The first was a ‘sooty’ (cornicoides).  We put him down on the deck, where he strutted about in the proudest way, his feet going flop—­flop—­flop as he walked.  He was a most beautiful bird, sooty black body, a great black head with a line of white over each eye and a gorgeous violet line running along his black beak.  He treated us with the greatest contempt, which, from such a beautiful creature, we had every appearance of deserving.  Another day a little later we caught a wandering albatross, a black-browed albatross, and a sooty albatross all together, and set them on the deck tethered to the ventilators while their photographs were taken.  They were such beautiful birds that we were loath to kill them, but their value as scientific specimens outweighed the wish to set them free, and we gave them ether so that they did not suffer.

The Southern Ocean is the home of these and many species of birds, but among them the albatross is pre-eminent.  It has been mentioned that Wilson believed that the albatross, at any rate, fly round and round the world over these stormy seas before the westerly winds, landing but once a year on such islands as Kerguelen, St. Paul, the Auckland Islands and others to breed.  If so, the rest that they can obtain upon the big breaking rollers which prevail in these latitudes must be unsatisfactory judged by the standard of more civilized birds.  I have watched sea birds elsewhere of which the same individuals appeared to follow the ship day after day for many thousands of miles, but on this voyage I came to the conclusion that a different set of birds appeared each morning, and that they were hungry when they arrived.  Certainly they flew astern and nearer to the ship in the morning, feeding on the scraps thrown overboard.  As the day went on and the birds’ hunger was satisfied, they scattered, and such of them as continued to fly astern of the ship were a long way off.  Hence we caught the birds in the early morning, and only one bird was caught after mid-day.

The wind continued favourable and was soon blowing quite hard.  On Friday, October 7, we were doing 7.8 knots under sail alone, which was very good for the old Terra Push, as she was familiarly called:  and we were then just 1000 miles from Melbourne.  By Saturday night we were standing by topgallant halyards.  Campbell took over the watch at 4 A.M. on Sunday morning.  It was blowing hard and squally, but the ship still carried topgallants.  There was a big following sea.

At 6.30 A.M. there occurred one of those incidents of sea life which are interesting though not important.  Quite suddenly the first really big squall we had experienced on the voyage struck us.  Topgallant halyards were let go, and the fore topgallant yard came down, but the main topgallant yard jammed when only half down.  It transpired afterwards that a gasket which had been blown over the yard had fouled the block of the sheet of the main upper topsail.  The topgallant yard was all tilted to starboard and swaying from side to side, the sail seemed as though it might blow out at any moment, and was making a noise like big guns, and the mast was shaking badly.