In 500... (or less)

Solemn Search

There was never a chance of rescue. The weather had turned for the worst and no one dared go out to look for them.

The five men had been left to their fate seven months ago. Survival was not in question. The environment was too hostile for that.

And yet 11 men reported for the search party, resigned to the grim task ahead of them.

"How far do you think we'll need to go?" asked Gran.

"They couldn't have made the depot," answered Atkinson, the leader of the group. "They would have made it if they made it to the depot.

"My best guess is a week out from here."

It was evident from his tone that he did not agree with the decision. There were three other men stranded, ones who may yet be alive. All the men voted to go find the bodies of their comrades rather than rescue the living.

"If we don't find them and the others die, our names will stink to the heavens," Wright said at the time, even though he was among those decided to look for their dead comrades.

Few words were spoken as the men trudged across the ice. They were ever watchful for any sign of the missing men against the barren white landscape.

They passed the depot, with its massive store of food and supplies, all untouched from the season before.

Atkinson held in his feelings of guilt looking at the supplies. If only he had gotten the dogs to the rendevous point, the men might all be alive.

There were enough failures to go around among the search party. Wright had not insisted on leading the party with the dogs, he stayed behind to help with weather measurements. Cherry-Garrard only went as far as the depot, and then with great difficulty in navigating.

They had gone another 11 miles past the depot with barely a word between them, only orders for the dog teams or an occasional break. Wright thought he spotted something and wandered off to investigate.

His head sunk low as he realized what it was: the top of a tent, buried in the snow. He could not speak, he only stood still, weakly lifting his arm to signal the others.

"What is it?" Atkinson asked.

"I've found them," Wright said softly.

"Dig it out," ordered Atkinson. It was a grim assignment, as the bodies of the men were surely inside. Atkinson hoped for some record of the men's journey.

Gran was the first inside the tent. He turned his head sharply at the sight, three yellowed and glassy bodies laying frozen.

"It's like a nightmare," he said to Wright as the latter entered the tent.

They solemnly collected the men's effects, save for the tent and the bodies. Atkinson removed the poles and let the tent cover the bodies. He took out his bible and read some verses from Corinthians.

Gran took off his skis and erected a cross to commemorate the final resting place of Robert Falcon Scott.