During the morning of this day (May 13) Worsley and I tramped across the hills in a north-easterly direction with the object of getting a view of the sound and possibly gathering some information that would be useful to us in the next stage of our journey.  It was exhausting work, but after covering about 2½ miles in two hours, we were able to look east, up the bay.  We could not see very much of the country that we would have to cross in order to reach the whaling-station on the other side of the island.  We had passed several brooks and frozen tarns, and at a point where we had to take to the beach on the shore of the sound we found some wreckage—­an 18-ft. pine-spar (probably part of a ship’s topmast), several pieces of timber, and a little model of a ship’s hull, evidently a child’s toy.  We wondered what tragedy that pitiful little plaything indicated.  We encountered also some gentoo penguins and a young sea-elephant, which Worsley killed.

When we got back to the cave at 3 p.m., tired, hungry, but rather pleased with ourselves, we found a splendid meal of stewed albatross chicken waiting for us.  We had carried a quantity of blubber and the sea-elephant’s liver in our blouses, and we produced our treasures as a surprise for the men.  Rough climbing on the way back to camp had nearly persuaded us to throw the stuff away, but we had held on (regardless of the condition of our already sorely tried clothing), and had our reward at the camp.  The long bay had been a magnificent sight, even to eyes that had dwelt on grandeur long enough and were hungry for the simple, familiar things of everyday life.  Its green-blue waters were being beaten to fury by the north-westerly gale.  The mountains, “stern peaks that dared the stars,” peered through the mists, and between them huge glaciers poured down from the great ice-slopes and fields that lay behind.  We counted twelve glaciers and heard every few minutes the reverberating roar caused by masses of ice calving from the parent streams.

On May 14 we made our preparations for an early start on the following day if the weather held fair.  We expected to be able to pick up the remains of the sea-elephant on our way up the sound.  All hands were recovering from the chafing caused by our wet clothes during the boat journey.  The insides of our legs had suffered severely, and for some time after landing in the cove we found movement extremely uncomfortable.  We paid our last visit to the nests of the albatrosses, which were situated on a little undulating plateau above the cave amid tussocks, snow-patches, and little frozen tarns.  Each nest consisted of a mound over a foot high of tussock-grass, roots, and a little earth.  The albatross lays one egg and very rarely two.  The chicks, which are hatched in January, are fed on the nest by the parent birds for almost seven months before they take to the sea and fend for themselves.  Up to four months of age the chicks are beautiful white masses of downy fluff, but when we arrived on the scene their plumage was almost complete.  Very often one of the parent birds was on guard near the nest.  We did not enjoy attacking these birds, but our hunger knew no law.  They tasted so very good and assisted our recuperation to such an extent that each time we killed one of them we felt a little less remorseful.