was not a well-found merchant ship within the meaning of the Act.  Having avoided the scrutiny of the efficient and official, we painted out our Plimsoll mark with tongue in cheek and eyelid drooped, and, this done, took our stores aboard and packed them pretty tight.  The Crown Preserve Co. sent us a quantity of patent fuel which stowed beautifully as a flooring to the lower hold, and all our provision cases were thus kept well up out of the bilge water which was bound to scend to and fro if we made any quantity of water, as old wooden ships usually do.  The day before sailing the Royal Geographical Society entertained Scott and his party at luncheon in the King’s Hall, Holborn Restaurant.  About 300 Fellows of the Society were present to do us honour.  The President, Major Leonard Darwin, proposed success to the Expedition, and in the course of his speech wished us God-speed.  He congratulated Captain Scott on having such a well-found expedition and, apart from dwelling on the scientific and geographical side of the venture, the President said that Captain Scott was going to prove once again that the manhood of our nation was not dead and that the characteristics of our ancestors who won our great Empire still flourished amongst us.

After our leader had replied to this speech Sir Clements Markham, father of modern British exploration, proposed the toast of the officers and staff in the most touching terms.  Poor Sir Clements is no more, but it was he who first selected Captain Scott for Polar work, and he, indeed, who was responsible for many others than those present at lunch joining Antarctic expeditions, myself included.

CHAPTER II

VOYAGE OF THE “TERRA NOVA”

Sailing day came at last, and on June 1, 1910, when I proudly showed Scott his ship, he very kindly ordered the hands aft and thanked them for what they had done.

The yards were square, the hatches on with spick-and-span white hatch covers, a broad white ribbon brightened the black side, and gold leaf bedizened the quarter badges besides gilding the rope scroll on the stern.  The ship had been well painted up, a neat harbour furl put on the sails, and if the steamers and lofty sailing vessels in the basin could have spoken, their message would surely have been, “Well done, little ’un.”

What a change from the smudgy little lamp-black craft of last November—­so much for paint and polish.  All the same it was the “Terra Nova’s” Indian summer.  A close search by the technically expert would have revealed scars of age in the little lady, furrows worn in her sides by grinding ice floes, patches in the sails, strengthening pieces in the cross-trees and sad-looking deadeyes and lanyards which plainly told of a bygone age.

But the merchant seamen who watched from the dock side were kind and said nothing.  The old admirals who had come down to visit the ship were used to these things, or perhaps they did not twig it.  After all, what did it matter, it was sailing day, we were all as proud as peacocks of our little ship, and from that day forward we pulled together and played the game, or tried to.