After all it was a relief to get going at last and to have the Expedition
on board in its entirety, but what a funny little colony of souls. A
floating farm-yard best describes the appearance of the upper deck, with
the white pony heads peeping out of their stables, dogs chained to
stanchions, rails, and ring-bolts, pet rabbits lolloping around the ready
supply of compressed hay, and forage here, there, and everywhere. If the
"Terra Nova" was deeply laden from Cardiff, imagine what she looked like
leaving New Zealand. We had piled coal in sacks wherever it could be
wedged in between the deck cargo of petrol. Paraffin and oil drums filled
up most of the hatch spaces, for the poop had been rendered uninhabitable
by the great wooden cases containing two of our motor sledges.

The seamen were excellent, and Captain Scott seemed delighted with the
crowd. He and Wilson were very loyal to the old "Discovery" men we had
with us and Scott was impressed with my man, Cheetham, the Merchant
Service boatswain, and could not quite make out how "Alf," as the sailors
called him, got so much out of the hands--this little squeaky-voiced
man--I think we hit on Utopian conditions for working the ship. There
were no wasters, and our seamen were the pick of the British Navy and
Mercantile Marine. Most of the Naval men were intelligent petty officers
and were as fully alive as the merchantmen to "Alf's" windjammer
knowledge. Cheetham was quite a character, and besides being immensely
popular and loyal he was a tough, humorous little soul who had made more
Antarctic voyages than any man on board.

The seamen and stokers willingly gave up the best part of the crew space
in order to allow sheltered pony stables to be built in the forecastle;
it would have fared badly with the poor creatures had we kept them out on
deck on the southward voyage.