Over 70 miles separated the exhausted travellers from One Ton Camp, and they struggled onwards with death staring them ever nearer and nearer in the face. With no helping wind, and bad surfaces, they could not advance more than six miles a day, and on the night of the 11th, Scott reckoned up the situation in these words: "We have seven days' food, and should be about 55 miles from One Ton Camp to-night; 6x7=42, leaving us 13 miles short of our distance, even if things get no worse." Unhappily, instead of any improvement in the situation, misfortunes became more and more plentiful. It was obvious that Oates was near the end, and on the morning of the 15th or 16th, when the blizzard was blowing, he walked out of the tent. "I am just going outside, and may be some time," were the last words he spoke to his companions in distress. "We knew," said Scott, who still continued to write his journal, "that poor Oates was walking to his death ... it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman." Oates sacrificed himself in the hope of helping the others, and no brave man ever performed a braver act. But his sacrifice was of no avail. Fortune had declared too strong a hand against the explorers for them to be able to resist it. By midday on 18th March, Scott, Wilson, and Bowers had struggled on to within 21 miles of One Ton depot, and during the afternoon of the following day they managed to advance another 10 miles. And then they made what was destined to be their last camp. The men themselves were in a pitiable condition, and blizzard following blizzard, they were utterly unable to march a step farther. On 29th March, Scott wrote: "Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece, and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot, _eleven miles_ away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift.... 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 more." And then follows those pathetic words: "Last entry. For God's sake, look after our people." It was not until 30th October that Atkinson, on whom the leadership of the expedition had fallen, was able to take out a search party. And nearly a fortnight later the bodies of these three friends and explorers were found. No more fitting words could be found with which to conclude this chapter of great deeds than those which were left in the metal cylinder on the grave of these heroes:--