on deck, but their position is not enviable. The seas continually
break on the weather bulwarks and scatter clouds of heavy spray over
the backs of all who must venture into, the waist of the ship. The
dogs sit with their tails to this invading water, their coats wet and
dripping. It is a pathetic attitude, deeply significant of cold and
misery; occasionally some poor beast emits a long pathetic whine. The
group forms a picture of wretched dejection; such a life is truly
hard for these poor creatures.

We manage somehow to find a seat for everyone at our cabin table,
although the wardroom contains twenty-four officers. There are
generally one or two on watch, which eases matters, but it is a
squash. Our meals are simple enough, but it is really remarkable to
see the manner in which our two stewards, Hooper and Neald, provide
for all requirements, washing up, tidying cabin, and making themselves
generally useful in the cheerfullest manner.

With such a large number of hands on board, allowing nine seamen in
each watch, the ship is easily worked, and Meares and Oates have their
appointed assistants to help them in custody of dogs and ponies, but
on such a night as the last with the prospect of dirty weather, the
'after guard' of volunteers is awake and exhibiting its delightful
enthusiasm in the cause of safety and comfort--some are ready to
lend a hand if there is difficulty with ponies and dogs, others in
shortening or trimming sails, and others again in keeping the bunkers
filled with the deck coal.

I think Priestley is the most seriously incapacitated by
sea-sickness--others who might be as bad have had some experience
of the ship and her movement. Ponting cannot face meals but sticks