station, with a staff in residence for a year at a time.  Our stay of three years was far too much:  another year would have driven the best of us mad.  Of the five main journeys which fell to my lot, one, the Winter Journey, should not have been undertaken at all with our equipment; and two others, the Dog Journey and the Search Journey, had better have been done by fresh men.  It is no use repeating that Englishmen will respond to every call and stick it to the death:  they will (some of them); but they have to pay the price all the same; and the price in my case was an overdraft on my vital capital which I shall never quite pay off, and in the case of five bigger, stronger, more seasoned men, death.  The establishment of such stations and of such a service cannot be done by individual heroes and enthusiasts cadging for cheques from rich men and grants from private scientific societies:  it is a business, like the Nares Arctic expedition, for public organization.

I do not suppose that in these days of aviation the next visit to the Pole will be made by men on foot dragging sledges, or by men on sledges dragged by dogs, mules or ponies; nor will depots be laid in that way.  The pack will not, I hope, be broken through by any old coal-burning ship that can be picked up in the second-hand market.  Specially built ships, and enough of them; specially engined tractors and aeroplanes; specially trained men and plenty of them, will all be needed if the work is to be done in any sort of humane and civilized fashion; and Cabinet ministers and voters alike must learn to value knowledge that is not baited by suffering and death.  My own bolt is shot; I do not suppose I shall ever go south again before I go west; but if I do it will be under proper and reasonable conditions.  I may not come back a hero; but I shall come back none the worse; for I repeat, the Antarctic, in moderation as to length of stay, and with such accommodation as is now easily within the means of modern civilized Powers, is not half as bad a place for public service as the worst military stations on the equator.  I hope that by the time Scott comes home—­for he is coming home:  the Barrier is moving, and not a trace of our funeral cairn was found by Shackleton’s men in 1916—­the hardships that wasted his life will be only a horror of the past, and his via dolorosa a highway as practicable as Piccadilly.

And now let me come down to tin tacks.  No matter how well the thing is done in future, its organizers will want to know at first all we can tell them about oil, about cold, and about food.  First, as to oil.