After passing Lundy Island we experienced a head wind and the gentle summer swell of the Atlantic.  In spite of her deeply-laden condition the “Terra Nova” breasted each wave in splendid form, lifting her toy bowsprit proudly in the air till she reminded me, with her deck cargo, of a little mother with her child upon her back.

Our first port of call was Madeira, where it was proposed to bunker, and we made good passage to the island under steam and sail for the most part.  We stayed a couple of days coaling and taking magnetic observations at Funchal, then ran out to the north-east Trades, let fires out, and became a sailing ship.

Whilst lazily gazing at fertile Madeira from our anchorage we little dreamt that within two months the distinguished Norseman, Roald Amundsen, would be unfolding his plans to his companions on board the “Fram” in this very anchorage, plans which changed the whole published object of his expedition, plans which culminated in the triumph of the Norwegian flag over our own little Union Jack, and plans which caused our people a fearful disappointment—­for Amundsen’s ultimate success meant our failure to achieve the main object of our Expedition:  to plant the British Flag first at the South Pole.

Under sail!  Quite a number of the scientists and crew had never been to sea in a sailing ship before, but a fair wind and a collection of keen and smiling young men moving about the decks were particularly refreshing to me after the year of fund collecting and preparation.

We learnt to know a great deal about one another on the outward voyage to New Zealand, where we were to embark our dogs and ponies.  The most surprising personality was Bowers, considering all things.

Officers, scientists, and the watch worked side by side trimming coals and restoring the ’tween decks as cases were shaken and equipment assembled.  The scientific staff were soon efficient at handling, reefing, and steering.  Every one lent a hand at whatever work was going.  Victor Campbell was christened the “Wicked Mate,” and he shepherded and fathered the afterguard delightfully.

Wilson and I shared the Captain’s cabin, and when there was nothing afoot he made lovely sea sketches and water colour drawings to keep his hand in.  Certainly Uncle Bill (Dr. Wilson’s nickname) had copy enough in those days of sunlit seas and glorious sunrises.  He was up always an hour before the sun and missed very little that was worth recording with his artistic touch.  Wilson took Cherry-Garrard under his wing and brought him up as it were in the shadow of his own unselfish character.  We had no adventures to record until the last week in July beyond the catching of flying-fish, singing chanties at the pump, and Lillie getting measles.  We isolated him in the dark room, which, despite its name, was one of the lightest and freshest rooms in the ship.  Atkinson took charge of the patient and Lillie could not have been in the hands of a better or more cheery medico.