60 WITH SCOTT: THE SILVER LINING 



portholes below are too strong on one's book. In the south- 

 east is a low bank of grey-purple cloud, whose lower edge is 

 turned into a vivid golden ribbon by the never-setting sun. 

 We are threading through lanes between floes some four feet 

 thick. Sometimes we move bodily through the ice. Occa- 

 sionally she strikes a floe, on which our ironshod bow makes 

 no impression. High above us the officer on the watch cries 

 out, " Starboard, one turn." From the poop comes the 

 answer, " Starboard it is, sir," and our ship sidles her way 

 to port. (This paradox is a relic of the days of the tiller.) 

 She reaches a crack at the side of the obdurate floe, and slowly 

 creeps towards the golden clouds. Far ahead of us two 

 geysers shoot suddenly into the tranquil air. They appear 

 again to the west and mark the path of two whales. Around 

 the ship circle two or three snowy petrels, beautiful little birds 

 that resemble white swallows and never appear north of the 

 pack. 



Let us climb into the cross-trees — an unpleasant task with 

 ungloved hands in any but a calm like this. All around us 

 lies the pack, no longer like pancakes, but much thicker, and 

 resembling shortcake (to keep to homely similes). In plan it 

 has been compared to the pattern of our wardroom tablecloth, 

 that white mackintosh crossed by irregular meandering blue 

 lines. In the west the moon is reflected deep down in the 

 still, dark water. To the north the heavens are crossed by 

 arcs of salmon-coloured clouds, under which we passed several 

 hours ago. The sea is coloured a vivid brownish-pink between 

 us and the northern horizon. It has an oily sheen, which 

 reminded me of nothing so much as the appearance of soft 

 putty — though I fear this is not a very artistic comparison. 

 Looking back on our course, we seem to have left a long dark 

 line extending indefinitely to the north. This is the Antarctic 

 shadow of the sun, for we are steaming straight for the latter. 

 By this time we can notice a perceptible increase in the eleva- 

 tion of the sun. At home he sets in the west and rises in 

 the east. In these regions both events may be described as 

 occurring in the south. Eight bells has just sounded and my 

 watch is over. 



On our second day in the pack the floes had become much 

 thicker, and soon after breakfast we heard the cry, " All hands 

 on the floe to take in water." The ice anchor — a large bar of 



