FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 
. . . What a pandemonium of sounds — the wind howling 
and the timbers creaking and cracking as the ice pounds 
against our sides. What the men say is true/ it's time 
we're oot o' this, an' awa' hame.' It is a trifle too 
dangerous for the philosophic contemplation of life. 
'Tis a time for those to pray who can't act, for the rest 
to stand by, as Galium Bouie put it, only in different 
words, to the wee Dr. M'G. and the big Dr. M'C when 
they were caught in a squall coming over from Jura, 1 If 
ta wee meenister will say a praayer,' he said, 'he will say 
a praayer ; but ta pig meenister will take an oare what- 
efer'; and it was then, and on no other occasion, believe 
me — no matter what William Black or anybody else may 
say to the contrary — that he told the minister, who con- 
tinued to pray amongst the wet ballast after the squall 
had blown over, ' You may stop praaying, Dr. M'G., for 
we will pe peholden to no man.' 
Sacri 7 another shock — enough to dislocate one's ver- 
tebrae. It is certainly not time to stop praying yet. 
The question before the House is, Which is the strongest, 
the ship or the ice? — It's the Balaena this time, and we go 
crushing through the press head-first into the next block, 
the swell angrily crunching the ice islands against our 
sides as we jam through. 
What a terrible row ! The wind is still rising, and the 
bell keeps ringing intermittently. Once — twice,— the 
engines are reversed, and we go slowly astern. One ! a 
single clang, and she stops ; then immediately come four 
bells very hurriedly rung into one peal, and we go full 
speed ahead for a second, and pound into the block in 
