chap, xxi WIJDE BAY 



293 



and all the usual company. Now opened Mossel Bay, where 

 Nordenskjold wintered ; we could distinguish the position of 

 his house. What a cold dead world it was ! with the strong 

 white near at hand, the warmer cream-tone farther back, and 

 the bluish-grey beyond — lovely but undesired, like the beauty 

 of the grave ! 



Everything on this little voyage happened too fast. 

 Events followed one another too quickly. I have to tell in 

 a chapter a tale that should fill a volume. Time enough, 

 indeed, there was in which to gather a definite impression 

 of each scene. Hinloopen Strait, Wiche Land, the Seven 

 Islands, Olga Strait, Wijde Bay — they are all quite clearly 

 photographed in my memory — clearly as Zermatt or any 

 other place in which I have spent months. But between 

 the pictures were no proper gaps, such as in the rest of 

 the world night provides. They were unframed, reeled 

 off on an endless tape. Thus my story suffers. Could 

 we have halted and slept at Mossel Bay, then gone on 

 board again and made a new start, the voyage up and 

 down Wijde Bay would have appeared a thing apart, a 

 separate experience, not a mere incident in the doings of 

 a tenfold day. 



The striking peculiarities of Wijde Bay are its straight- 

 ness, depth, and general uniformity of width. As we entered, 

 the sun for a moment shone, but for a moment only. The 

 Grey Hook hills were clear, and so heavily encumbered 

 with new snow, that it was with difficulty if a rock here 

 and there struggled through in the steepest places. Opposite 

 are curiously-knubbled hills, of hard gneiss, I believe, rigor- 

 ously glaciated. It was not till Aldert Dirks Bay was passed 

 that the grand scenery of this noble fjord was really dis- 

 played. Had the vista been clear to the end, on our 

 entering, as it was on our retreat, we should have received 

 at this point a grand impression of the glories of the fjord. 



