I9I2J GRAN'S BIRTHDAY 275 
0 Tryggve Gran, thou art a man 
Who hath compressed within a span 
Of three and twenty years, such deeds 
That hearing which, each man's heart bleeds 
Among us three ; 
And yet though we 
Are kind to every girl we see, 
1 have no doubt each lovely creature 
Would rather help you foUow Nietzsche ! 
O Tryggve Gran, you should be dead 
A-many years ago — instead 
Of which, he saves you oft, 
That ' Little Cherub up Aloft.' 
And therefore we 
(The other three) 
In this new principle agree 
(As with your luck no man can quarrel) 
'Twill serve us best to be unmoral ! ! ! 
I was just writing the last line of the poem (?) when Gran 
yelled out ' Ship Ho ! ' Wc had seen ships many times 
already, but he was certain of this, so we turned out, and 
there under the fang of Erebus we could see some top- 
masts. Later we could make out three masts and black 
smoke — so we knew it was the good old Terra Nova, and 
not the Fram, which burned smokeless oil fuel. 
We set about elevating our flag farther up the glacier. 
We took it up a long way, nearly to the top as we thought. 
On our return we saw it was only one quarter of the way 
up, a good example of the trickiness of snow slopes in 
this respect. I arranged night-watches to observe any 
signals or sledge parties, and we turned in hoping to be 
aboard in twenty-four hours. 
[ Nay, gentle reader, you are not at the end of my 
narrative ; it was just twenty-four days before we were 
relieved !] 
