I see the dark silhouette of Petty Officer Evans falling forward
into the deep snow at the foot of the Antarctic glacier.
I see him kneeling with a wild look in his eyes
as his companions return to aid him.
I see his clothes disarrayed, his hands uncovered and frostbitten
in the stinging subzero air.
“I must have fainted” I hear him stammer.
I see his companions carry him on the sledge.
I see him die in the tent.
I see him buried, and his companions
break camp, and move on.
I see the thermometer: -42oF.
I see dogs freezing solid in their sleep
and the Siberian ponies slipping down ice crevices
and disappearing with vital provisions.
I see blackened toes, gangrene setting in,
fingernails lost, frostbitten cheeks and noses,
and uncomplaining eyes
contemplating the 800 mile return trip
from their expedition to the South Pole.
The year is 1912.
I see an unforeseen harsh Antarctic autumn set in-
blizzards and gale force winds lasting for days,
the men confined to their tent,
heating oil and food running low...
I see Lt. Owens wake, not having expected to,
and walking out into the blizzard, never to return.
I see a tent pitched on the frozen continent,
11 miles from the last depot,
trapped by a blizzard which will last for four days.
There are no rations or heating fuel remaining.
I see a frostbit hand writing the last of twelve letters,
I read some of the last words written:
"We are weakening... writing is difficult... I do not regret this journey..."
I see Capt. Scott, Dr. Wilson, and Lt. Bowers
drifting into a cold sleep
and giving themselves up to nature...
I see a rescue party eight months later
discovering the partially buried tent
and recovering journals, film,
and scientific experiments...
I see a memorial cairn built, the tent buried,
and hear a hymn roughly sung.
I see the search party leave,
and I hear the wind blowing over the sight,
and I feel the chill of the Antarctic night...
I gaze into the the distant future and see an ice sheet break free
and with the frozen souls drift out to sea.
I see it melt and sink
taking these early 20th century explorers
to their final Atlantan resting place,
and I see their place in history.
Author notes
......................................Based on the fatal Antarctic polar expedition
of Capt. Robert F. Scott, R.N.
and inspired by a most riveting reenactment from the
History Channel- that of Evans lagging behind the party
and collapsing in the snow...
Photos:
Antarctic landscape.
Scott and the doomed expedition at the South Pole.
A sledge.
and here's to the historians who bring it all back to life
in ever more detailed and moving ways!
Written May 6th, 2005
In a list
A contest entry
- History Contest. by hugh wyles.
500 points, ended May 24, 2005, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
Congratulations on winning Bronze... well done...
mina -
This is excellent. As I read, I became more and more appalled at the suffering of the men in this exploration party. The most appalling part is the last stanza, in which it appears that global warming and the melting of the ice sheet will destroy their memorial. Thanks very much for your entry.
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WOW... This is a wonderful write!!! I love this poem!!! You did a great job!!! Good luck in the contest!!!
Hugs,
Beth -
Wow, this is such a fantastic and well written piece
Keep writing, this was a lovely poem which I liked a lot
All the best,
Pozo
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That's not only sad, but tells a chilling tale. I detest the bitter cold.You paid them an honorable tribute by way of remembrance. Great job.~~Suseann
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i loved the last lines...death cannot take away the immortality of the men you described.good writing
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YA
this is powerful, verry powerful, it's so sad what happened, but I like the way you describe, and great name -
superb work!
-
This was such a great piece and the ending just tied it up perfectly. Great job. Keep on writing.
Blessed be,
Lefay
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