Bathybia.
A faint stirring seemed to be going on about, which gradually made itself felt on my yet somnolent senses. Rising time was evidently drawing nigh. The uncertainty shortly came to an end when, in harsh tones, the familiar call sounded; ‘Lash up and stow, lash up and stow; 8-30 and time all hands were up.’
This announcement, coming as it did from a pair of lungs boa-sting of an early training in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and matured in the Navy, was calculated to effectually wake the profoundest slumberer, but did not prevent me turning over for a final doze.
It hardly seemed any time, however, before we were exerting our best efforts dragging the sledges onwards towards the southern goal. The drudgery of the journey over-the great ‘sastrugi’ ruffled plateau of Victoria Land had now become felt by all.
Everlastingly our eyes wandered over the horizon in search of new objects, but as yet nothing greeted
