Lesson 22 The Great Tragedy / Zweig

Lesson 22 The Great Tragedy / Zweig

On January 16, 1912, Scott and his party set off early in the morning, earlier than usual, in order to see the beautiful secret earlier. Anxious mood pulled them out of their sleeping bags early. By noon, the five perseverance had covered 14 kilometers. They walk with enthusiasm on the deserted white snowfield, because it is no longer possible to reach their destination, and the decisive deeds for humanity are almost complete. But suddenly, one of his partners, Bowers, became uneasy. His eyes were fixed on a small black dot in the boundless snow. He did not dare to voice his conjecture: someone might have set up a signpost here. But now everyone else is horrible to think about it. Their hearts trembled, but they tried to comfort themselves as much as possible, just as Robinson tried to see the footprints of strangers as his own when he found them on a desert island. In fact, they already knew in their hearts that the Norwegians, led by Amundsen, had been here before them. It wasn't long before they found a ski pole with a black flag tied to the snow, surrounded by traces of skis from others who had pierced the camp and the tracks of many dogs. In the face of this harsh truth, there is no need to doubt that Amundsen has camped here. The South Pole of the Earth, which has never been seen by the world since ancient times, has been discovered twice in a very short period of time, that is, within a month, which is the most incredible thing unheard of in human history. And they were precisely the second group to arrive, they were only a month late. Although millions of months have passed, the month that is late now seems too late and too late for mankind, the first to arrive has everything, and the second arriver is nothing. All the efforts were in vain, the hardships were ridiculous, and the hopes of weeks, months, and years were frantic. "After all the hardships, endless pains and troubles, and sleeping in the open, what is all this for? Not for these dreams, but now they are all over. Scott wrote in his diary. Tears welled up from their eyes. Despite exhaustion, they couldn't sleep that night. Losing hope as if they had been sentenced, they continued sullenly on the last stretch to the extreme, when they had thought of rushing there with cheers. None of them wanted to comfort the others, but silently dragged their steps forward. On January 18, Captain Scott and four of his companions reached the pole. Since he was no longer the first to arrive here, everything here did not make him feel very dazzling. He only looked at this sad place with indifferent eyes. "There's nothing to see here, no different from the eerie monotony of the other day." That's all Robert Falcon Scott wrote about the pole. The only unusual thing they found there was not caused by nature, but by rivals, and that was Amundsen's tent flying the Norwegian flag. The Norwegian flag flaunts its mighty and proudly hunts on this fortress that has been breached by humans. Its occupiers also left a letter here, waiting for the arrival of this unknown second place, who he believed would arrive with him, so he asked him to bring the letter to King Haakon of Norway. Scott accepted the task, faithfully fulfilling the most ruthless duty: to testify before the world for another man's accomplishment, a cause he himself passionately pursued. They unhappily planted the Union Jack next to Amundsen's Victory Flag----- a belated "Flag of the United Kingdom" and left the place that "failed their ambitions". A cold wind blew behind them. With a sense of foreboding, Scott wrote in his diary: "The way back made me feel very terrible. "The journey back was tenfold more dangerous, and they had to follow the compass's guidance on the way to the pole, and now they had to follow their original footsteps, and over the course of several weeks they had to be careful not to deviate from their original footprints, lest they miss the pre-set storage points where their food, clothing, and gallons of kerosene condensed with heat were stored. But the snow sealed their eyes, making them worry every step they took, because if they deviated and missed the storage point, they were tantamount to going straight to death. Moreover, they no longer lacked the energy they had when they first arrived, because the chemical energy contained in the rich nutrients and the warm barracks of the Antarctic House brought them strength. At first, they had superhuman power when they thought that their expeditions were the immortal cause of mankind. And now they are fighting only to keep their skin undamaged, for the survival of their dying flesh, for the return home without any glory. Deep down, they are more afraid of going home than they are looking forward to going home. Reading the diary of those days is scary. The weather is getting worse, and the cold season is coming earlier than usual. The snow under the soles of their shoes turned from soft to hard, forming a thick ice patch, stepping on it as if stepping on triangular spikes, sticking to their shoes with every step, and the biting cold devoured their already exhausted bodies. They often cowered for days on end, went the wrong way, and each time they arrived at a storage point, they were slightly happy, and the flame of faith flashed again between the lines of the diary. In the eerie loneliness, there are only a few people walking, and their heroism cannot but be admired. Nowhere is this more evident than Dr. Wilson, who is in charge of scientific research, and continues his scientific observations even when he is only an inch away from death. On his sled, in addition to all the necessary loads, he dragged 16 kilograms of precious rock samples. However, human courage was gradually eroded by the great power of nature. Nature here is ruthless, and the power accumulated over thousands of years can make it summon like an elf to cold, freezing, flying snow, storms, and use all these destructive spells to deal with these five reckless and brave men. Their feet have long frozen. Food rations are becoming less and less, they can only eat one hot meal a day, and their bodies have become very weak due to insufficient calories. One day, the companions frighteningly discovered that Evans, the strongest among them, suddenly went insane. He stood aside, chanting words in his mouth, complaining about their sufferings, some real and some his hallucinations. From his incoherent words, they finally understood that this desperate man had gone crazy because of a fall or because of great pain. What to do with him? Abandon him on this lifeless ice field? No. But on the other hand, they must rush quickly to the next storage point without hesitation, otherwise... It is not clear from the diary what exactly Scott intends to do. At 1 o'clock on the night of February 17, the unfortunate British Navy sergeant died. On that day, they had just walked to the "slaughterhouse camp" and rediscovered the ponies they had slaughtered the previous month, and ate a more hearty meal for the first time. Now only four people continue to walk, but disaster strikes them again. The next storage point brings new pain and disappointment. There was so little kerosene stored here that they had to use the most essential fuel carefully, and they had to save as much heat as possible, which was their only weapon against the cold. The icy night, surrounded by a howling blizzard, they timidly could not sleep with their eyes open, and they hardly had the strength to turn the soles of their felt shoes over. But they had to keep dragging forward, and Oates in the middle of them was already walking with a footboard that had frozen his toes. The wind was blowing harder than ever. On 2 March, they arrived at the next storage site, but again they felt terrible despair: there was again very little fuel stored there. Now they are really panicked to the extreme. From the diary, one can sense how Scott tries to hide his fears, but from the forced sedation he repeatedly bursts into desperate cries: "It will not work like this again", or "God forbid!" We can't stand this fatigue anymore", or "Our play is about to end tragically". Finally, there is a terrible confession: "May God bless us!" It is now difficult to expect human help. However, they still dragged their tired bodies, gritted their teeth, and continued to walk forward in despair. Oates is becoming more and more immobile, becoming more and more a burden to his friends than a helper. One day, at noon, when the temperature reached minus 40 degrees Celsius, they had to slow down their walking, and the unfortunate Oates not only felt, but also knew in his heart that if he continued in this way, he would bring bad luck to his friends, so he made final preparations. He asked Wilson, who was in charge of scientific research, for ten tablets of morphine in order to hasten himself if necessary. They accompanied the patient on another difficult day's journey. And then the unfortunate man himself asked them to leave him in a sleeping bag, separating his fate from theirs. But they adamantly rejected the idea, even though they all knew that it would undoubtedly lighten everyone's burden. So the patient had to stagger for several kilometers on his frostbitten legs until he reached the camp where he was staying overnight. He slept with them until the next morning. Early in the morning, they looked out, and outside was a snowstorm of roaring fury. Oates stood up abruptly and said to his friends, "I'm going to go outside for a walk, maybe stay a little longer." The rest of the people couldn't help but tremble. Everyone knows what it means to go outside for a walk in this weather. But no one dared to say a word that stopped him, and no one dared to extend his hand to shake him goodbye. All of them just felt in awe that Lawrence Oates, a cavalry captain of the British Royal Janissaries, was walking towards death like a hero. Now only three tired, weak men are dragging their feet through the boundless, iron-hard ice wasteland. They are so tired that they no longer hold out any hope, but rely on their confused intuition to support their bodies and stagger. The weather became more and more frightening, and with each storage point, they were greeted with a new despair, as if deliberately playing tricks on them, leaving only a small amount of kerosene, that is, heat. On March 21, they were only 20 kilometers away from the next storage site. But the blizzard blew so ferociously that it seemed to kill people, making it impossible for them to leave their tents. Every night they hoped to reach their destination the next day, but by the next day, in addition to eating one day's rations, they could only pin their hopes on the second tomorrow. They have run out of fuel, and the thermometer is pointing to minus 40 degrees Celsius. Any hope is dashed. They now have to choose between two ways to die: starve or freeze. Surrounded by a primitive white world, three men struggle for eight days against doomed death in a small tent. On March 29, knowing that no miracle would save them again, they decided not to walk towards bad luck, but to proudly wait in their tents for the arrival of death, no matter what pain they had to endure. They climbed into their sleeping bags, but never lamented to the world about the suffering they had endured. Ferocious snowstorms hit the thin tent like madmen, and death was quietly approaching, and at such moments, Captain Scott recalled everything related to himself. For it is only in this extreme silence, which has never been broken by human voices, that he will tragically realize his intimate feelings for his homeland and for all mankind. But in this snowy desert there is only a mirage in the heart, which summons the images of all kinds of people with whom he has been connected by love, loyalty and friendship, and to whom he has left words. Captain Scott wrote letters with his frozen fingers to all the people he loved at the moment of his dying. Captain Scott's diary lasted until the last breath of his life, until his fingers froze completely and the pen slipped from his stiff hands. He hoped that these diaries, which testify to his and the courage of the British nation, would be found next to his corpse, and it was this hope that enabled him to write them to the last moment with superhuman perseverance. The last diary was his wish to write down with his frostbitten fingers: "Please send this diary to my wife!" But then sadly and resolutely crossed out the words "my wife" and added the dreaded "my widow" to them. The companions who lived in the base plank house waited for weeks, first confident, then a little worried, and finally more and more uneasy. They had twice sent rescue teams to pick them up, but bad weather kept them back. It wasn't until spring arrived in Antarctica, on October 29, that an expedition set out to at least find the bodies of the heroes. On November 12, they arrived at the tent and found the heroes' bodies frozen in sleeping bags, and the dead Scott still holding Wilson like a brother. They found the letters and documents and built a stone tomb for the heroes who died tragically. On top of the snow-covered tomb stands a rudimentary black cross. In the National Cathedral, the king knelt down to mourn these heroes. Although a man destroys himself in the struggle against invincible doom, his heart becomes incomparably noble. All of this is the greatest tragedy in all times.