FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 
35 
human ears cannot distinguish, or moaning of lost, hope- 
less spirits ? 
All the crew are in oilskin again — dripping oilskin on 
the top of damp clothes. We have oil-bags towing to 
windward, and the oil helps greatly to keep the sea from 
breaking. Now and then a wild sea burst on our bow, 
making glorious painter's effects ; but, oh ! the weariness 
to have to face another gale and again run off our course. 
About mid-day, as we were trying to forget our misery, 
one of these white demons caught us full and fair on the 
bow just as we began to rise to a wave. With what a 
staggering crash it struck us ! We felt as if our ship had 
gone full tilt on a rock, and thought to hear the deep sea 
singing in our ears. The mass of water on deck seemed 
fairly to take the Balaena's breath away, and she sat down 
deep and almost still, rolled gently from side to side, 
her rail almost flush with the sea outside, and seemed 
to debate whether it Vas best to slip under quietly or rise 
and fight it out. She made another effort, fortunately, 
lifted one dark bulwark a little, heaved over half the sea 
to windward, gave a lurch to leeward, and got rid of the 
fifty tons or so, spouted the rest through the scuppers, and 
slowly rose and took time with the rollers as pluckily as 
ever. It was a cheerful feeling, that rising again, and 
very sad that slow movement when we were almost under. 
A hole, two feet square, was left in our bows, under the 
anchor-deck, to mark the kiss of the Atlantic, and for 
months afterwards the sea and the sunlight came pouring 
through it alternately. Of course everything on deck 
went adrift, buckets, harness-casks, tubs, and spars went 
