scott's little "Terra Nova" stood bareheaded at the Gate of the Great Ice Barrier.

From the bridge one heard the occasional clatter of plates and cutlery, for the steward was busy removing the table dressings and putting away the things that we had no heart for any longer. The undelivered letters were taken out of the bunks, which had been spread with white clean linen for our chief and the Polar team, and Drake sealed them up for return to the wives and mothers who had given up so much in order that their men might achieve.

A great cross was now carved of Australian jarrah, on which was carved by
Davis:
In
Memoriam
CAPT. R.F. Scott, R.N.,
DR. E.A. WILSON, Capt. L.E.G. Oates, INS. DRGS.
LT. H.R. BOWERS, R.I.M.,
PETTY OFFICER E. Evans, R.N.,
Who Died on their
Return from the
Pole-March,
1912.

To Strive, To Seek,
To Find,
And Not To Yield.

This cross was borne on a sledge over the frozen sea to Hut Point, and thence carried by Atkinson, and those who had taken part in the search for Captain Scott, to the top of Observation Hill, which is in full view of Cape Evans, and also of Captain Scott's original winter quarters in the Discovery Expedition. The cross overlooks also his resting place: The Great Ice Barrier.

As there is nothing to cause this wooden cross to rot, it will remain standing for an indefinite time.

We left a year's stores for a dozen people at Cape Evans and re-embarked the remainder of our possessions.

The collections and specimens were carefully stowed in our holds, and then we took the ship to Cape Royds and Granite Harbour, where geological depots had been made by Priestley, Taylor, and Debenham.

Finally we revisited Evans Coves, and secured the ship to a natural wharf of very hard sea ice, which stretches out some distance from the Piedmont.

Priestley here secured his party's geological dump, and while he was away the remainder of the expedition in little relays visited the igloo where Campbell and his party spent the previous winter. Concerning the igloo, the following are my impressions, taken from my diary:

"Never in my life have I experienced such sensations as I did on this occasion. The visit to the igloo explained in itself a story of hardship that brought home to us what Campbell never would have told. There was only one corner of it where a short man could stand upright. In odd corners were discarded clothes, saturated in blubber and absolutely black with smoke; the weight of these garments was extraordinary, and how Campbell's party ever lived through what they did I don't know:

"Although the igloo was once white inside, blubber stoves had blackened it throughout. No cell prisoners ever had such discomforts. (Campbell's simple narrative I read aloud to Bruce from Campbell's diary. It was a tale of altruism and grit, so simply told, full of disappointments and privations, all of which they accepted with fortitude and never a complaint. I had to stop reading it as it brought tears to my eyes and made my voice thick—ditto old Bruce.) After spending half an hour at the igloo, and after Pennell had done some magnetic work, picked up our ice anchors and steamed away."

On 27th January, 1913, after breakfast, I called the staff together in the wardroom and read out my plans for the future, officially assumed the command and control of the Expedition.

I then appointed Lieuts. Campbell, Pennell, Bruce, Surgeon E.L. Atkinson, and Mr. Francis Drake as an executive committee, with myself as president, to assist me in satisfactorily terminating the Expedition. I asked every member of the staff publicly if he had any questions to put, and also if he could suggest any better combination for the committee. As all were unanimous in the fairness of the selection, it stands. The minutes of the proceedings were taken down and my remarks placed verbatim among the records of the Expedition.

We left a depot of provisions at the head of the Bay, its position being marked by a bamboo and flag.

This depot contains enough foodstuffs to enable a party of five or six men to make their way to Butter Point, where, another large depot exists.

Early on 26th January we left these inhospitable coasts, and those who were on deck watched the familiar rocky, snow-capped shores fast disappearing from view. We had been happy there before disaster overtook our Expedition, but now we were glad to leave, and some of us must have realised that these ice-girt rocks and mountains were not meant for human beings to associate their lives with. For centuries, perhaps for all time, no other human being will set foot upon the Beardmore, and it is doubtful if ever the great inland plateau will be re-visited, except perhaps by aeroplane.

When we left it was a "good-night" scene for most of us. The great white plateau and peaks were grimly awaiting winter, and they seemed to mock our departing exploring ship as though glad to be left in their loneland Silence.

* * * * *

Corrections made to Collins edition:

p.47 'Mearse' to 'Meares' p.61 'steamiug' to 'steaming' p.84 'Pennel' to 'Pennell' p.85 'when the time for her' to 'when the time came for her' p.96 'Fedruary' to 'February' p.96 'Saftey Camp' to 'Safety Camp' p.108 'athelete' to 'athlete' p.218 'Cherry-Garrad' to 'Cherry-Garrard' p.247 'anchored ourselved' to 'anchored ourselves' p.308 'Cornwell' to 'Cornwall'

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