Of course I asked many foolish ones, which made the men laugh very much;
but their laughter did not hurt me the least bit in the world, because
everybody laughed on that ship, even the sailors who served the dishes,
and especially one grizzly old salt, a cockney from Wapping, who for
some unexplained reason was called Treacle.
It made me happy to see how they all deferred to Martin, saying: "Isn't
that so, Doctor?" or "Don't you agree, Doctor?" and though it was
strange and new to hear Martin (my "Mart of Spitzbergen") called
"Doctor," it was also very charming.
After luncheon was over, and while coffee was being served, the
commander sent Treacle to his cabin for a photograph of all hands which
had been taken when they were at the foot of Mount Erebus; and when it
came I was called upon to identify one by one, the shaggy, tousled,
unkempt, bearded, middle-aged men in the picture with the smart,
clean-shaven young officers who sat round me at the table.
Naturally I made shockingly bad shots, and the worst of them was when I
associated Treacle with the commander, which made the latter rock in
his seat and the former shake and shout so much that he spilled the
coffee.
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