The sky was still grey and troubled, but there were hints of blue in the south and the fiercesome wind had abated. It was ten in the morning when they were ready and the group looked, thought Scott, like a Caravanserai from another age. Again, the pennants that Markham had made for each officer, the Union Jack and the flags of the Royal Society and the Royal Geographical Society, fluttered in the spluttering breeze and once more the full ship’s company turned out to see them off. Fully mittened and helmeted they also wore the wide-brimmed hats that helped reduce the eyes’ exposure to glare. Their blouses pulled tight and finnesko fur boots tightly sealed with lengths of lamp wick, Scott, Wilson and Shackleton posed for photographs in front of the train of sledges. ‘Smile, we three polar knights,’ exhorted Shackleton. ‘Off to find another Holy Grail.’ The animals were yapping and restless, as if they knew all about the delays and postponements and were eager to get going. Their original names were lost mysteries, but now Scott could identify each of them by their new ones, bestowed by their handlers.
