For a few days following the _pampero_ we were gliding along the coast of Patagonia, but out of sight of land, under the most beautiful skies and in the most delightful weather imaginable. Pleasant weather, however, makes the life of a sailor monotonous and far from enjoyable, because it affords time and opportunity to mend and dress and polish the ship. Such was the work of the crew here. The tropical sun had brought out some of the oil and not a little of the fishy odour with which years of blubber hunting had filled her. The paint, also, which had been piled on in different colours, year after year, came off in large sheets like the bark of a dead tree. To mend and dress the _Belgica_, then, in a suitable garb for the perpetual frost of the south pole was a matter of considerable work. The skin of the bark was scraped, and painted, and varnished, and polished, new sails were fitted, old ones repaired, and all of the sailing gear was strengthened for the expected blasts south of Cape Horn. Waterproof covers were made for the various bits of machinery and the instruments openly exposed on deck. Between decks the provisions were being examined and restored. Supplies and equipments were put aside for a wintering party in the antarctic. The cabins and the forecastles were to be cleared and altered for more prolonged habitation, and the hammocks were put away, not to be used again for a long time. Henceforth we must take to our berths, which are like hermetically sealed cans. These bunks have been made to fit each man, in length and breadth, according to careful measurement. The result is that the fit is like that of a snug boot, but the comparison is hardly admissible, since a neat-fitting boot flatters vanity, and pleases the eye; but where are the joys of a boot for a bed? I must hasten to add that such an economy of room was necessary; but, unfortunately, either the beds had shortened, or the men had lengthened, for two men presently complained that their bunks were now six inches too short. The pleasant dispositions and the regular daily occupations, which come with continued fair weather, were abruptly set aside on November 26th. Our eyes in the morning opened under a sky dark, gray, and gloomy. This was soon enlivened by wildly moving cloudy streamers, under which the sea tumbled in huge cliffs, and our stomachs raised in long reaches. _Mal de mer_ was the openly acknowledged pastime of the hour, and it seemed to be in evidence in direct proportion to the mental development of the personnel. The Captain, for example, was the first victim, and he was followed by the most capable sympathisers of the _état major_. These were followed by the ordinary seamen, the man of lowest mental development being usually the last to loosen the gastric bonds. Let this be a comfort to victims of Neptune.