In the late afternoon we passed a very curious berg composed of a solid mass with a long, upright tooth-like portion separated from it on the surface by ten or twenty yards of water. Perched on it were several Antarctic petrels and one solitary ringed penguin. How the latter ever attained its position is a mystery, for the sides of the berg were steep and precipitous. On Saturday, March 4th, there was a strong north-east to easterly wind, with heavy swell, and the motion of the _Quest_ was simply awful, so bad, indeed, that in spite of our long time at sea several of the party were sea-sick. Macklin writes under this date: It has been impossible to stand without holding firmly to some support, and movement about the ship can only be accomplished by sudden jerks and starts, with hurried gropings for something to catch hold of. A wet, snowy slush on the deck does not help matters. Argles was thrown off his feet and, crashing across the deck, fetched up on the other side against a bucket, severely bruising face, chest and hands. Meals are a screaming comedy or a tragedy, as you like to take them; everything placed on the table promptly charges for the scuppers, and fiddles are almost useless. McIlroy, “Kraskie,” Kerr and myself were sitting on a wooden bench, secured to the floor, holding on to plates and spoons, and endeavouring to guide some food into our mouths. Suddenly, during a particularly violent roll, the bench was torn from its fastenings, and we were thrown backwards into the lee of the wardroom, intimately mixed with knives, forks, plates and treacle dough. During the evening watch Commander Wild was talking to Mick and myself on the bridge when suddenly he shot away into the darkness, and a few moments later sounds the reverse of complimentary were heard issuing from the end of the bridge-house. Ross brought some tea a few minutes later, apologizing for having spilled much of it _en route_. He, too, suddenly disappeared in darkness, and when he next materialized there was less tea than ever, but it was a good effort his getting it there at all. When I went below I saw Wuzzles trying to work out his calculations on the wardroom table, with first a book, then a pencil or a ruler shooting suddenly to the floor. The _Quest_ is a little “she-devil,” lively as they are made. She has many uncomplimentary things said of her, and deserves all of them.