36 WITH SCOTT: THE SILVER LINING 



chiefly consists of a trap-door. After a good dinner on Sunday 

 evening — which I note consisted of tinned bloater, sheep's 

 tongue, rhubarb, and blancmange, with jam and potted meat 

 (if the former edibles did not suffice) — 1 climbed up 150 feet 

 or so of ratlines and reached the crow's nest. There are two 

 stories or landing-stages on the way, the " maintop," about 

 60 feet up, which is quite a large platform, immediately under 

 the main yard. There are two ways of reaching this — firstly, 

 up the main ratlines, which bring you right under the main- 

 top, when it is necessary to claw out by a small ladder — over- 

 hanging very unpleasantly at first — called the " futtocks." 

 The other, simpler route — scorned by every true sailor, but 

 very acceptable at first — is an accessory lateral ladder, which 

 gets there just the same. Another pair of ratlines — the higher 

 set a little to one side, as before — lead to the next stage — the 

 " crosstrees." This is not a platform, but a mere brace of 

 horizontal beams. Another 30 feet and the crow's nest is 

 reached. It is a scramble at first to get in. The trap-door 

 is lifted by one's head, and then the difficulty I experienced 

 was to get my knees through, for the interior of an empty 

 barrel does not afford much of a grip. It is not used until 

 the pack is reached, but is then invaluable in tracing out the 

 leads or lanes of open water, though, at that height, it is 

 almost impossible to tell whether a floe is one foot or 20 feet 

 thick. 



Wednesday (30th November) was our first day out of 

 sight of land. Shore-going suits were either sent back to 

 Lyttelton from Port Chalmers or stored away in tin trunks 

 on board. Little will they be needed for eighteen months or 

 more. Fearful and wonderful were the rigs that appeared. 

 Caps were of all shapes and sizes, from a Stetson with a back- 

 strap to a red piratical nightcap. One member turned out in 

 a salmon-coloured knitted confection, which by various fold- 

 ings could be used as a cap, a cravat, or a purse (of the old- 

 fashioned sausage shape). Coats of all kinds clothed us. A 

 black leather jacket with the fur inside is much admired. 

 This is worn by our Siberian traveller (Meares), and is suit- 

 ably accompanied by a sort of fur busby of fox-paw fur. 

 Norfolk shooting-coats are popular ; one man braved the cold 

 in a light-textured serge suit, such as clerks wear by the thou- 

 sand. But a most welcome gift at the last moment of a 



