THE FROZEN NORTH. 



But the Captain's stories were not always of 

 the sunny South, with its islands covered with 

 graceful palms and luxuriant verdure, and teem- 

 ing with life. One tale was of the terrible frozen 

 North, which to know is almost like death, so 

 fearful is its breath, and so fatal the clutch of 

 its awful fingers. 



For there the sailors see ice everywhere, — 

 clinging to the spars, and jamming with tremendous 

 solidity about the sides of the vessels, holding 

 them with the grip of death in this land of 

 desolation. 



The ships of which the Captain told this story 

 were so staunch and goodly and gracefully named 

 withal. Out from the Golden Gate, from New 

 London's harbor, from the wharf at New Bedford, 

 from the port of Boston, and the shores of far 

 Hawaii had sailed the Onward, the Florence, the 

 Clara Bell, the Acors Barnes, the Josephine, the 

 Camilla, the St. George, the Mount Wollaston, 

 the Cornelius Howland, the James Allen, the 

 Java, the Rainbow, the Arctic, the Desmond, 

 and the Three Brothers. Whalers all, ten from 

 New Bedford, manned by stalwart, brave-hearted 



