FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 
3 T 9 
drift right down the wind and dodge in behind the next. 
One berg is as good as another, so be that you get on the 
right side of it. 
Saturday \ wth February. — Another day's sealing, with 
a jovial boat's crew, and I hope our last day. There was 
Marshall, the bo'sun of the Eira, harpooneer, and Braidy, 
cox — two as merry and kind-hearted sailors as you could 
wish; little Terry M'Mahon, one of the stowaways — a born 
blue-jacket; and Kant, a fisher-boy, and a juvenile shell- 
back, nicknamed Coiler, as his father had been before him 
— for what reason I cannot say. Coiler stands to me for 
handiness and good-nature. 
How we did enjoy getting clear of the ship ! and how 
we slaved too, racing with the other boats to get first at a 
patch of seals, slashing and cutting their coats off, each 
man vying with his neighbour ! Then there was the long 
row home, chatting and singing as we rowed ; that was 
pleasant, though there are more pleasant ways of rowing 
than on a sliding seat of seal-skins. We had the story of 
the loss of the Chieftain's men on the way — a grisly tale, 
that made a stir in the north two years ago. It had a 
particular and immediate interest to us, as the boat we 
were rowing in was one of those which had belonged to 
the Chieftain, and was supposed to be that in which 
the tragedy took place. 
The mist fell one day up in the north, and two of 
the Chieftain's boats that were out were lost. One was 
never seen again, but the other was found seventeen days 
after, off the coast of Iceland, with only one man in it. 
