In the Arctic there was calm, and we recaptured the light which was fleeting with the approach to the equinox. The evenings grew appreciably longer. It was cold, and the barometer was going down “for ice.” The captain and officers felt the cold badly, stamped to keep warm, and came in to meals with red faces and bright eyes. “If there is a Gulf Stream it ought to be warmer than it is,” said the captain. “Do you believe in its existence?” I could not give an opinion. “According to the hand-book, there is,” said the skipper. “It flows north-east, but a little note says ‘it has been known to flow south-west.’ Two and two make four, but they have been known to make five. All I can say is that if there is a Gulf Stream we are going against it at this moment and beating our engines. Our maximum is 11-1/4 knots, and we are doing 12.” It was touching to hear English coming over the water when we were hailed by British patrols. “What is the name of the ship?” “_Glamis._” “What is your cargo?” “Wood--and--flax. Wood--and--flax.” “Ah well, I can’t attend to you now, you’d bettah drop your ankah.” At one point, to the great disgust of the skipper, we were stopped by a cruiser and some twenty mail-bags were sent to us. And we lost our steam. “They signalled us six miles away. Why couldn’t they have said they wanted us to slow up for mails, instead of allowing us to come up at full speed, and then giving us ‘Stop immediately’ and making us reverse the engines and go full astern.” We were a lot of cheerful British grumblers. I was the only passenger on board, and so got to know them all pretty well. Every man was a character in his way, and their remarks filled me constantly with mirth. Our last three days were stormy in the extreme--regular equinoctial weather. The captain did not sleep, for the waters were, in his opinion, “too submariny.” I put out my lifebelt and wrapped up my manuscripts in a waterproof packet. “What will happen should we strike a mine or be torpedoed?” I asked of the captain. “Unless the engines were blown up we should proceed as best we could on the injured ship,” said he. He showed me what were the vital sections of the vessel. “In any case we should not take to the boats except in the worst extremity,” said he. “For the Lascars have no will to live and they would not row us far. We should throw three dead overboard every morning, they so quickly lose hope.” At Lerwick we learned the name of the port for which we had to make. ’Twas Aberdeen, and as the captain shouted this to us from the boat in which he was returning from the man-of-war, all the officers rushed to look at their shipping almanacks to see what the tides were. We made out that we could just get in in time. And the vessel that night did the best she ever did.