188 SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION [January 
But prose-should be a thought less calmer 
When elevated into drama. 
And yet though we 
(The other three) 
Are critical to a degree, 
We wish success some future day 
To the first Polar ‘ Nature Play.’ 
O Tryggve Gran, thou art a man 
Who hath compressed within a span 
Of three and twenty years, such deeds 
‘That hearing which, each man’s heart bleeds 
Among us three; 
And yet though we 
Are kind to every girl we see, 
I have no doubt each lovely creature 
Would rather help you follow Nietzsche! 
O Tryggve Gran, you should be dead 
A-many years ago—instead 
Of which, he saves you oft, 
‘That Little Cherub up Aloft.’ 
And therefore we 
(The other three) 
In this new principle agree 
(As with your luck no man can quarrel) 
*T will serve us best to be unmoral! ! ! 
I was just writing the last line of the poem(?) when Gran 
yelled out ‘Ship Ho!’ We had seen ships many times already, 
but he was certain of this, so we turned out, and there under the 
fang of Erebus we could see some topmasts. Later we could 
make out three masts and black smoke—so we knew it was the 
good old Terra Nova, and not the Fram, which burned smoke- 
less oil fuel. 
We set about elevating our flag farther up the glacier. We 
took it up a long way, nearly to the top as we thought. On our 
return we saw it was only one quarter of the way up, a good ex- 
ample of the trickiness of snow slopes in this respect. I ar- 
ranged night-watches to observe any signals or sledge parties, 
and we turned in hoping to be aboard in twenty-four hours. 
[Nay, gentle reader, you are not at the end of my narrative; 
it was just twenty-four days before we were relieved! ] 
Next day she was in much the same position, about twenty 
miles away across the screw pack and broken floes. About two 
