Deep seemed the valleys when we lay between the reeling seas.
High were the hills when we perched momentarily on the tops of giant
combers. Nearly always there were gales. So small was our boat and so
great were the seas that often our sail flapped idly in the calm
between the crests of two waves. Then we would climb the next slope and
catch the full fury of the gale where the wool-like whiteness of the
breaking water surged around us. We had our moments of laughter--rare,
it is true, but hearty enough. Even when cracked lips and swollen
mouths checked the outward and visible signs of amusement we could see
a joke of the primitive kind. Man's sense of humour is always most
easily stirred by the petty misfortunes of his neighbours, and I shall
never forget Worsley's efforts on one occasion to place the hot
aluminium stand on top of the Primus stove after it had fallen off in
an extra heavy roll. With his frost-bitten fingers he picked it up,
dropped it, picked it up again, and toyed with it gingerly as though it
were some fragile article of lady's wear. We laughed, or rather
gurgled with laughter.
The wind came up strong and worked into a gale from the north-west on
the third day out. We stood away to the east. The increasing seas
discovered the weaknesses of our decking.
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