The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard (book recommendations for teens txt) 📕

and biscuit and a half pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit. Then, contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well. Today we started in the usual dragging manner. Sledge dreadfully heavy. We are 15½ miles from the depot and ought to get there in three days. What progress! We have two days’ food but barely a day’s fuel. All our feet are getting bad⁠—Wilson’s best, my right foot worse, left all right. There is no chance to nurse one’s feet till we can get hot food into us. Amputation is the least I can hope for now, but will the trouble spread? That is the serious question. The weather doesn’t give us a chance⁠—the wind from N. to N. W. and −40° temp, today.”

“Wednesday, March 21. Got within 11 miles of depot Monday night; had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard. Today forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for fuel.”

“22 and 23. Blizzard bad as ever⁠—Wilson and Bowers unable to start⁠—tomorrow last chance⁠—no fuel and only one or two of food left⁠—must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural⁠—we shall march for the depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks.”

“Thursday, March 29. Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale from W. S. W. and S. W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot 11 miles away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far.

“It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.

“R. Scott.”

Last entry. “For God’s sake, look after our people.”

The following extracts are from letters written by Scott:

To Mrs. E. A. Wilson

My Dear Mrs. 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 that he died as he lived, a brave, true man⁠—the best of comrades and staunchest of friends.

My whole heart goes out to you in pity. Yours,

R. Scott.

To Mrs. Bowers

My Dear Mrs. Bowers. I am 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 ever shone brighter and he has remained cheerful, hopeful and indomitable to the end.⁠ ⁠…

To Sir J. M. Barrie

My Dear Barrie. We are pegging out in a very comfortless spot. Hoping this letter may be found and sent to you, I write a word of farewell⁠ ⁠… Goodbye. I am not at all afraid of the end, but sad to miss many a humble pleasure which I had planned for the future on our long marches. I may not have proved a great explorer, but we have done the greatest march ever made and come very near to great success. Goodbye, my dear friend. Yours ever,

R. Scott.

We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, etc. 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.

Later. We are very near the end, but have not and will not lose our good cheer. We have four days of storm in our tent and nowhere’s food or fuel. We did intend to finish ourselves when things proved like this, but we have decided to die naturally in the track.347

The following extracts are from letters written to other friends:

“… I want to tell you that I was not too old for this job. It was the younger men that went under first.⁠ ⁠… After all we are setting a good example to our countrymen, if not by getting into a tight place, by facing it like men when we were there. We could have come through had we neglected the sick.”

“Wilson, the best fellow that ever stepped, has sacrificed himself again and again to the sick men of the party.⁠ ⁠…”

“… Our journey has been the biggest on record, and nothing but the most exceptional hard luck at the end would have caused us to fail to return.”

“What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home.”

Message to the Public

The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organization, but to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken.

The loss of pony transport in March 1911 obliged me to start later than I had intended, and obliged the limits of stuff transported to be narrowed.

The weather throughout the outward journey, and especially the long gale in 83° S., stopped us.

The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again reduced pace.

We