FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 113 
About 6 A.M. It dawns on us that Nick is patiently- 
asking us whether we desire fresh or salt water. If we 
decide to have fresh, a tumblerful is put into a tin basin 
on the top of a bucket on deck. This kind of fresh water 
is of great value, as it has been collected off the deck with 
much pains, and contains many matters not usually found 
in plain ivater ; although of a greenish-yellow colour 
and an unpleasant smell, it can dissolve soap. Salt water 
does not do so, so our choice lies between a little cleaning 
and a strong smell, or buckets of salt water and an all- 
over feeling of stickiness for the rest of the day. We 
did not mind the stickiness much till Bruce brought 
his microscope to bear on the salt water, when we 
found each sparkling drop contained a community 
of exquisitely constructed, rainbow-coloured creatures. 
Then it did seem a pity to use a rough towel, when each 
rub meant death to millions of these presumably happy 
crustaceans. » 
Having given these, or any other matters that may 
occur to us, due deliberation, we arise and either dabble 
in the tin dish of rain-water or luxuriate in bucketsful of 
salt and animalcute. This over, ' the Finisher' 1 begins his 
rounds. With thoughtful brow he picks his way along 
the deck over coils of rope, avoiding bolt-rings, and keep- 
ing as nearly a straight line with the earth's centre as 
possible. He is bare-footed, of course — nobody wears 
shoes in these latitudes — and in one hand he bears a 
thermometer, and holds in the other a bucket devoted to 
1 Whalers' term for doctor, from Dutch — physician, pronounced finisher. 
H 
