THE HEART OF THE ANTARCTIC 



spirit of romance, the desire for the wind- whitened South- 

 ern Seas, and the still whiter wastes of the silent Antarctic 

 grew stronger in the heart of George Buckley, as he sat 

 there talking over the days and doings before us, longing 

 for a share in the work, even though he might only go 

 as far as the Antarctic circle. He knew that time would 

 not permit him to do more than this. Suddenly he 

 jumped up, came to me, and asked if I would take him 

 as far as the ice. I was only too glad to consent, for 

 his interest in the expedition showed that his heart was 

 in our venture, and his personality had already ap- 

 pealed to us all. It was 2 p.m. when the decision was 

 made, and the Nimrod was to sail at 4 p.m. He man- 

 aged to catch a train to Christchurch, dashed into his 

 club, gave his power of attorney to a friend; slung his 

 tooth-brush and some underclothing into a bag ; struggled 

 through one seething crowd at Christchurch Station and 

 another at the wharf, and arrived on board the Nimrod, 

 a few minutes before sailing time, equipped for the most 

 rigorous weather in the world with only the summer 

 suit he was wearing : surely a record in the way of joining 

 a Polar Expedition. 



Time was passing quickly, it was nearing four 

 o'clock, and all our party were on board save Pro- 

 fessor David. I had seen him earlier in the afternoon, 

 struggling along the crowded wharf, bending under the 

 weight of one end of a long iron pipe, a railway porter 

 attached to the other. This precious burden, he had 

 informed me, when it was safely on board, was part of the 

 boring gear to be used in obtaining samples of ice from the 

 Great Ice Barrier; he had found it at the railway station, 

 where it had been overlooked. Doubtless he was having 

 a last skirmish round in case there was anything else 

 that had been left, and just as I was getting anxious, 

 for I did not want to delay the departure of the ship, 



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