FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 279 
is only pitiful now, lying on its back, its nostrils wide and 
quivering, its dark ox-like eyes trembling in agony as the 
knife tears down its white skin. Up and down slashes 
the merciless steel, between the hot black flesh and the 
yellow blubber, blood pours gurgling from the severed 
arteries and spirts in fine red spray at every cut, 
steaming in the frosty air. The poor stupid family of 
penguins waddle away, looking over their shoulders at us, 
wondering what the deuce it all means. 
Thursday^ %th Jan. — Another day of mist, soft as 
thistle-down. The ice looms faint and grey, a light wind 
comes from the north, and a few snow-flakes are falling, 
settling in the frozen folds of the grey sails. Icicles are 
formed on the black shrouds and stays, and fall at times, 
clashing on deck. There is no use keeping a look-out 
