A NARROW PINCH 213 



form of hundreds of ice pellets. Almost every 

 day when it was rough, the old Arctic played 

 marbles with us. 



What with the mists, the cold rains, the sleets 

 and snows and flying spray, the brig was soon 

 a mass of ice. The sides became encased in a 

 white armor of ice which at the bows was sev- 

 eral feet thick. We frequently had to knock it 

 off. The decks were sheeted with ice, the masts 

 and spars were glazed with it, the shrouds, 

 stays, and every rope were coated with ice, and 

 the yard-arms and foot-ropes were hung with ice 

 stalactites. One of the most beautiful sights I 

 ever saw was the whaling fleet when we fell in 

 with it one cold, gray morning. The frost had 

 laid its white witchery upon the other ships as 

 it had upon the brig, and they glided through 

 the black seas, pallid, shimmering, and phantom- 

 like in their ice armor — an armada of ghostly 

 Flying Dutchmen, 



The brig was constantly wearing and tacking 

 on the whaling grounds and there was consider- 

 able work to be done aloft. By the captain's 

 orders, we did such work with our mittens off. 



