6 FOUR YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [July 



cargo was restored and the ship swung for compass 

 deviation. 



At five in the afternoon of the 13th three long blasts 

 of our steam-whistle, a salute to the quiet little town, 

 announced that our long two-thousand-mile trip had 

 begun. From Low Point came the signal, "We wish 

 you a pleasant voyage," to which we replied, "Thank 

 you." 



There were no long, lingering looks at the land 

 astern, no painful thoughts of the home-leaving; this 

 was our chosen task, and we were eager to be at it. 

 Ten miles out of Syndey, the Southern Cross, Borch- 

 grevink's old South Pole ship, passed us, bound in, colors 

 flying and Captain Clark in the rigging. To the cheery 

 clear call of "Hello, Mac!" I waved my cap. The 

 Southern Cross passed out of our life; two years later 

 she went down with all on board. 



When I rolled into my hammock beneath the boat 

 davits at ten o'clock, I threw off, with my clothes, all 

 worry and care, all ever-present thoughts of preparation, 

 and all responsibility. We were but passengers on a 

 chartered ship. Our fortunes for the next three weeks 

 were in the hands of the captain. The hoarse bellow of 

 the fog- whistle throughout the night did not rob me of a 

 w^nk of sleep. With the Newfoundland coast close 

 aboard, we steamed north on the 14th, with steadily 

 fallmg barometer and increasing northerly winds. At 

 dark the Diana was laboring heavily in a head sea. 

 Deep, logy as a log, sticking her nose into every curling 

 sea, and shipping tons and tons of water, she wallowed 

 Hke a submarine. As I awoke in the night and listened 

 to the roar of the wind and rush of wave, I dropped off 

 to sleep with the comforting thought that before reaching 



