“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 mercifully 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 deg. at mid-day.  My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frost-bites, and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don’t think any one 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 pony marches from One Ton Depot.  We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and Oates’ sleeping-bags.  Diaries, etc., and geological specimens carried at Wilson’s special request, will be found with us or on our sledge.”

“Sunday, March 18. To-day, lunch, we are 21 miles from the depot.  Ill fortune presses, but better may come.  We have had more wind and drift from ahead yesterday; had to stop marching; wind N.W., force 4, temp. -35 deg..  No human being could face it, and we are worn out nearly.

“My right foot has gone, nearly all the toes—­two days ago I was proud possessor of best feet....  Bowers takes first place in condition, but there is not much to choose after all.  The others are still confident of getting through—­or pretend to be—­I don’t know!  We have the last half fill of oil in our primus and a very small quantity of spirit—­this alone between us and thirst.  The wind is fair for the moment, and that is perhaps a fact to help.  The mileage would have seemed ridiculously small on our outward journey.”

“Monday, March 19.  Lunch. We camped with difficulty last night and were dreadfully cold till after our supper of cold pemmican and biscuit and a half pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit.  Then, contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well.  To-day we started in the usual dragging manner.  Sledge dreadfully heavy.  We are 151/2 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 deg. temp, to-day.”