"At 7 p.m. Captain Scott cooked tea for all hands.
"At 8 p.m. the first sledge was finished and the men went straight on
with the second. This was finished by midnight, and, having seen the
New Year in, we had a fine pemmican hoosh and went to bed."
New Year's Day found us in Latitude 87 degrees 7 minutes S. Height, 9300 feet above Barrier—a southerly wind, with temperature 14 degrees below zero.
On 2nd January I found the variation to be exactly 180 degrees. A skua gull appeared from the south and hovered round the sledges during the afternoon, then it settled on the snow once or twice and we tried to catch it.
Did 15 miles with ease, but we were now only pulling 130 lb. per man.
On January 3 Scott came into my tent before we began the day's march and informed me that he was taking his own team to the Pole. He also asked me to spare Bowers from mine if I thought I could make the return journey of 750 miles short-handed—this, of course, I consented to do, and so little Bowers left us to join the Polar party. Captain Scott said he felt that I was the only person capable of piloting the last supporting party back without a sledge meter. I felt very sorry for him having to break the news to us, although I had foreseen it—for Lashly and I knew we could never hope to be in the Polar party after our long drag out from Cape Evans itself.
We could not all go to the Pole—food would not allow this. Briefly then it was a disappointment, but not too great to bear; it would have been an unbearable blow to us had we known that almost in sight were Amundsen's tracks, and that all our dragging and straining at the trace had been in vain.
On 4th January we took four days' provision for three men and handed over the rest of our load to Scott.
Then we three, Lashly, Crean, and myself, marched south to Latitude 87 degrees 34 minutes S. with the Polar party, and, seeing that they were travelling rapidly yet easily, halted, shook hands all round, and said good-bye, and since no traces of the successful Norwegian had been found so far, we fondly imagined that our flag would be the first to fly at the South Pole. We gave three huge cheers for the Southern party, as they stepped off, and then turned our sledge and commenced our homeward march of between 750 and 800 statute miles. We frequently looked back until we saw the last of Captain Scott and his four companions—a tiny black speck on the horizon, and little did we think that we would be the last to see them alive, that our three cheers on that bleak and lonely plateau summit would be the last appreciation they would ever know.
This day the excitement was intense, for it was obvious that with five fit men—the Pole being only 140 geographical miles away—the achievement was merely a matter of 10 or 11 days' good sledging.