Wednesday, October 7, 2009
7 October, 1910
Excellent wind, and we're making good progress now. Only 1000 miles to Melbourne.
The trouble with ponies is that they eat. We have to bring every scrap of food they need with us. The dogs will need food too, but can eat what we kill for them -- seal, penguin, scraps -- each other if need be. They'll even eat their own waste. I won't let them do that. That doesn't bear thinking about.
I'm hoping that we can live off our provisions without having to slaughter too many creatures for our food. I know there's plenty to be had, but it's a damned bloody business. Just the thought of it makes me queasy. It's not something I can show the chaps. As a sailor, you're supposed to have a strong stomach for this kind of thing. But I've never liked the sight of blood -- it makes my own blood drain from my head. When they are gutting some bird or dolphin on deck, I find other places to be.
Speaking of which, that's the dinner bell.