the hope of fine weather and a smooth sea during the next few weeks.  During the stay at Funchal the dogs had two good meals of fresh meat as a very welcome variety in their diet; a fair-sized carcass of a horse disappeared with impressive rapidity at each of these banquets.  For our own use we naturally took a plentiful supply of vegetables and fruits, which were here to be had in abundance; it was the last opportunity we should have of regaling ourselves with such luxuries.

Our stay at Funchal was somewhat longer than was intended at first, as the engineers found it necessary to take up the propeller and examine the brasses.  This work would occupy two days, and while the three mechanics were toiling in the heat, the rest of the ship’s company took the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the town and its surroundings; the crew had a day’s leave, half at a time.  An excursion was arranged to one of the numerous hotels that are situated on the heights about the town.  The ascent is easily made by means of a funicular railway, and in the course of the half-hour it takes to reach the top one is able to get an idea of the luxuriant fertility of the island.  At the hotels one finds a good cuisine, and, of course, still better wine.  It is scarcely necessary to add that we did full justice to both.

For the descent a more primitive means of transport was employed:  we came down on sledges.  It may be startling to hear of sledging in Madeira, but I must explain that the sledges had wooden runners, and that the road was paved with a black stone that was very smooth.  We went at a creditable pace down the steep inclines, each sledge being drawn or pushed by three or four swarthy natives, who seemed to be possessed of first-rate legs and lungs.

It may be mentioned as a curiosity that the newspapers of Funchal did not hesitate to connect our expedition with the South Pole.  The native journalists had no idea of the value of the startling piece of news they were circulating.  It was a canard invented on the supposition that when a Polar ship steers to the south, she must, of course, be making for the South Pole.  In this case the canard happened to be true.  Fortunately for us, it did not fly beyond the shores of Madeira.

By the afternoon of September 9 we could begin to make our preparations for departure.  The engineers had replaced the propeller and tested it; all supplies were on board, and the chronometers had been checked.  All that remained was to get rid of the importunate bumboat —­ men who swarmed round the vessel in their little craft, each looking like a small floating shop.  These obtrusive fellows were quickly sent off down the gangway:  besides ourselves only my brother was left on board.  Now that we were thus completely isolated from the outer world, the long-expected moment had arrived when I could proceed to inform all my comrades of my decision, now a year old, to make for the South.  I believe all who were on board will long remember that sultry afternoon in Funchal Roads.  All hands were called on deck:  what they thought of I do not know, but it was hardly Antarctica and the South Pole.  Lieutenant Nilsen carried a big rolled-up chart; I could see that this chart was the object of many interrogative glances.