He was looking so tired that I offered with some diffidence, for I am not a trained seaman, to stay on myself, saying that on the least sign of anything untoward happening I would blow a whistle. Somehow or other a long conversation ensued, in which he told me many things. He said: “If this crack in the furnace proves serious I may have to abandon the expedition—my reputation will stand it—but I am not beaten; John Rowett understands me, and will trust me to make the best of things, even if I have to get a new ship.” He reverted to his original northern scheme, saying: “The _Quest_ would have been suitable for that; in the Davis Strait, even if we lost her, we should have had no difficulty in reaching land, where we could subsist on game and carry on without her.” So ended the Old Year. New Year’s Day brought us a calm sea with long oily swell, and over all a drenching mist. Being a Sunday little work was done, and all hands were allowed a rest after the somewhat trying days we had just experienced. With the new year Sir Ernest Shackleton again commenced to write in his journal, which I insert verbatim. _January 1st, 1922._ Rest and calm after the storm. The year has begun kindly for us; it is curious how a certain date becomes a factor and a milestone in one’s life. Christmas Day in a raging gale seemed out of place. I dared not venture to hope that to-day would be as it was. Anxiety has been probing deeply into me, for until the very end of the year things have gone awry. Engines unreliable; furnace cracked; water short; heavy gales; all that physically can go wrong, but the spirit of all on board is sound and good. There are two points in the adventures of a diver, One when a beggar he prepares to plunge, One when a prince he rises with his pearl. _January 2nd, 1922._ Another wonderful day, fine, clear, a slight head wind, but cheerful for us after these last days of stress and strain. At 1 P.M. we passed our first berg. The old familiar sight aroused in me memories that the strenuous years had deadened. Blue caverns shone with sky-glow snatched from heaven itself, green spurs showed beneath the water. And bergs mast high Came sailing by, As green as emerald. Ah me! the years that have gone since in the pride of young manhood I first went forth to the fight. I grow old and tired, but must always lead on. _January 3rd, 1922._