270 SCOTT'S LAST: EXPEDITION [January 
the sun dispersed the mist and shone brightly. The now famil- 
iar features of McMurdo Strait were clearly outlined to the 
southward, and our stout little ship steamed at full speed past 
Cape Royds towards our winter quarters. 
We had spent the last twenty-four hours in ‘squaring up’ — 
and preparing our comfortable, if somewhat limited, accommo- 
dation for the reception of our comrades at Cape Evans. The 
mails were all sorted and each member’s letters done up in 
pillow-slips with his name boldly printed thereon. We had only 
one piece of bad news, the death of poor Brissenden, for all the 
wives and relations were well, and eagerly looking forward to 
the return of the expedition. Every telescope and binocular in 
the ship was levelled on the hut as Cape Evans opened out from 
behind the Cape Barne Glacier. The bay was free of ice and one 
_ or two figures were discernible outside the hut. 
The ship rapidly closed the beach, and by the sudden lively 
movements of those ashore we knew that the Terra Nova had 
been perceived. 
As we stopped engines a crowd collected before the hut and 
we could count nineteen men—it was an exciting moment. 
The shore party gave three hearty cheers, to which the ship’s 
company replied. The Commanding Officer, espying Campbell, 
shouted through a megaphone, ‘ Are you all well, Campbell?’ 
At this our friends on shore became speechless, and after a 
very marked hush, which quite damped our spirits, Campbell 
replied: ‘ The Southern Party reached the Pole on January 18 
last year, but were all lost on the return journey—we have their 
records.’ 
The anchor was dropped; Campbell and Atkinson immedi- 
ately came off and told us in detail how misfortune after mis- 
fortune had befallen our gallant leader and his four brave com- 
rades. We listened sadly to the story, and our feelings were too 
deep to be described. We had actually prepared the cabins for 
the reception of our lost companions, and it was with infinite sad- 
ness that the beds were unmade, the flags hauled down from our 
mastheads, and those undelivered letters sealed up for return 
to the wives and mothers who had given up so much in order 
that their men might achieve. 
But however great our sorrow we had the consolation of 
pride in the magnificent spirit shown by the Polar Party. The 
