Mr. A. Newton on the Birds of Spitsbergen. 211 



arduous duty — that of making the surveys preliminary to the 

 measurement of an arc of the meridian. 



On the evening of Sunday, the 17th of July, I embarked on 

 board a Norwegian sloop, which had been hired at Hammerfest 

 to accompany us and had now at length arrived ; and we sailed 

 up the Sound to Advent Bay. On the next day nothing oc- 

 curred worthy of noticing here. On the 19th we left our anchor- 

 age in the bay ; and I proceeded in one of the whale-boats fur- 

 ther up the Sound, in pursuit of Deer, Seals, or anything that 

 might turn up. None of the first were obtained this day ; but 

 after a most exciting chase, a very fine Phoca barbata fell a vic- 

 tim to my companion's rifle and our harpooner's deadly steel. 

 Being some two miles from land when the capture was made, 

 the operation of flensing had to be carried on over the boat's 

 side ; and as the gory carcase was divested of its skin and 

 blubber, we were surrounded by from twenty to thirty Fulmars, 

 some of which came within an arm's length and seated them- 

 selves on the water in expectation of a meal — an expectation not 

 fulfilled ; for no sooner was the job completed, and the last flipper 

 severed, than the shapeless mass sank into the depths below. 

 We continued our progress along the south shore of the Sound, 

 until we observed a tongue of land whence diverged several 

 likely-looking valleys. For this we accordingly made. Reach- 

 ing the shore and jumping out to haul up the boat, we found 

 we had hit on a quicksand, which nearly drew off our big boots ; 

 but we accomplished our object without a wetting, and then 

 discovered that the beach above high water-mark consisted almost 

 entirely of dirty ice. My companion started for the hills to 

 look for Deer ; while I beat the low ground, in hopes of finding 

 Phalaropes, as there were nice pools of water, such as in Iceland, 

 at least, would have been frequented by the allied species. But 

 no luck rewarded me; and I returned to the boat, turned her 

 up as a screen from the wind, which was blowing bitterly cold 

 from the north-east, and, collecting drift-wood for a fire, pre- 

 pared to bivouac. While lying motionless under the lee of our 

 extemporized shelter, I spied a Red-throated Diver hugging the 

 shore as he drifted along with the tide, lifting his head only 

 occasionally above water to see where he was going. When he 



