242 
FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 
the black corries, and gather round the snowy peaks. To 
the south, in the centre of the floe, some bergs lie, cold and 
grey in the shadow of the bank of cloud. They look like 
Greek temples imprisoned for ever in a field of snow. A 
faint cold air comes stealing to us over the floe ; it ripples 
the yellow sky reflection at the ice-edge for a moment, 
and falls away. In the distance a seal is barking — a low 
muffled sound that travels far over the calm water, and 
occasionally a slight splash breaks the silence, as a piece 
of snow separates from the field and joins its companion 
pieces that are floating quietly past our stern to the north, 
— a mysterious, silent procession of soft, white spirits, each 
perfectly reflected in the lavender sea. 
Nature sleeps — breathlessly — silent; perhaps she dreams 
of the spirit-world, that seems to draw so close to her 
on such a night. 
By midnight the tired crew were all below and sound 
asleep in their stuffy bunks. But the doctor and I found 
it impossible to leave the quiet decks and the mysterious 
daylight, so we prowled about and brewed coffee in the 
deserted galley. Then we watched the sun pass behind 
the grey bergs in the south for a few seconds, and appear 
again, refreshed, with a cool silvery light. A few flakes 
of snow floated in the clear, cold air, and two snowy 
petrels, white as the snow itself, flitted along the ice- 
edge. 
... A cold, dreamy, white Christmas morning, — 
beautiful beyond expression. 
