then went on board the "Plucky" tug after saying good-bye. We were given a rousing send-off by the small craft that accompanied us a few miles on our way, but they turned homeward at last and at 3.30 p.m. we were clear with all good-byes said—personally I had a heart like lead, but, with every one else on board, bent on doing my duty and following Captain Scott to the end. There was work to be done, however, and the crew were glad of the orders that sent them from one rope to another and gave them the chance to hide their feelings, for there is an awful feeling of loneliness at this point in the lives of those who sign on the ships of the "South Pole trade"—how glad we were to hide those feelings and make sail—there were some dreadfully flat jokes made with the best of good intentions when we watched dear New Zealand fading away as the spring night gently obscured her from our view.

CHAPTER IV

THROUGH STORMY SEAS

After all it was a relief to get going at last and to have the Expedition on board in its entirety, but what a funny little colony of souls. A floating farm-yard best describes the appearance of the upper deck, with the white pony heads peeping out of their stables, dogs chained to stanchions, rails, and ring-bolts, pet rabbits lolloping around the ready supply of compressed hay, and forage here, there, and everywhere. If the "Terra Nova" was deeply laden from Cardiff, imagine what she looked like leaving New Zealand. We had piled coal in sacks wherever it could be wedged in between the deck cargo of petrol. Paraffin and oil drums filled up most of the hatch spaces, for the poop had been rendered uninhabitable by the great wooden cases containing two of our motor sledges.

The seamen were excellent, and Captain Scott seemed delighted with the crowd. He and Wilson were very loyal to the old "Discovery" men we had with us and Scott was impressed with my man, Cheetham, the Merchant Service boatswain, and could not quite make out how "Alf," as the sailors called him, got so much out of the hands—this little squeaky-voiced man—I think we hit on Utopian conditions for working the ship. There were no wasters, and our seamen were the pick of the British Navy and Mercantile Marine. Most of the Naval men were intelligent petty officers and were as fully alive as the merchantmen to "Alf's" windjammer knowledge. Cheetham was quite a character, and besides being immensely popular and loyal he was a tough, humorous little soul who had made more Antarctic voyages than any man on board.

The seamen and stokers willingly gave up the best part of the crew space in order to allow sheltered pony stables to be built in the forecastle; it would have fared badly with the poor creatures had we kept them out on deck on the southward voyage.

A visit to the Campbell Islands was projected, but abandoned on account of the ship being unable to lay her course due to strong head winds on December 1. We therefore shaped to cross the Antarctic Circle in 178 degrees W. and got a good run of nearly 200 miles in, but the wind rose that afternoon and a gale commenced at a time when we least could afford to face bad weather in our deeply-laden conditions. By 6 p.m. I had to heave the ship to under lower topsails and fore topmast staysail. Engines were kept going at slow speed to keep the ship under control, but when night fell the prospect was gloomy enough. Captain Scott had consented to my taking far more on board than the ship was ever meant to carry, and we could not expect to accomplish our end without running certain risks. To sacrifice coal meant curtailing the Antarctic cruising programme, but as the weather grew worse we had to consider throwing coal overboard to lighten the vessel. Quite apart from this, the huge waves which washed over the ship swamped everything and increased the deck weights considerably. Ten tons of coal were thrown over to prevent them from taking charge and breaking petrol cases adrift. In spite of a liberal use of oil to keep heavy water from breaking over, the decks were continually swept by the seas and the rolling was so terrific that the poor dogs were almost hanging by their chains. Meares and Dimitri, helped by the watch, tended them unceasingly, but in spite of their combined efforts one dog was washed overboard after being literally drowned on the upper deck. One pony died that night, Oates and Atkinson standing by it and trying their utmost to keep the wretched beast on its feet. A second animal succumbed later, and poor Oates had a most trying time in caring for his charges and rendering what help he could to ameliorate their condition. Those of his ship-mates who saw him in this gale will never forget his strong, brown face illuminated by a hanging lamp as he stood amongst those suffering little beasts. He was a fine, powerful man, and on occasions he seemed to be actually lifting the poor little ponies to their feet as the ship lurched heavily to leeward and a great sea would wash the legs of his charges from under them. One felt somehow, glancing into the ponies' stalls, which Captain Scott and I frequently visited together, that Oates's very strength itself inspired his animals with confidence. He himself appeared quite unconscious of any personal suffering, although his hands and feet must have been absolutely numbed by the cold and wet.

In the middle watch Williams, the Chief Engineer, reported that his pumps were choked and that as fast as he cleared them they choked again, the water coming into the ship so fast that the stoke-hold plates were submerged and water gaining fast. I ordered the watch to man the hand-pump, but that was soon choked too. Things now looked really serious, since it was impossible to get to the pump-well while terrific seas were washing over the ship and the afterhatch could not be opened. Consequently we started to bail the water out with buckets and also rigged the small fire-engine and pumped with this as well.

The water in the engine room gradually gained until it entered the ashpit of the centre furnace and commenced to put the fires out. Both Williams and Lashly were up to their necks in water, clearing and re-clearing the engine room pump suctions, but eventually the water beat them and I allowed Williams to let fires out in the boiler. It could not be otherwise. We stopped engines, and with our cases of petrol being lifted out of their lashings by the huge waves, with the ponies falling about and the dogs choking and wallowing in the water and mess, their chains entangling them and tripping up those who tried to clear them, the situation looked as black and disheartening as it well could be.

When dawn broke the greater part of the lee bulwarks had been torn away and our decks laid open to the sea, which washed in and out as it would have over a rock. The poor ship laboured dreadfully, and after consultation with Captain Scott we commenced to cut a hole in the engine room bulkhead to get at the hand pump-well.

Meanwhile I told the afterguard off into watches, and, relieving every two hours, they set to work, formed a chain at the engine room ladder way and bailed the ship out with buckets. In this way they must have discharged between 2000 and 3000 gallons of water. The watch manned the hand pump, which, although choked, discharged a small stream, and for twenty-four hours this game was kept up, Scott himself working with the best of them and staying with the toughest.

It was a sight that one could never forget: everybody saturated, some waist-deep on the floor of the engine room, oil and coal dust mixing with the water and making every one filthy, some men clinging to the iron ladder way and passing full buckets up long after their muscles had ceased to work naturally, their grit and spirit keeping them going. I did admire the weaker people, especially those who were