4 o8 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [March 



could be temperatures like this at this time of year with such 

 winds. Truly awful outside the tent. Must fight it out to the 

 last biscuit, but can't reduce rations. 



Friday, March 16 or Saturday 17. Lost track of dates, but 

 think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the 

 day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; 

 he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we 

 could not do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. 

 In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a 

 few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come. 



Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' 

 last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he 

 took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with 

 the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his 

 bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without 

 complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to dis- 

 cuss outside subjects. He did not would not give up hope to 

 the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He 

 slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but 

 he woke in the morning yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. 

 He said, ' I am just going outside and may be some time.' He 

 went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since. 



I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick 

 companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely 

 out of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder 

 seemed to demand his abandonment, but Providence merci- 

 fully removed him at this critical moment. He died a natural 

 death, and we did not leave him till two hours after his death. 

 We knew that poor Oates was walking to his death, but though 

 we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man 

 and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the end with 

 a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far. 



I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The 

 cold is intense, - 40 at midday. My companions are unend- 

 ingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frostbites, 

 and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don't think 

 anyone of us believes it in his heart. 



We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals. 

 Yesterday we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move 

 dreadfully slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two 



