Auto Light and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Herbert Marshall in a true story.
Tonight's presentation of...Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light presents the true story of five polar explorers and their race against
death, a radio dramatization of The Diary of Captain Scott, our star, Mr. Herbert Marshall.
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And now with the diary of Captain Scott and the performance of Mr. Herbert Marshall, Auto
Light hopes once again to keep you in suspense.
Wednesday, January 18, 1912. Camp 69, temperature minus 22 degrees A.M. The South Pole. We have
arrived yet, but under very different circumstances from those expected. We've had a horrible
day. The nation ran high all morning since we were nearing our goal and thought to be
the first five men to reach the pole. But our hopes were dashed when Evans sighted a flag
in a tent near the spot. The Norwegians have forestalled us from our first to get here.
In the empty tent under the name of their leader, Rauald Amundsen, were listed the five
men who were with him. It was a terrible disappointment. And I'm very sorry for my loyal companions.
There's no doubt of it now. They did find an easier way up over the barrier. We thought
as much back at Cape Armitage. It's a rotten shame, men, and I'm sorry. Good Lord, Captain
Scott, you've done everything you could. And there's more to do. More for all of us.
Eight hundred miles, as a matter of fact. Are you ready to start back, Evans? I can't
think of a reason to stay in this ruddy, miserable place. Is the fledge ready, Oates? A bit frozen
in, I suppose. Yes, I imagine. Wilson, do you vote to start? The faster, the better,
Captain. Bowers, can you get a sight and start us off on course? The sky is a bit overcast,
but I think so. Yes, I think I can. We'll go then, as quickly as we can. The minute
saved here will mean a minute more of comfort aboard the ship. January 18th, temperature
minus 26 p.m. The moment of departure is here. It is impossible to collect our thoughts since
few of them are voiced. But I know the same are with all of us. Can we pull the heavy
sledge with great distance? Eight hundred miles of attractors, windflip, barrier and drift.
Can we find the carefully arranged supply camp being left on our trail? Can we trust
our navigation instruments? Can we survive? January 21st, temperature minus 30.4.
This morning, while freeing the sledge from the ice, Evans snatched his hand. I'm afraid
the poor chap is in for trouble as wounds will not close in this cold. And we absolutely
cannot spare the time to camp as our rations are very low, as well as our fuel. January
28th, night camp, temperature minus 27. The miles continue to fall behind us, but with
painful slowness. Our diet and weather, our general condition has improved since finding
our have to be supply camp. Only 42 miles to the next one, but we're not without ailments.
Oats is suffering from a very cold foot. Evans' hands and face are in a horrible state. And
tonight, Wilson is suffering torches from snow blindness. Bowers and I are the only ones without
troubles at present. Oh, wait. Hold on. I've got to rest. Don't try to help, Evans. Just hold on
the sledge. I wasn't helping, Captain. I've got to rest anyway. I get dizzy. Elzora, don't sit down,
Evans. Stay up on your feet. Can't we put him in his sleeping bag and put him on the sledge?
No, I won't do that. We can pull him. I won't do it. If it's for the good of the rest of us, Evans.
No, no. I'll stay here first. Then if it's an order. No, not that kind of an order. I won't be
dragged on by the rest of you. Then you've got to come along. Seven or eight more miles, Evans.
Then we'll be stopping for the rest of our meals. I'm not sicking of those miles.
How many more seven miles are there? Let's cover these before. How many more? Evans.
I'll do the best I can. I'm sure of it, Evans. And everything will be all right? Yes, sir.
All right. There'll be hot food in a few more hours. Let's move on.
Let's move on. February 11th, temperature minus 26.2. The worst day we've had during the trip and
greatly owing to our own fault. We started on a wretched surface, pulling on sledge. The light was
horrible. Dulled by fog, it made everything look fantastic. As we went on, the light knew worse, and
we found ourselves in pressure. Then came the fatal decision to steer east. The disturbance grew worse.
My spirits received a very rude shock. The farther we plunged ahead, the less possible it seemed that
we could find the way out. We struggled until 9 p.m. to do nothing more but make camp.
There's no getting away from the fact that we are not pulling strong.
Jamesbury Pony Sledge, John Wright Pony Sledge, Joe Balls...
Your eyes, Wilson. How are they? Better, I think. Let me see. Yes, I think they are.
Pony Sledge... Oh, Evans! George... Oh, yes. What were you saying?
Was I saying something? How did it go on? I thought I was asleep.
Perhaps you were. Know what you were saying, Evans? You were naming the schools that donated
sledges for the expedition. Oh, I thought I was asleep. I must have been dreaming about home.
I like it better there than I do here. I mean, I like dreaming about it. I like it as well.
Give as much rest as you can, Evans. We'll want an early start.
Well, how's your foot? All right. It's better, Captain. It bothers a bit in the morning, but then it gets better.
Good. How do you get along so well, Captain?
Well, because I know everything is going to be all right. Are you just cheering us up or do you really think so?
Of course I think so. You know as well as I, the splendid panning we've had, everything is going precisely as it should.
There's a line of supply camps right back to the ship. All we've got to do is follow it.
February 17th, a very terrible day, although we got out of the turmoil.
Evans looked a little better after a good sleep and declared he was all right.
He started in his place on the traces, but half an hour later he had to leave the sled and follow behind.
At the first west stop, he came up very slowly. He stayed with us for a while, then dropped out again.
We tried to pull him on the stretch, but he had not the strength, and he fell behind.
At lunch camp, we saw him coming far astern, and when we looked again, he had fallen.
Evans, Evans, is he alive?
Wait, there's Jerry Rissi. Jerry, move. Come on, Evans, Evans.
Oh no, let me go.
Walk, Evans, walk. Walk, Evans.
I don't want to.
Go and get the other bowels. Bring the switch.
Evans, Evans, listen to me. You can't lie here. You've got to move.
Evans, come on, get up. You have to do it. They can't lift you.
Over there, over there by the tree. Go fetch. Over there.
When we got him into the tent, he was quite comatose, and he died quietly at 12.30 p.m.
It's a terrible thing to lose a companion that way. His passing is a frightfully personal thing to each of us.
As is usual, our doubts and fears are not voiced, but I don't think that one of us does not wonder
how many of the remaining four can survive.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Herbert Marshall in The Diary of Captain Scott,
tonight's production in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
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And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Herbert Marshall
in Elliot Lewis's production of The Diary of Captain Scott,
a true story well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Music
February 22nd, night camp, temperature minus 22.9.
There's little doubt we have inflow of rock in the critical time going home,
and the lateness of the seas may make it rather serious.
We never won the march of eight and a half miles with greater difficulty than we did today.
We've come now a bit more than half the distance,
which leaves almost 400 distressing miles of dragging still before us.
On the bright side, we found another supply camp and have 10 full days of provisions
and have less than 70 miles to the next camp.
Music
February 25th, night camp, temperature minus 23.2.
A little despondent again.
The weather is terrible so far.
Oates' foot is almost completely gone and he is helpless.
The thieves are pulling up to Wilson, almost totally blind now.
They are me, and we do not do well at all.
The truth is there is not enough energy in our ration.
Without tremendous intakes of energy in this cold, we suffer physically and mentally too.
There is little communication between us in the tent at night now.
Oates' voice.
Yes?
What is it, Scott?
Well, I thought I heard something.
I thought you said something, didn't you?
No.
Bowers, I forgot to talk to you.
Bowers.
Of course.
I, Bowers, am terribly worried.
I didn't think it was you, Nicole.
I heard my wife.
Under these conditions, I hardly think...
Wait, let me tell you.
It started last night.
I was with her, Bowers, and it wasn't a dream.
I was lying awake, looking up at the peak of the tent.
And suddenly I was with her.
In our library at home.
It must have been a dream.
No, I wasn't.
I could feel everything and smell everything.
The perfume she was wearing, the warmth from the fire.
I was warm, Bowers.
I was warm even after I came back here.
No dream can accomplish that.
I went home.
I held her in my arms.
And we went up to see our son.
It was night and he was asleep.
And then we went back to the library.
And sat before the fire.
And it was warm.
I'm sorry that he's asleep, Bob.
It is late.
I know.
From every time.
I know all what tales I'll have to tell him.
Courageous men serving their country.
I'll make him proud to be an Englishman.
Oh, I'm sure he will be, darling.
Above all, we must guard him against indolence.
We must make him a strenuous man.
Interest him in natural history, better than games.
He'll be a good man.
And you, Kate, if I could tell you the millions of thoughts I've had of you.
I was with you, I think.
I worried so.
I knew you must have been suffering.
There was some.
There's bound to be one of features as great as ours.
The years of planning.
Eight hundred miles we marched to the pole.
Eight hundred back.
But what wealth we brought to the scientists.
And what honor we brought to England.
Your home, darling.
And that's more important than science and honor.
Your home and you won't ever go away again.
No.
I've served my duty, I think.
I shall collect and arrange my notes.
Perhaps I shall write a book and describe the bottom of the world and living there.
But never go back.
The drift snow like finest flower.
Flickering up under one's clothing and stinging as a sandblast.
But never go back.
The cloudy columns of snow drift advancing from the south.
And heralding the storm.
But never go back.
No, I like it here.
I'm warm.
Warm.
I'm warm.
It was a dream, Scott.
Good Lord, it's nothing to worry about.
It was not a dream.
All of your senses don't coordinate in a dream.
You don't smell and touch and feel.
Well, I told you.
If it's the first sign of a breakdown, I want you to know.
Of course it isn't. You're in splendid shape.
Thanks, Bowers.
I owe you a great deal.
Nonsense.
At least I owe you the privilege of getting into the sleep.
Good night, Bowers.
Good night.
March 1st.
Lunch. Very cold last night.
Minimum minus forty-one point five.
But our fortunes have changed.
At least the future looks brighter.
Bowers' excellent navigating has kept us precisely on course.
And on it we found an unexpected supply tent.
Containing rations.
And a note addressed to me.
The men back at the Cape had taken it upon themselves to change plans.
For which we are happy.
The next camp, we expected only surprise, has been enlarged and manned.
We ought to be met there with dog sedges.
At that point our dragging days are finished.
And only twenty-four and a half miles away.
March 2nd. Night camp.
All the elation of yesterday has been crashed.
The fortune rarely comes, Stingley.
This day we have suffered three distinct blows.
First, through some oversight our fuel oil supply is less than half what we thought it was.
Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet.
They show very bad indeed.
They will never be saved.
Lastly, the weather has turned on us.
Blizzard conditions are extreme.
We are in a very tight place indeed.
But none of us is despondent.
Or at least none shows it.
March 10th. Stingley going downhill.
Midday, minus forty-three.
Blizzard still with us.
Oates unable to go on so camped at noon.
Have covered only eleven miles in the eight days past.
Captain.
Yes, Oates.
It's quite difficult to say this without sounding heroic, but I'm going to die and I know it.
No you aren't, Oates. You mustn't talk like that.
No, it's no good, Captain. I know I am and I'm not afraid.
Stop that, Oates.
I know what I'm saying.
And the quicker it happens the better.
I'm not going to hold the rest of you back.
I know how I felt about poor Evans.
He was holding us back and I knew he was going to die and I was angry at him for keeping on as long as he did.
Oates!
What kind of talk is that, Oates?
It's the truth and I don't care.
When he was holding us back and I knew there was no chance of him, I wanted him to die.
I don't know what the rest of you were thinking, but that's what I was.
And now I'm holding you back.
And I won't have that.
I want you to leave me.
We'll not leave you, Oates.
Please, Captain.
I'm not afraid. I'd like to go. I'm tired and it hurts and I'd like to go to sleep and not wake up.
I've no family to leave the rest of you.
We won't leave you, Oates. You know that.
I want it that way.
I'll get in my sleeping bag and I'll go to sleep.
I'm not afraid. I want to.
You can't do that, Oates.
Even if we agreed with you, we couldn't leave you.
Please, Captain. You know I'm right.
All of you know.
Please, Captain.
Please.
March 15th or 17th.
Lost track of dates, but I think the last is correct.
Poor Tyler's Oates is gone.
Should this journal be found, I want these facts recorded.
This was he then.
He woke in the morning yesterday.
It was blowing a blizzard.
He said, I'm just going outside. It shall be long.
He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since.
Oates! Oates! Where are you? Oates! Come back! Come back! Come back!
March 18th. Nightcap.
We are 14 miles away from the sledge camp.
But ill fortune presses my right foot is gone.
Two days ago I was power possessor. The best feet now one is gone.
The others are still confident of giving food, but I don't know.
March 21st.
Got within 11 miles of dog sledge camp yesterday.
The blizzard forced us to lay up.
We cannot move against it. We do not dare to leave the tent.
We would surely die if we dared.
Bob? Oh Bob? Here I am Bob. Here I am.
Here I am Bob. Over here.
Oh, I didn't see you.
So nice in the sun. I thought I'd sit out for a bit.
Too nice.
Nothing like this at your precious South Pole.
No, nothing like this.
Down there even when the sun is high it's always weak and diffuse.
And because of the reflection from the ice on every side,
there never is a definite shadow over the number of shadows of any man or object.
I think you love it.
No, I hate it.
Five men march to the pole and they say they've conquered it, but they haven't.
It will conquer them.
You'll never go back, will you?
No.
I didn't want you to go, remember?
I was afraid you wouldn't come back. Do you remember when I said that?
Yes, I remember. And I laughed at you, didn't I?
I was such a coward.
I laughed and told you that I would conquer it just for you.
That I would name a glacier for you.
And I asked you how a woman should act when a glacier is named after her.
Well, I didn't name a glacier for you, but I thought of you Kate.
I thought and dreamed of you so often.
It's important that you know that.
It's important that you know that.
I think of you constantly.
You and our son.
He must be active.
He must be strong.
And you must protect him and he must protect you.
Stop.
Kate, I love you.
If this...
Stop!
Why are you... Yes, yes, yes, for hours.
Wilson is dead.
Ah, Wilson.
Ah, Wilson is dead.
Bower. Bower. Bower.
March 29.
Since the 21st, Bower and I, Sir Riley Wilson, have had a continuous gale and blizzard from west to west and to the southwest.
We had fuel to make two cups of tea a piece and bare food for two days on the 20th.
Every day we've been ready to start for the dogstedge camp 11 miles away.
But outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift.
I do not think we can hope for any better things now.
We shall stick it out to the end.
But we are getting weaker, of course.
And the end cannot be far.
It seems a pity.
But I do not think I can write much more.
This rough journal and our dead bodies must tell the story.
And dying we are.
Bower. Bower.
The following year an expedition formed by Captain Scott's comrades at the main depot at Cape Armitage set out and found his body, along with that of Bower's and Wilson's.
Search was carried on for oats and Evans, but they were never found.
A great cairn was built at the site of Scott's final camp, a trivial monument to the courage of five men,
especially to the complete devotion to duty of Robert Falcon Scott, who until his dying breath continued to keep a record of the fatal journey.
Suspense.
A true story presented by Auto Light. Tonight's star, Mr. Herbert Marshall.
And once again, here is Mr. Marshall.
But we enjoyed your performance as Captain Scott, and we hope you'll be back with us again soon.
Thank you, Harlow. All you have to do is to ask me.
An invitation from Auto Light to appearance of suspense is worth a welcome of a letter from home.
Well, what? It is like a letter from home because, you see, we count you a member of the Auto Light family, along with the 98,000 Auto Light distributors and dealers,
the nearly 30,000 men and women in 28 great Auto Light plants from coast to coast, and the 18,000 people who have invested a portion of their savings in Auto Light.
Well, Harlow, to all of the Auto Light family, may I say thank you? And to our listeners, may I say good night? And remember, you're always right with Auto Light.
Next week, another true story about an almost legendary man, the dramatic recreation of the shooting of Billy the Kid, starring Mr. Frank Lovejoy.
The program will be heard on Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lud Bluskin.
The soloist tonight was Eloise. The Diary of Captain Scott was adapted for Suspense by Gil Dowd.
In tonight's story, June Whitley was heard as Kate, Judah Rowan as Bowers, Ben Wright as Oates, Joseph Kearns as Evans, and Charles Davis as Wilson.
Herbert Marshall may be heard each week on his own radio program, The Man Called X.
And remember next week on Suspense, Mr. Frank Lovejoy in The Shooting of Billy the Kid.
For the location of your nearest Auto Light spot plug or Auto Light battery dealer, or your nearest authorized Auto Light service station, phone Western Union by number and ask for operator 25. Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
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