THE FIRST ICEBERG. 21 



hand of the Yankee clock which ticked above my 

 head pointed to XIL, the sunlight still flooded the 

 cabin. Accustomed to this strange life in former 

 years, the change had to me little of novelty ; but 

 the officers complained of sleeplessness, and were 

 lounging about as if waiting for the old-fashioned 

 darkness which suggests bed-time. 



The first iceberg was made the day before we 

 passed the Arctic Circle. The dead white mass broke 

 upon us out of a dense fog, and was mistaken by the 

 lookout for land when he first caught the sound of 

 breakers beating upon it. It was floating directly in 

 our course, but we had time enough to clear it. Its 

 form was that of an irregular pyramid, about three 

 hundred feet at its base, and perhaps half as high. Its 

 summit was at first obscured, but at length the mist 

 broke away, disclosing the peak of a glittering spire, 

 around which the white clouds were curling and danc- 

 ing in the sunlight. There was something very im- 

 pressive in the stern indifference with which it re- 

 ceived the lashings of the sea. The waves threw their 

 liquid arms about it caressingly, but it deigned not 

 even a nod of recognition, and sent them reeling back- 

 ward, moaning and lamenting. 



\ 



We had some rough handling in Davis' Strait. 

 Once I thought we had surely come ingloriously to 

 grief. We were running before the wind and fighting 

 a wretched cross-sea under reefed fore and mainsail 

 and jib, when the fore fife-rail was carried away ; — 

 down came every thing to the deck, and there was left 

 not a stitch of canvas on the schooner but the lum- 

 bering mainsail. It was a miracle that we did not 

 broach to and go to the bottom. Nothing saved us 

 but a steady hand at the helm. 



