THE TERRA NOVA GOES SOUTH 47 



seat. Captain Scott seats himself in the office chair at the 

 head, and Lieutenants Evans and Campbell, if they are in 

 time, sit next him. Dr. Wilson (chief scientist) has a fond- 

 ness for the stool out of the pantry. I have a suspicion that 

 his shrewd mind has realized that this combines the comfort 

 of the seat with the mobility of the stander. The others sit 

 where fancy lists ; geologist next to pony expert, chemist, and 

 motorman, taxidermist, navigator, lord of the dogs, doctors, 

 etc., etc., each with his elbows lovingly exploring his neigh- 

 bour's anatomy. Two of our 'Varsity men, from Cambridge 

 and Oxford respectively, prefer an elevated perch on a 

 " sausage," or clothes-bag, at the far corners. Perchance 

 thus they feel like dons at their college high table. Enamel 

 soup-plates are passed along, and the steward brings in two 

 enormous jugs of pea or tomato soup. Meanwhile requests 

 — one might say demands — of a nature strange to a lands- 

 man's ears fly across the long table. " Carry on with the 

 bread, Marie ! " " Give the butter a wind, Jane ! " (pronounced 

 "wined"). "Belay with the biscuit!" "Where's that 

 drunkard's companion ? " (This last remark, terrifying to a 

 teetotaler, merely refers to a knife with a corkscrew, a very 

 precious possession.) I should like to record the ship-names 

 bestowed on my esteemed comrades, some of whom rejoice 

 in three or four synonyms, but forbear, for personally I should 

 hate it to be known that I — a staunch Imperialist — have 

 occasionally answered to the cry of " Keir Hardie." 



Soup despatched, plates of roast mutton are handed out 

 from the pantry, with potatoes and beans, or some weird 

 fibrous vegetable which was originally kale, 1 believe. Lime- 

 juice is practically the universal drink, and is extremely palat- 

 able. Indeed, this and the mutton and butter are most 

 excellent, while all the food is good. There follows plum-dufF, 

 roly-poly, apple pie, or stewed fruits and blancmange, surely 

 the best sweets, if the homeliest, yet devised by cooks. By 

 this time hunger's pangs are dying, and some one starts a 

 chorus. We seem to prefer choruses of a rousing nature, though 

 " it doesn't much matter what words we sing, so long as the 

 tune hath a right good swing." For instance, " Rings on her 

 fingers," etc. (or as the Canadian sings it, " Fings on her 

 ringers "), is very popular. " My name is Gertrude," " Did 

 she plant a tiny seed of love in stony heart ? ' 



