CHAPTER VII.

HANS AND HIS FAMILY.—PETOWAK GLACIER.—A SNOW-STORM.—THE ICE-PACK.—ENTERING SMITH'S SOUND.—A SEVERE GALE.—COLLISION WITH ICEBERGS.—ENCOUNTER WITH THE ICE-FIELDS.—RETREAT FROM THE PACK.—AT ANCHOR IN HARTSTENE BAY.—ENTERING WINTER QUARTERS.

It was five o'clock in the evening when I reached the schooner. The wind had freshened during our absence; and, unwilling to lose so favorable an opportunity for pushing on, I had hastened on board. Otherwise I should gladly have given some time to an examination of the native village which lies a few miles to the eastward of the cape, on the northern side of a conspicuous bay, near a place called Kíkertait,—"The Place of Islands."

In anticipation of a heavy blow and a dirty night, McCormick had, during my absence, taken a reef in the sails, and the little schooner, with her canvas shivering in the wind, seemed impatient as a hound in the leash. When the helm went up, she wheeled round to the north with a graceful toss of her head, and, after steadying herself for an instant, as if for a good start, she shot off before the wind at ten knots an hour. Capes, bays, islands, glaciers, and icebergs sank rapidly behind us; and, rejoicing over their extraordinary fortune, the ship's company were in the best of spirits. As we dashed on through nest after nest of icebergs, it was curious to observe the evidences of reckless daring which inspired their thoughts. Dodgehad the deck, and Charley, as dare-devil an old sailor as ever followed the fortunes of the sea, had the helm; and it seemed to me, as I sat upon the fore-yard, that there was some quiet understanding between the two to see how near they could come to the icebergs without hitting them. We passed through many narrow places; but instead of finding the schooner in the middle of the channel, she generally managed to fall off to one side or the other at the critical moment (of course, by mere accident); and when I shouted a remonstrance at the lubberly steering, I was answered with the assurance that the schooner would not obey her helm with so much after-sail on, when running before the wind; so I accordingly hove the schooner to, and close-reefed the mainsail; and now, either from the want of a reasonable excuse for doing otherwise, or from a real difficulty being overcome, the vessel was made to keep somewhat nearer to a straight course; and we dashed on through the waveless waters with a celerity which, in view of our surroundings, fairly made one's head swim.

A HAZARDOUS PASSAGE.

I was once not a little alarmed. Before us lay what appeared to be two icebergs separated by a distance of about twenty fathoms. To go around them was to deviate from our course, and I called to Dodge to know if he could steady the schooner through the narrow passage. Ever ready when there was a spice of danger, he willingly assumed the responsibility of the schooner's behavior, and we approached the entrance; but, when it was too late to turn either to the right or left, I discovered, much to my amazement, that the objects which I had supposed to be two bergs were in fact but portions of the same mass, connected together by a link which was only a few feet belowthe surface of the water. The depth of water proved, however, to be greater than at first appeared, but the keel actually touched twice as we shot through the opening; and while the schooner was, with some hesitancy and evident reluctance, doing this sledge duty, I must own that I wished myself anywhere else than on her fore-yard.

HANS AND HIS FAMILY.

The officers and men amused themselves with our new allies. Hans was delighted, and he expressed himself with as much enthusiasm as was consistent with his stolid temperament. His wife exhibited a mixture of bewilderment and pride; and, apparently overwhelmed with the novelty of the situation in which she so suddenly found herself, seemed to have contracted a chronic grin; while her baby laughed and crowed and cried as all other babies do.

The sailors set to work at once with tubs of warm water and with soap, scissors, and comb, to prepare them for red shirts and other similar luxuries of civilization. At this latter they were overjoyed, and strutted about the deck with much the same air of exalted consequence as that of a boy who has been freshly promoted from frock and shoes to pantaloons and boots; but it must be owned that the soap-and-water arrangement was not so highly appreciated; and well they might object, for they were not used to it. At first the whole procedure seemed to be great sport, but at length the wife began to cry, and demanded of her husband to know whether this was a white man's religious rite, with an expression of countenance which appeared to indicate that it was regarded by her as a refined method of Christian torture. The family were finally stowed away for the night down among the ropes and sails in the "ship's eyes;" and one of thesailors who played chamberlain on the occasion, and who appeared to be not overly partial to this increase of our family, remarked that, "If good for nothing else, they are at least good lumber for strengthening the schooner's bows against the ice."

PETOWAK GLACIER.

The coast which we were passing greatly interested me. The trap formation of Disco Island reappears at Cape York, and the land presents a lofty, ragged front, broken by deep gorges which have a very picturesque appearance, and the effect was much heightened by numerous streams of ice which burst through the openings. One of these figures on the chart as Petowak Glacier. Measuring it as we passed with log-line and chronometer, it proved to be four miles across. The igneous rocks are interrupted at Cape Athol, on the southern side of Wolstenholme Sound, and the lines of calcareous sandstone and greenstone which meet the eye there and at Saunders Island and the coast above, toward Cape Parry, brought to my recollection many a hard struggle of former years. They were familiar landmarks.

At eight o'clock in the evening we were abreast of Booth Bay, the winter quarters in my boat journey of 1854. I could distinguish through my glass the rocks among which we had built our hut. They were suggestive of many unpleasant memories.

MEETING THE ICE PACK.

Soon afterward the sky became overcast, and a heavy snow began to fall. The wind dying away to a light breeze, we jogged on through the day, and, passing Whale Sound, outside of Hakluyt Island, were, at five o'clock in the evening, within thirty miles of Smith's Sound. Here we came upon an ice-pack which appeared to be very heavy and to stretch off to the southwest; but the air being too thick to warrant usin approaching near enough to inspect its character, we began to beat to windward with the hope of reaching the lee side of Northumberland Island, there to await better weather. In this purpose we were, however, defeated, for, the wind falling almost to calm, we were forced to grope about in the gloom, seeking an iceberg for a mooring; but the waves proved to be running too high to admit of our landing from a boat, and we passed the night in much uneasiness, drifting northward. Fortunately the pack was moving in the same direction, otherwise we should have been carried upon it. The breakers could be distinctly heard all the time, and on several occasions we caught sight of them; but, by availing ourselves of every puff of wind to crawl off, we escaped without collision. Once I was satisfied that we had no alternative but to wear round and plunge head foremost into the danger, rather than await the apparent certainty of drifting broadside upon it; but at the critical moment the wind freshened, and, continuing for a few hours, we held our own while the pack glided slowly away from us.

Our dogs had made a heavy drain upon our water-casks, and the watch was engaged during the night in melting the snow which had fallen upon the deck. We also fished up from the sea some small fragments of fresh ice with a net. By these means we obtained a supply of water sufficient to last us for several days.

MAP OF SMITH SOUND, SHOWING DR. HAYES' TRACK AND DISCOVERIESClick on image to view larger sized

Click on image to view larger sized

ENTERING SMITH'S SOUND.

The wind hauled to the northeast as the morning dawned, and the clouds broke away, disclosing the land. Cape Alexander, whose lofty walls guard the entrance to Smith's Sound, appeared to be about twenty miles away, and Cape Isabella, thirty-five miles distant from it, was visible on the opposite side. Holding to the eastward toward Cape Saumarez, we found a passage through the pack near the shore, but afterward the greater part of the day was passed in a provoking calm, during which, being embarrassed by a strong tidal-current that set us alternately up and down the coast, we were obliged almost constantly to use the boats to keep ourselves clear of the bergs, which were very numerous, and many of them of immense size. We were, however, at length gratified to find ourselves passing with a fair wind into Smith's Sound, the field of our explorations. Standing over toward Cape Isabella, we had for a time every prospect of good fortune before us, but a heavy pack was, after a while, discovered from the mast-head, and this we were not long in reaching.

This pack was composed of the heaviest ice-fields that I had hitherto seen, and its margin, trending to the northeast and southwest, arrested our further progress toward the western shore. Many of the floes were from two to ten feet above the water, thus indicating a thickness of from twenty to a hundred feet. Had they been widely separated, I should have attempted to force a passage; but they were too closely impacted to allow of this being done with any chance of safety to the schooner.

The ice appeared to be interminable. No open water could be discovered in the direction of Cape Isabella. The wind, being from the northeast, did not permit of an exploration in that direction; so we ran down to the southwest, anxiously looking for a lead, but without discovering any thing to give us encouragement.

STOPPED BY THE PACK.

We were not, however, permitted to come to any conclusions of our own as to what course we shouldpursue, for the most furious gale that it has ever been my fortune to encounter broke suddenly upon us, and left us no alternative but to seek shelter under the coast. Our position was now one of great danger. The heavy pack which we had passed the night previous lay to leeward of us, and was even visible from the mast-head, thus shutting off retreat in that direction, even should our necessities give us no choice but to run before the wind.

The entries of my diary will perhaps best exhibit the ineffectual struggle which followed:—

August 28th, 3 o'clock, P. M.

Blowing frightfully. We have run in under the coast, and are partly sheltered by it, and trying hard to find an anchorage. But for the protection of the land we could not show a stitch of canvas. We are about three miles from Sutherland Island, which lies close to Cape Alexander, on its south side, but we have ceased to gain any thing upon it. We can carry so little sail that the schooner will not work to windward; besides, here under the coast, the wind comes only in squalls. If we can only get in between the island and the mainland we shall be all right. I have not been in bed since the day before leaving Tessuissak, and during these six days I have snatched only now and then a little sleep. If our anchor once gets a clutch on the bottom I shall make up for lost time.

I ought to have been more cautious, and sought shelter sooner. A heavy white cloud hanging over Cape Alexander (Jensen calls it a "table-cloth") warned me of the approaching gale, but then I did not think it would come upon us with such fury.

It is a perfect hurricane. My chief fear is that wewill be driven out to sea, which is everywhere filled with heavy ice.

August 29th, 12 o'clock, M.

There has been a dead calm under the coast for an hour. The "table-cloth" has lifted from the cape, and there is a decided change in the northern sky. The light windy clouds are disappearing, and stratus clouds are taking their place. The neck of the gale appears to be broken.

2 o'clock, P. M.

A SEVERE GALE.

My calculations of the morning were quite wrong. The gale howls more furiously than ever. We are lying off Cape Saumarez, about two miles from shore. Failing to reach Sutherland Island, we were forced to run down the coast with the hope of finding shelter in the deep bay below; but the wind, sweeping round the cape, drove us back, and we are now trying to crawl in shore and get an anchor down in a little cove near by, and there repair our torn sails. We are a very uncomfortable party. The spray flies over the vessel, sheathing her in ice. Long icicles hang from the rigging and the bulwarks. The bob-stays and other head-gear are the thickness of a man's body; and, most unseamanlike procedure, we have to throw ashes on the deck to get about.

I can now readily understand how Inglefield was forced to fly from Smith's Sound. If the gale which he encountered resembled this one, he could not, with double the steam-power of theIsabella, have made headway against it. Were I to leave the shelter of these friendly cliffs I should have to run with even greater celerity;—and, very likely, to destruction.

The squalls which strike us are perfectly terrific, and the calms which follow them are suggestive ofgathering strength for another stroke. Fortunately the blows are of short duration, else our already damaged canvas, which is reduced to the smallest possible dimensions, would fly into ribbons.

SEEKING SHELTER.

The coast which gives us this spasmodic protection is bleak enough. The cliffs are about twelve hundred feet high, and their tops and the hills behind them are covered with the recent snows. The wind blows a cloud of drift over the lofty wall, and, after whirling it about in the air, in a manner which, under other circumstances, would no doubt be pretty enough, drops it upon us in great showers. The winter is setting in early. At this time of the season in 1853-54 these same hills were free from snow, and so remained until two weeks later.

10 o'clock, P. M.

A WILD SCENE.

We have gained nothing upon the land, and are almost where we were at noon. The gale continues as before, and hits us now and then as hard as ever. The view from the deck is magnificent beyond description. The imagination cannot conceive of a scene more wild. A dark cloud hangs to the northward, bringing the white slopes of Cape Alexander into bold relief. Over the cliffs roll great sheets of drifting snow, and streams of it pour down every ravine and gorge. Whirlwinds shoot it up from the hill-tops, and spin it through the air. The streams which pour through the ravines resemble the spray of mammoth waterfalls, and here and there through the fickle cloud the dark rocks protrude and disappear and protrude again. A glacier which descends through a valley to the bay below is covered with a broad cloak of revolving whiteness. The sun is setting in a black and ominous horizon. But the wildest scene is uponthe sea. Off the cape it is one mass of foam. The water, carried along by the wind, flies through the air and breaches over the lofty icebergs. It is a most wonderful exhibition. I have tried in vain to illustrate it with my pencil. My pen is equally powerless. It is impossible for me to convey to this page a picture of that vast volume of foam which flutters over the sea, and, rising and falling with each pulsation of the inconstant wind, stands out against the dark sky, or of the clouds which fly overhead, rushing, wild and fearful, across the heavens, on the howling storm. Earth and sea are charged with bellowing sounds. Upon the air are borne shrieks and wailings, loud and dismal as those of the infernal blast which, down in the second circle of the damned, appalled the Italian bard; and the clouds of snow and vapor are tossed upon the angry gusts,—now up, now down,—as spirits, condemned of Minos, wheel their unhappy flight in endless squadrons,

"Swept by the dreadful hurricane along."

In striking contrast to the cold and confusion above is the warmth and quiet here below. I write in the officers' cabin. The stove is red-hot, the tea-kettle sings a home-like song. Jensen is reading. McCormick, thoroughly worn out with work and anxiety, sleeps soundly, and Knorr and Radcliffe keep him company. Dodge has the deck; and here comes the cook staggering along with his pot of coffee. I will fortify myself with a cup of it, and send Dodge below for a little comfort.

The cook had no easy task in reaching the cabin over the slippery decks.

A CABIN SCENE.

"I falls down once, but de Commander see I keeps de coffee. It's good an' hot, and very strong, and go right down into de boots."

"Bad night on deck, cook."

"Oh, it's awful, sar! I never see it blow so hard in all my life, an' I's followed de sea morn 'n forty year. And den it's so cold. My galley is full of ice, and de water it freeze on my stove."

"Here, cook, is a guernsey for you; that will keep you warm."

"Tank you, sar!"—and he starts off with his prize; but, encouraged by his reception, he stops to ask, "Would de Commander be so good as to tell me where we is? De gentlemens fool me."

"Certainly, cook. The land over there is Greenland. That big cape is Cape Alexander; beyond that is Smith's Sound, and we are only about eight hundred miles from the North Pole."

"De Nort' Pole, vere's dat?"

I explained the best I could.

"Tank you, sar. Vat for we come—to fish?"

"No, not to fish, cook; for science."

"Oh, dat it? Dey tell me we come to fish. Tank you, sar." And he pulls his greasy cap over his bald head, and does not appear to be much wiser as he tumbles up the companion-ladder into the storm. Somebody has hoaxed the old man into the belief that we have come out to catch seals.

August 30th, 1 o'clock, A. M.

The wind is hauling to the eastward, and the squalls come thicker and faster. We are drifting both up and from the coast, and I fear that if we recede much further we shall be sent howling to sea underbare poles. It is not a pleasing reflection—a "pack" and a thousand icebergs to leeward, and an unmanageable vessel under foot. McCormick is struggling manfully for the shore.

10 o'clock, A. M.

AT ANCHOR.

We reached the shore this morning at 3 o'clock, and anchored in four fathoms water. The stern of the schooner was swung round and moored with our stoutest hawser to a rock; but a squall fell upon us soon afterward with such violence that, although the sails were all snugly stowed, the hawser was parted like a whip-cord; and we now lie to our "bower" and "kedge," with thirty fathoms chain.

And now, in apparent security, the ship's company abandon themselves to repose. Weary and worn with the hard struggle and exposure, we were all badly in need of rest. An abundant supply of hot coffee was our first refreshment. But, notwithstanding their fatigue, some of the more enthusiastic members of the party went ashore, so anxious were they to touch this far-north land.

8 o'clock, P. M.

I have just returned from a tedious climb to the top of the cliffs. At an elevation of twelve hundred feet I had a good view. The sea is free from ice along the shore apparently up to Littleton Island, from which the pack stretches out over the North Water as far as the eye will carry. There appears to be much open water about Cape Isabella, but I could not of course see the shore line. Above the cape the ice appeared to be solid. Although the prospect is discouraging, I have determined to attempt a passage with the first favorable wind.

VIEW FROM THE CLIFFS.

The journey was a very difficult one, and when Ihad reached the summit of the cliff I was almost blown over it. The force of the wind was so great that I was obliged to steady myself against a rock while making my observations. Knorr, who accompanied me, lost his cap, and it went sailing out over the sea as if a mere feather. The scene was but a broader panorama of that which I described in this journal yesterday. It was a grand, wild confusion of the elements. The little schooner, far down beneath me, was writhing and reeling with the fitful gusts, and straining at her cables like a chained wild beast. The clouds of drifting snow which whirled through the gorges beneath me, now and then hid her and the icebergs beyond from view; and when the air fell calm again the cloud dropped upon the sea, and the schooner, after a short interval of unrest, lay quietly on the still water, nestling in sunshine under the protecting cliffs.

There are yet some lingering traces of the summer. Some patches of green moss and grass were seen in the valleys, where the snow had drifted away; and I plucked a little nosegay of my old friends the poppies and the curling spider-leggedSaxifraga flagelaris. The frost and snow and wind had not robbed them of their loveliness and beauty. The cliffs are of the same sandstone, interstratified with greenstone, which I have before remarked of the coast below.

McCormick has replaced the old foresail which was split down the centre, with the new one, and has patched up the mainsail and jib, both of which were much torn.

An immense amount of ice has drifted past us, but we are too far in-shore for any masses of considerablesize to reach the vessel. Three small bergs have, however, grounded in a cluster right astern of us, and if we drag our anchors we shall bring up against them. A perfect avalanche of wind tumbles upon us from the cliffs; and instead of coming in squalls, as heretofore, it is now almost constant. The temperature is 27°.

I made a trial to-day with the dredge, but nothing was brought up from the bottom except a couple of echinoderms (Asterias GrœnlandicaandA. Albula). The sea is alive with little shrimps, among which theCrangon Boreasis most abundant. The full-grown ones are an inch long, and their tinted backs give a purplish hue to the water.

August 31st, 8 o'clock, P. M.

DRIVEN FROM SHELTER.

Night closes upon a day of disaster,—a day, I fear, of evil omen. My poor little schooner is terribly cut up.

BACK IN SMITH'S SOUND.

Soon after making my last entry yesterday I lay down for a little rest, but was soon aroused with the unwelcome announcement that we were dragging our anchors. McCormick managed to save the bower, but the hedge was lost. It caught a rock at a critical moment, and, the hawser parting, we were driven upon the bergs, which, as before stated, had grounded astern of us. The collision was a perfect crash. The stern boat flew into splinters, the bulwarks over the starboard-quarter were stove in, and, the schooner's head swinging round with great violence, the jib-boom was carried away, and the bow-sprit and foretop-mast were both sprung. In this crippled condition we at length escaped most miraculously, and under bare poles scudded before the wind. A vast number of icebergs and the "pack" coming in view, we wereforced to make sail. The mainsail went to pieces as soon as it was set, and we were once more in great jeopardy; but fortunately the storm abated, and we have since been threshing to windward, and are once more within Smith's Sound. Again the gale appears to have broken; the northern sky is clear. Our spars will not allow us to carry jib and topsail;—bad for entering the pack.

The temperature is 22°, and the decks are again slippery with ice. Forward, the ropes, blocks, stays, halyards, and every thing else, are covered with a solid coating, and icicles a foot long hang from the monkey-rail and rigging. If they look pretty enough in the sunlight, they have a very wintry aspect, and are not at all becoming to a ship.

I tried this morning to reach Cape Isabella, but met the pack where it had obstructed us before. Some patches of open water were observed in the midst of it; but we found it impossible to penetrate the intervening ice. My only chance now is to work up the Greenland coast, get hold of the fast ice, and, through such leads as must have been opened by the wind higher up the Sound, endeavor to effect a passage to the opposite shore. Of reaching that shore I do not yet despair, although the wind has apparently packed the ice upon it to such a degree that it looks like a hopeless undertaking. I have already an eye upon Fog Inlet, twenty miles above Cape Alexander on the Greenland coast, and I shall now try to reach that point for a new start.

While I write the wind is freshening, and under close-reefed sails we are making a little progress. My poor sailors have a sorry time of it, with the stiffened ropes. The schooner, everywhere above the water, iscoated with ice. The dogs are perishing with cold and wet. Three of them have already died.

September 1st, 8 o'clock, P. M.

We have once more been driven out of the Sound. The gale set in again with great violence, and in the act of wearing the schooner, to avoid an iceberg, the fore-gaff parted in the middle; and, unable to carry any thing but a close-reefed staysail, we were forced again to seek shelter behind our old protector, Cape Alexander. McCormick is patching up the wreck and preparing for another struggle.

ENTERING THE PACK

The next two days were filled with dangerous adventure. The broken spar being repaired, we had another fight for the Sound, and got again inside. The pack still lay where it was before, and again headed us off. There was a good deal of open water between Littleton Island and Cape Hatherton, and apparently to the northwest of that cape; but there was much heavy ice off the island, with tortuous leads separating the floes. I determined, however, to enter the pack and try to reach the open water above. Taking the first fair opening, we made a northwest course for about ten miles, when, finding that we were unable to penetrate any further in that direction, we tacked ship, hoping to reach the clear water that lay above the island.

We were now fairly in the fight. The current was found to be setting strongly against us, and it was soon discovered that the ice was coming rapidly down the Sound, and that the leads were already slowly closing up. We worked vigorously, crowding on all the sail we could; but we did not make our point, and soonhad to go about again; or rather, we tried to; for the schooner, never reliable without her topsail, which we could not carry owing to the accident to the topmast, missed in stays; and, fearful of being nipped between the fields which were rapidly reducing the open water about us, we wore round; and, there not being sufficient room, we were on the eve of striking with the starboard-bow a solid ice-field a mile in width. There was little hope for the schooner if this collision should happen with our full headway; and being unable to avoid it, I thought it clearly safest to take the shock squarely on the fore-foot; so I ordered the helm up, and went at it in true battering-ram style. To me the prospect was doubly disagreeable. For the greater facility of observation I had taken my station on the foretop-yard; and the mast being already sprung and swinging with my weight, I had little other expectation than that, when the shock came, it would snap off and land me with the wreck on the ice ahead. Luckily for me the spar held firm, but the cut-water flew in splinters with the collision, and the iron sheathing was torn from the bows as if it had been brown paper.

IN THE PACK.

And now came a series of desperate struggles. No topsail-schooner was ever put through such a set of gymnastic feats. I had been so much annoyed by the detentions and embarrassments of the last few days that I was determined to risk every thing rather than go back. As long as the schooner would float I should hope still to get a clutch on Cape Hatherton.

Getting clear of the floe, the schooner came again to the wind, and, gliding into a narrow lead, we soon emerged into a broad space of open water. Had this continued we should soon have been rewarded withsuccess, but in half an hour the navigation became so tortuous that we were compelled again to go about and stand in-shore. And thus we continued for many hours, tacking to and fro,—sometimes gaining a little, then losing ground by being forced to go to leeward of a floe, which we could not weather.

BESET.

The space in which we could manœuvre the schooner became gradually more and more contracted; the collisions with the ice became more frequent. We were losing ground. The ice was closing in with the land, and we were finally brought to bay. There was no longer a lead. And it was now too late to retreat, had we been even so inclined. The ice was as closely unpacked behind us as before us. With marvelous celerity the scene had shifted. An hour later, and there was scarcely a patch of open water in sight from the deck, and the floes were closing upon the schooner like a vice. Utterly powerless within its jaws, we had no alternative but to await the issue with what calmness we could.

The scene around us was as imposing as it was alarming. Except the earthquake and volcano, there is not in nature an exhibition of force comparable with that of the ice-fields of the Arctic Seas. They close together, when driven by the wind or by currents against the land or other resisting object, with the pressure of millions of moving tons, and the crash and noise and confusion are truly terrific.

We were now in the midst of one of the most thrilling of these exhibitions of Polar dynamics, and we became uncomfortably conscious that the schooner was to become a sort of dynamometer. Vast ridges were thrown up wherever the floes came together, to be submerged again when the pressure was exerted inanother quarter; and over the sea around us these pulsating lines of uplift, which in some cases reached an altitude of not less than sixty feet,—higher than our mast-head,—told of the strength and power of the enemy which was threatening us.

We had worked ourselves into a triangular space formed by the contact of three fields. At first there was plenty of room to turn round, though no chance to escape. We were nicely docked, and vainly hoped that we were safe; but the corners of the protecting floes were slowly crushed off, the space narrowed little by little, and we listened to the crackling and crunching of the ice, and watched its progress with consternation.

FORCE OF THE ICE-FIELDS.

At length the ice touched the schooner, and it appeared as if her destiny was sealed. She groaned like a conscious thing in pain, and writhed and twisted as if to escape her adversary, trembling in every timber from truck to kelson. Her sides seemed to be giving way. Her deck timbers were bowed up, and the seams of the deck planks were opened. I gave up for lost the little craft which had gallantly carried us through so many scenes of peril; but her sides were solid and her ribs strong; and the ice on the port side, working gradually under the bilge, at length, with a jerk which sent us all reeling, lifted her out of the water; and the floes, still pressing on and breaking, as they were crowded together, a vast ridge was piling up beneath and around us; and, as if with the elevating power of a thousand jack-screws, we found ourselves going slowly up into the air.

My fear now was that the schooner would fall over on her side, or that the masses which rose above the bulwarks would topple over upon the deck, and bury us beneath them.

We lay in this position during eight anxious hours.

At length the crash ceased with a change of wind and tide. The ice exhibited signs of relaxing. The course of the monster floes which were crowding down the Sound was changed more to the westward. We beheld the prospect of release with joy.

THE SCHOONER IN DANGER.

Small patches of open water were here and there exhibited among the hitherto closely impacted ice. The change of scene, though less fearful, was not less magical than before. By and by the movement extended to the floes which bound us so uncomfortably, and with the first cessation of the pressure the blocks of ice which supported the forward part of the schooner gave way, and, the bows following them, left the stern high in the air. Here we rested for a few moments quietly, and then the old scene was renewed. The further edge of the outer floe which held us was caught by another moving field of greater size, when the jam returned, and we appeared to be in as great danger as before; but this attack was of short duration. The floe revolved, and, the pressure being almost instantly removed, we fell into the water, reeling forward and backward and from side to side, as the ice, seeking its own equilibrium, settled headlong and in wild confusion beneath us from its forced elevation.

Freed from this novel and alarming situation, we used every available means to disengage ourselves from the ruins of the frightful battle which we had encountered; and, as speedily as possible, got into a position of greater safety. Meanwhile an inspection was made to ascertain what damage had been done to the schooner. The hold was rapidly filling with water, the rudder was split, two of its pintles were broken off,the stern-post was started, fragments of the cut-water and keel were floating alongside of us in the sea, and, to all appearances, we were in a sinking condition.

Our first duty was to man the pumps.

THE SCHOONER CRIPPLED.

We were many hours among the ice, tortured with doubt and uncertainty. We had to move with great caution. The crippled condition of the schooner warned us to use her gently. She would bear no more thumps. Forward we could not go, because of the ice; retreat we must, for it was absolutely necessary that we should get to the land and find shelter somewhere. The rudder was no longer available, and we were obliged to steer with a long "sweep."

The wind hauled more and more to the eastward, and spread the ice. Although at times closely beset and once severely "nipped," yet, by watching our opportunity, we crept slowly out of the pack, and, after twenty anxious hours, got at last into comparatively clear water, and headed for Hartstene Bay, where we found an anchorage.

The damage to the schooner was less than we had feared. A more careful examination showed that no timbers were broken, and the seams in a measure closed of themselves. Once at anchor, and finding that we were in no danger of sinking, I allowed all hands to take a rest, except such as were needed at the pumps. They were all thoroughly worn out.

On the following day a still further inspection of the vessel was made; and, although apparently unfit for any more ice-encounters, she could still float with a little assistance from the pumps. One hour out of every four kept the hold clear.

Such repairs as it was in our power to make were at once begun. We could do very little withoutbeaching the vessel, and this, in the uncertain state of the ice and weather, was not practicable. The rudder hung by one pintle, and after being mended was still unreliable.

While McCormick was making these repairs I pulled up to Littleton Island in a whale-boat, to see what the ice had been doing in our absence. The wind was dead ahead, and we had a hard struggle to reach our destination; but, once there, I found some encouragement. There was much open water along the coast up to Cape Hatherton, but the pack was even more heavy at the west and southwest than it had been before. To enter it would be folly, even with a fair wind and a sound ship. There was clearly no chance of getting to the west coast, except by the course which I had attempted with such unhappy results two days previous.

We were not a little surprised to discover on Littleton Island a reindeer. He was sound asleep, coiled up on a bed of snow. Dodge's rifle secured him for our larder and deprived the desolate island of its only inhabitant.

During our absence, Jensen had been out with Hans, and had also discovered deer. They had found a herd numbering something like a dozen. Two of them were captured, but the rest, taking alarm, escaped to the mountains.

ANOTHER TRIAL.

The wind falling away to calm, we got to sea next day under oars, and again entered the pack. More ice had come down upon the island, and all our efforts to push up the coast were unavailing. The air had become alarmingly quiet, considering that the temperature was within twelve degrees of zero, and there was much fear that we should be frozen up at sea.A snow-storm came to add to this danger; but still we kept on at the cold and risky work of "warping" with capstan and windlass, whale-line and hawser, sometimes making and sometimes losing, and often pretty severely nipped.

At length we were once more completely "beset." The young ice was making rapidly, and I was forced reluctantly to admit that the navigable season was over. To stay longer in the pack was now to insure of being frozen up there for the winter, and accordingly, after having exhausted two more days of fruitless labor, we made what haste we could to get back again into clear water. This was not, however, an affair to be quickly accomplished. He who navigates these polar seas must learn patience.

RETREAT FROM THE PACK.

Our purpose was, however, in the end safely accomplished, and, a breeze springing up, we put back into Hartstene Bay; and, steering for a cluster of ragged-looking islands which lay near the coast at its head, we came upon a snug little harbor behind them, and dropped our anchors. Next morning I had the schooner hauled further in-shore, and moored her to the rocks.

Meanwhile the crew were working with anxious uncertainty; and when I finally announced my intention to winter in that place they received the intelligence with evident satisfaction. Their exposure had been great, and they needed rest; but, notwithstanding this, had there been the least prospect of serviceable result following any further attempt to cross the Sound, they would, with their customary energy and cheerfulness, have rejoiced in continuing the struggle. But they saw, as their faces clearly told, even before I was willing to own it, that the season was over. Irecord it to their credit, that throughout a voyage of unusual peril and exposure they had never quailed in the presence of danger, and they had to a man exhibited the most satisfactory evidence of manly endurance.

ENTERING WINTER HARBOR.

The reader will readily understand that to me the failure to cross the Sound was a serious disappointment. Hoping, as heretofore stated, to reach the west coast, and there secure a harbor in some convenient place between latitude 79° and 80°, it was evident to me that in failing to do this my chances of success with sledges during the following spring were greatly jeopardized. Besides—and this to me was the most painful reflection—my vessel was, apparently, so badly injured as to be unfit for any renewal of the attempt the next year.

Head of a Reindeer

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