ion may seem rather a
distant one.

11.20 P.M.--Captain just gone to bed after a long and interesting
conversation on general topics. When he chooses he can be a most
fascinating companion, being remarkably well-read, and having the power
of expressing his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. I
hate to have my intellectual toes trod upon. He spoke about the nature
of the soul, and sketched out the views of Aristotle and Plato upon
the subject in a masterly manner. He seems to have a leaning for
metempsychosis and the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them we
touched upon modern spiritualism, and I made some joking allusion to
the impostures of Slade, upon which, to my surprise, he warned me most
impressively against confusing the innocent with the guilty, and argued
that it would be as logical to brand Christianity as an error because
Judas, who professed that religion, was a villain. He shortly afterwards
bade me good-night and retired to his room.

The wind is freshening up, and blows steadily from the north. The nights
are as dark now as they are in England. I hope to-morrow may set us free
from our frozen fetters.

September 17th.--The Bogie again. Thank Heaven that I have strong
nerves! The superstition of these poor fellows, and the circumstantial
accounts which they give, with the utmost earnestness and
self-conviction, would horrify any man not accustomed to their ways.
There are many versions of the matter, but the sum-total of them all is
that something uncanny has been flitting round the ship all night,
and that Sandie M'Donald of Peterhead and "lang" Peter Williamson of
Shetland saw it, as also did Mr. Milne on the bridge--so, having three
witnesses, they can make a better case of it than the second mate did.
I spoke to Milne after breakfast, and told him that he should be above
such nonsense, and that as an officer he ought to set the men a better
example. He shook his weatherbeaten head ominously, but answered with
characteristic caution, "Mebbe aye, mebbe na, Doctor," he said; "I didna
ca' it a ghaist. I canna' say I preen my faith in sea-bogles an' the
like, though there's a mony as claims to ha' seen a' that and waur. I'm
no easy feared, but maybe your ain bluid would run a bit cauld, mun, if
instead o' speerin' aboot it in daylicht ye were wi' me last night, an'
seed an awfu' like shape, white an' gruesome, whiles here, whiles there,
an' it greetin' and ca'ing in the darkness like