Saturday, February 17.—­A very terrible day.  Evans looked a little better after a good sleep, and declared, as he always did, that he was quite well.  He started in his place on the traces, but half an hour later worked his ski shoes adrift, and had to leave the sledge.  The surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski and runners at every step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast, and the land hazy.  We stopped after about one hour, and Evans came up again, but very slowly.  Half an hour later he dropped out again on the same plea.  He asked Bowers to lend him a piece of string.  I cautioned him to come on as quickly as he could, and he answered cheerfully as I thought.  We had to push on, and the remainder of us were forced to pull very hard, sweating heavily.  Abreast the Monument Rock we stopped, and seeing Evans a long way astern, I camped for lunch.  There was no alarm at first, and we prepared tea and our own meal, consuming the latter.  After lunch, and Evans still not appearing, we looked out, to see him still afar off.  By this time we were alarmed, and all four started back on ski.  I was first to reach the poor man and shocked at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged, hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes.  Asked what was the matter, he replied with a slow speech that he didn’t know, but thought he must have fainted.  We got him on his feet, but after two or three steps he sank down again.  He showed every sign of complete collapse.  Wilson, Bowers, and I went back for the sledge, whilst Oates remained with him.  When we returned he was practically unconscious, and when we got him into the tent quite comatose.  He died quietly at 12.30 A.M.  On discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by the shock of his frostbitten fingers, and later by falls during rough travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in himself.  Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a fall.  It is a terrible thing to lose a companion in this way, but calm reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the terrible anxieties of the past week.  Discussion of the situation at lunch yesterday shows us what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on our hands at such a distance from home.

At 1 A.M. we packed up and came down over the pressure ridges, finding our depot easily.

CHAPTER XX

The Last March_25_

Sunday, February 18.—­R. 32.  Temp. -5.5 deg..  At Shambles Camp.  We gave ourselves 5 hours’ sleep at the lower glacier depot after the horrible night, and came on at about 3 to-day to this camp, coming fairly easily over the divide.  Here with plenty of horsemeat we have had a fine supper, to be followed by others such, and so continue a more plentiful era if we can keep good marches up.  New life seems to come with greater food almost immediately, but I am anxious about the Barrier surfaces.