1 December, 1910

In seas such as this one is fast reminded of what it is like to have a weak stomach -- from all quarters the sounds of evacuation! Ponting is busy developing plates with a tray of chemicals in one hand and a basin in the other. I am told that on the way down to Port Chalmers he was busy on deck with his cinematograph, running back and forth to the side of the ship to heave-ho! Poor Anton, the groom, has it quite badly, but managed to smoke a cigar in between quite spectacular vomiting. Priestley is very badly affected.

If the animals could throw up, I'm sure they would. As it is, they hang on, the dogs leashed on deck in chains to prevent them being washed overboard. How utterly wretched they must be. It pains me they should suffer so.

My stomach OK so far -- though I am more likely to lose my lunch to nerves than waves. We have a horrid gale coming on and I dread losing all we have stowed on deck. Bowers has been rushing back and forth tying and re-tying everything he so carefully stowed. That little man appears to know no fear.

Would that I had his guts.