Zealand.
General information with regard to such animals is useful, however, as showing the relative abundance of plankton on which the whales feed in the ocean. There are, for instance, more whales in the Antarctic than in
warmer seas; and some whales at any rate (e.g. Humpback whales) probably come north into warmer waters in the winter rather for breeding purposes
than to get food.[39]
With regard to dolphins four species were observed beyond question. The
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rarest dolphin seen was Tersio peronii, the peculiarity of which is that
it has no dorsal fin. This was seen on October 20, 1910, in latitude 42Adeg
51A S. and longitude 153Adeg 56A E.
Reports of whales and dolphins which are not based upon carcases and skeletons must be accepted with caution. It is most difficult to place species with scientific accuracy which can only be observed swimming in the water, and of which more often than not only blows and the dorsal
fins can be observed. The nomenclature of dolphins especially leaves much
to be desired, and it is to be hoped that some expedition in the future
will carry a Norwegian harpooner, who could do other work as well since they are very good sailors. Wilson was strongly of this opinion and tried hard to get a harpooner, but they are expensive people so long as the present boom in whaling lasts, and perhaps it was on the score of expense that the idea was regretfully abandoned. We carried whaling gear formerly taken on the Discovery Expedition, and kindly lent for this expedition by the Royal Geographical Society of London. A few shots were tried, but an unskilled harpooner stands very little chance. If you go whaling you must have had experience.
The ship was not slowed down to enable marine biological observations to be taken on this part of the expedition, but something like forty samples
of plankton were taken with a full-speed net. We were unable to trawl on the bottom until we reached Melbourne, when a trawl was made in Port Phillip Harbour to try the gear and accustom men to its use. It was not a purpose of the expedition to spend time in deep-sea work until it reached Antarctic seas.
For four days the wind, such as there was of it, was dead ahead; it is
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not very often in the Forties that a ship cannot make progress for want of wind. But having set all plain sail on October 2 with a falling glass
we got a certain amount of wind on the port beam, and did 158 miles in the next twenty-four hours. Sunday being quiet Scott read service while
the officers and men grouped round the wheel. We seldom had service on
deck; for Sundays became proverbial days for a blow on the way out, and service, if held at all, was generally in the wardroom. On one famous occasion we tried to play the pianola to accompany the hymns, but, since the rolls were scored rather for musical effect than for church services, the pianola was suddenly found to be playing something quite different
from what was being sung. All through the expedition the want of some one who could play the piano was felt, and such a man is certainly a great
asset in a life so far removed from all the pleasures of civilization.
As Scott wrote in The Voyage of the Discovery, where one of the officers used to play each evening: "This hour of music has become an institution which none of us would willingly forgo. I don't know what thoughts it brings to others, though I can readily guess; but of such things one does not care to write. I can well believe, however, that our music smooths
over many a ruffle and brings us to dinner each night in that excellent humour, where all seem good-tempered, though 'cleared for action' and ready for fresh argument."
The wind freshened to our joy; Scott was impatient; there was much to be done and the time for doing it was not too long, for it had been decided
to leave New Zealand at an earlier date than had been attempted by any previous expedition, in order to penetrate the pack sooner and make an early start on the depA t journey. The faintest glow of the Aurora Australis which was to become so familiar to us was seen at this time,
but what aroused still more interest was the capture of several albatross
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on the lines flowing out over the stern.
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
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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.
It was expected that the topgallant mast would go, but nothing could be done while the full fury of the wind lasted. Campbell paced quietly up
and down the bridge with a smile on his face. The watch was grouped round the ratlines ready to go aloft, and Crean volunteered to go up alone and
try and free the yard, but permission was refused. It