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ting the Hecla on one side, she was as firmly ce. mented to it on the other, as after a winter's for. mation; and we could only clear her by heavy and repeated " sallying." After cutting in two or three hundred yards, while the people were at dinner on the 21st, our canal closed by the external pressure coming upon the parts which we had weakened, and in a few minutes the whole was once more in motion, or, as the seamen not inaptly expressed it, “alive," mass doubling under mass, and raising those which were uppermost to a considerable height. The ice thus pressed together was now about ten feet in thickness in some places, and on an average not less than four or five, so that, while thus forced in upon a ship, although soft in itself, it caused her to tremble exceedingly; a sensation, indeed, commonly experienced in forcing through young ice of considerable thickness. We were now once more obliged to be quiet spectators of what was going on around us, having, with extreme difficulty, succeeded in saving most of our tools that were lying on the ice when the squeezing sud. denly began.

A sudden motion of the ice, on the morning of the 22d, occasioned by a change of the wind to the S.E., threatened to carry us directly off the land. It was now, more than eyer, desirable to hold on, as this beeeze was likely to clear the shore, and, at the same time, to give us a run to the westward. Hawsers were therefore run out to the land-ice, composed of some heavy masses, almost on the beach. With the Hecla this succeeded, but the Fury being much farther from the shore, soon began to move out with the whole body of ice,

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which, carrying her close to the large berg off the point, swept her round the latter, where, after great exertion, Captain Hoppner succeeded in getting clear, and then made sail to beat back to us. In the mean time the strain put upon the Hecla's haw. sers being too great for them, they snapped one after another, and a bower-anchor was let go as a last resource. It was one of Hawkins's, with the double fluke, and immediately brought up, not mere. ly the ship, but a large floe of young ice which had just broken our stream-cable. All hands were sent upon the floe to cut it up ahead, and the whole operation was a novel, and, at times, a fearful one; for the ice, being weakened by the cutting, would suddenly gather fresh way astern, carrying men and tools with it, while the chain cable continued to plough through it in a manner which gave one the idea of something alive, and continually re. newing its attacks. The anchor held surprisingly; and after this tremendous strain had been put upon it for above an hour, we had fairly cut the foe in two, and the ship was riding in clear water about half a mile from the shore.

I was in hopes we should make some progress, for a large channel of clear water was left open in-shore; a breeze blew off the land, and the tem. perature of the atmosphere bad again risen considerably. We had not sailed five miles, however, when a westerly wind took us aback, and a most dangerous swell set directly upon the shore, obliging me immediately to stand off the land; and the Fury being still to the eastward of the point, I ran round it in order to rejoin her before sunset.


After midnight on the 27th the wind began to moderate, and, by degrees, also drew more to the southward than before. At daylight, therefore, we found ourselves seven or eight miles from the land; but no ice was in sight, except the “ sludge,” of honey-like consistence, with which almost the whole sea was covered. A strong blink, extend. ing along the eastern horizon, pointed out the position of the main body of ice, which was farther distant from the eastern shore of the inlet than I ever saw it. Being assisted by a fine working breeze, which, at the same time, prevented the formation of any more ice to obstruct us, we made considerable progress along the land, and at noon were nearly abreast of Jackson Inlet, which we now saw to be considerably larger than our distant view of it on the former voyage had led us to suppose. A few more tacks brought us to the entrance of Port Bowen, which, for two or three days past, I had determined to make our wintering-place, if, as there was but little reason to expect, we should be so fortunate as to push the ships thus far. Beating up, therefore, to Port Bowen, we found it filled with “old” and “hummocky” ice, attached to the shores on both sides, as low down as about three quarters of a mile below Stony Island.

ade fast in sixty-two fathoms water, running our hawsers far in upon the ice, in case of its breaking off at the margin.

Here we


Winter Arrangements.-Improvements in Warming and Ven

tilating the Ships.-Masquerades adopted as an Amusement to the Men.- Establishment of Schools.-Astronomical Observations.-Meteorological Phenomena.

Oct. — Our present winter arrangements so closely resembled, in general, those before adopted, that a fresh description of them would prove little more than a repetition of that already contained in the narratives of our former voyages.

To those who read, as well as to those who de. scribe, the account of a winter passed in these re. gions can no longer be expected to afford the in. terest of novelty it once possessed; more especial. ly in a station already delineated with tolerable geographical precision on our maps, and thus, as it were, brought near to our firesides at home. In. dependently, indeed, of this circumstance, it is hard to conceive any one thing more like another than two winters passed in the higher latitudes of the Polar Regions, except when variety happens to be afforded by intercourse with some other branch of 6 the whole family of man.

Winter after winter, nature here assumes an aspect so much alike, that cursory observation can scarcely detect a single feature of variety.. The winter of more temperate climates, and even in some of no slight severity, is occasionally diversified by a thaw, which at once gives variety and comparative cheerfulness to the

prospect. But here, when once the earth is cov. ered, all is dreary, monotonous whiteness; not merely for days or weeks, but for more than half a year together. Whichever way the eye is turned, it meets a picture calculated to impress upon the mind an idea of inanimate stillness, of that motionless torpor with which our feelings have nothing congenial; of anything, in short, but life. In the very silence there is a deadness with which a human spectator appears out of keeping. The presence of man seems an intrusion on the dreary solitude of this wintry desert, which even its native animals have for a while forsaken.

I am persuaded, therefore, that I shall be excu. sed in sparing the dulness of another winter's dia. ry, and confining myself exclusively to those facts which appear to possess any scientific interest, to the few incidents which did diversify our confine. ment, and to such remarks as may contribute to the health and comfort of any future sojourners in these dreary regions.

It may well be supposed that, in this climate, the principal desideratum which art is called upon to furnish for the promotion of health, is warmth, as well in the external air as in the inhabited apartments. Exposure to a cold atmosphere, when the body is well clothed, produces no bad effect whatever beyond a frostbitten cheek, nose, or finger. As for any injury to healthy lungs from the breathing of cold air, or from sudden changes from this into a warm atmosphere, or vice versa, it may with much confidence be asserted that, with due attention to external clothing, there is nothing in this respect to be apprehended. This inference, at least, would

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