CRAP T Ha lV 
LAND 
Beyond this flood a frozen continent 
Lies dark and wilde, beat with perpetual storms 
Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land 
‘Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 
Of ancient pile; all else deep snow and ice.... 
Mitton, Paradise Lost, II. 
“Tuey say it’s going to blow like hell. Go and look at the 
glass.” Thus Titus Oates quietly to mea few hours before 
we left the pack. 
I went and looked at the barograph and it made me feel 
sea-sick. Within a few hours I was sick, very sick ; but we 
newcomers to the Antarctic had yet to learn that we knew 
nothing about its barometer. Nothing very terrible hap- 
pened after all. When I got up to the bridge for the morn- 
ing watch we were in open water and it was blowing fresh. 
It freshened all day, and by the evening it was blowing a 
southerly with a short choppy North Sea swell, and very 
warm. By 4 a.m. the next morning there was a big sea 
running and the dogs and ponies were having a bad time. 
Rennick had the morning watch these days, and I was his 
humble midshipman. 
At 5.45 we sighted what we thought was a berg on the 
port bow. About three minutes later Rennick said, ‘“There’s 
a bit of pack,” and I went below and reported to Evans. 
It was very thick with driving snow and also foggy, and 
before Evans got up to the bridge we were quite near the 
pack, and amongst bits which had floated from it, one of 
which must have been our berg. We took in the headsails 
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