264 THE VOYAGE OF THE 'DISCOVERY' [July 



pretend that it is, and after taking the observations for that 

 hour, return to wring everything out. I am astonished to find 

 that even this is no light task : as one wrings out one end the 

 water seems to fly to the other ; then I hang some heavy 

 garment on a hook and wring until I can wring no more ; but 

 even so, after it has been hung for a few minutes on the ward- 

 room clothes-line, it will begin to drip merrily on the floor, 

 and I have to tackle it afresh. I shall always have a 

 high respect for laundry-work in future, but I do not think 

 it can often have to cope with such thick garments as we 

 wear. 



' Washing over, one can devote oneself to pleasanter occu- 

 pations. The night watchman is always allowed a box of 

 sardines, which are scarce enough to be a great luxury, and is 

 provided with tea or cocoa and a spirit-lamp. Everyone has 

 his own ideas as to how sardines should be prepared, and of 

 course puts them into practice when his turn of night duty 

 comes, but the majority like them cooked in some form, so 

 that nearly every night the sizzling of the frying-pan can be 

 heard in the early hours and the odour of cooking is wafted 

 into the adjacent cabins. I scarcely like to record that there 

 is a small company of gourmets who actually wake one another 

 up in order that the night watchman may present his fellow 

 epicures with a small finger of buttered toast on which are 

 poised two sardines " done to a turn." The awakened sleeper 

 devours the dainty morsel, grunts his satisfaction, and goes 

 placidly off into dreamland again. 



' I find that after my labours at the wash-tub and the pleas- 

 ing supper that follows, I can safely stretch myself out in a 

 chair without fear of being overcome by sleep, and so, with the 

 ever-soothing pipe and one's latest demand on the library 

 bookshelves, one settles down in great peace and contentment 

 whilst keeping an eye on the flying hours, ready to sally forth 

 into the outer darkness at the appointed time. The pleasure 

 or pain of that periodic journey is of course entirely dependent 

 on the weather. On a fine night it may be quite a pleasure, 

 but when, as is more common, the wind is sweeping past the 



