FATEH’S CHATS WITH THE BOYS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3619, 24 July 1923, Page 60

FATEH’S CHATS WITH THE BOYS.

WHITE HORSES. The white sea-horses chafe and idle, Tethered in green Atlantic’s heart, Fret at the bit and pluck at the bridle, Shiver and passage, whinny and start; Till the west winds, quivered with Aeolus’ arrows, Leap to horse at the. head of the host, And gallop them into the Channel narrows And up the straight to the Calais coast. Ventre-a-terrc and hell-for-leather, The bit in their teeth, the wind in their hair, Galloping, thundering, all together, Snow-white stallion and milk-white mare; The wrack and the rain-cloud fly like pennants, The grey gull screams like a scout ahead, Where the leader laughs to his wild lieutenants, “Send ’em along if you kill ’em dead!” Rioting, roystering, carolling, shouting, The west winds gallop the horses home— The white sea-horses, mad for an outing, Crested with spindrift, dapled with foam, Freed for frolic and loosed for slaughter, Stripped for a run .and a sporting chance, A last long burst up the Channel water, And a charger’s end on the coast of France. And all the long coasts south of Calais, Cliff and hillock and stout sea-wall, Spring from sleep at the tempests’ rally, Wake from dreams at the seaward call. Stiffen their front and gather their forces— Grey gulls screaming in wrack and rain— As the winds ride home their white seahorses, The hurricane horses out of the main. Then give me the hour of that grim battle When the winds and the waves come charging in, When the striving boulders grind and rattle And the breakers dance in the roaring din; Give me Winter, the old grey jester, A risen sea and a clouded sun, The darkened day of a real sou’-wester, A day when the white sea-horses run. H. 8., in Punch. GREY RAINBOWS. Although we speak of sunlight as being white, it" really consists of every known hue blended together in certain proportions (says a scientific writer). This is revealed to us whenever the sun shines through lain clouds in such a way that its white beams are decomposed into the glorious spectacle o' the rainbow. This natural spectrum, or rainbow, forms the basis cf all our ideas of colour. The beautiful hues which so brighten our lives are due to the power which our surroundings have of selecting certain colour rays from the sunbeams and radiating them out to us. Thus the reds radiate red and the greens radiate green sunbeams, and so on, as the case may be. Hence it conies about that a dress which looks beautiful in daylight may not look so well at night, as the colour rays contained in artificial light are not identical with those of the sun. Light comes to us in waves and the colour depends on the rapidity of the vibrations producing it. The red rays are the least and the violet the most rapid : between these two are all the colours we are able to recognise. No human eye has ever been able to see more than seven distinct colours in th© rainbow, a.nd very few people are able to distinguish more than six. Our ability to appreciate colours depends on the acuteness of the colour centre in the brain. When the centre is very badly developed one colour only is seen, and the whole rainbow appears as a dull grey. This condition is only very rarely met with, apart from disease. Those in whom the centre is slightly more developed can distinguish the two colours which differ most m wave length —red and violet, with or without a neutral band in between. As development yoc-s on the next colour to be appreciated is green, lying midway between red and violet. The next point of greatest difference in wave length lies between the red and the green—namely, yellow. People belonging to this four-unit group can see only red, yellow, green and violet. The next stage in development is reached in five-unit people, who can see blue appearing between the green and the violet. Similarly, orange is seen between the red and yellow in six-unit people, who form the majority of mankind at the present day and are therefore looked upon as normal. Some few individuals, numbering only one in several thousands, have their colour-centre so well developed that they can detect a seventh colour, indigo, between violet and blue. “SHAOIvLETON’S LAST VOYAGE.” I have not yet seen a copy of Commander Wild’s book bearing the above title, but it is said by one reviewer that he has made a much greater success of his book than he did of his lectures. From a review of the book I take the following : On New Year’s Day Shackleton commenced to write in his journal. The entries are brief, but besides the fact that they are Shackleton’s last written words they are stamped with the individuality of the writer. On 2nd January, he says: “Another wonderful day, fine, clear, a. slight wind, but cheerful for us

after these last days of stress and strain. At 1 p.m. we passed our first- berg. The old familiar sight aroused in me memories that the strenuous years had deadened. Blue caverns shone with sky-glow snatched from heaven itself, green spurs showed beneath the water. And bergs mast high Game sailing by, As green a 3 emerald. “Ah, me ! the years that have gone since in the pride of young manhood I first went forth to th© fight. I grow old and tired, but must always lead on.” “Another beautiful da}’,” Shackleton wrote on the 3rd of the year; “fortune seems to attend us in this New Y’ear, but so anxious have I been, when things are going well, I wonder what internal difficulty will be sprung upon me. All day long a light wind and clear sky were our happy portion. I find a difficulty in settling down to write—l am so much on the qui vive; I pray that the furnace will hold cut. Thankful that I can Bs crossed and thwarted as a man.” One more entry was made in the journal on the 4th January : “At last, after sixteen days of turmoil and anxiety, on a peaceful, sunshiny day, we came to anchor in Gritviken. How familiar the coast seemed as we passed dewn ; we saw with full interest the places we struggled over after the boat journey. Now we must speed all we can, but the prospect is not too bright, for labour is scarce. The old familiar smell of dead whale permeates everything. It is a strange and curious place. Douglas and Wilkins are at different ends of the island. A wonderful evening. In the darkening twilight I saw a lone star hover Gem-like above the bay.” These were the last words written by Sir Ernest Shackleton. Dr Macklin's entry tells of the last tragic episode in homely words. “Was called at 2 a.m. for my watch. A cold night, but clear and beautiful, with every star showing. I was slowly walking up and down on the deck when I heard a whistle from the Boss’s- cabin. I went in, and he said, ‘Hullo Mack, boy, is that you. I thought it was.’ He continued: I can't sleep to-night can you get me a sleeping draught?’ He explained that he was suffering from severe facial neuralgia, and had taken fifteen grains of aspirin. ‘That stuff is no good; will you get me something which will act?’ “I noticed that although it was a cold night he had only one blanket, and asked him if he had no others. He replied that they were in his bottom drawer, and he could not be bothered getting them out. I started to do so, but he said. ‘Never mind to-night, I can stand the cold.’ However, I went hack to my cabin, and got a heavy Jaeger blanket from my bunk, which I tucked round him. He was unusually quiet in the way he let me do things for him. . . ." He talked of many things quite rationally, and finding him in such a complacent mood, I thought it a good opportunitv to emphasise the necessity of his taking things very much more quietly than he had been doing. . . . ‘You are always wanting me to give up something. What Jo you want me to give un now?’ This was the last thing he said. He died quite suddenly. Commander Wild's subsequent attempt to touch land in the south was unsuccessful. Nevertheless, it was a- gallant effort and a dangerous one —how dangerous we learn for the first time in this book. After two efforts to penetrate the southern ice the leader was forced to give it up. “There was no alternative,” he writes, “but to retrace our steps and work to the westward. I went below, where once more I pulled out all the charts and examined again the records of old explorers in these regions. I had a long talk with Worsley and Kerr. The season was well advanced ; the Qluest had neither the driving power nor the amount of coal to enable me to batter hard at heavy floe, -is a matter of fact, I do not think that any ship, however powerful, could have made any impression on the stuff to the south of us.”