WELLINGTON CHANNEL. 213 
ed barricades of last night’s commotion ; and, after cool- 
ing myself for forty minutes in an atmosphere ten de- 
grees above zero, came back without a shot. The 
condensed moisture had so affected my powder that 1 
could not get my gun off, 
“ This condensation is now very troublesome, drip- 
ping down from our carlines, and sweating over the 
roof and berth-boards. When we open the hatchway, 
the steam rises in clouds from the little cabin below. 
“ We have as yet no fires ; worse I the state of un- 
certainty in which we are placed makes it impossible 
to resort to any winter arrangements. Yet these lard 
lamps give us a temperature of 46°, which to men like 
ourselves, used to constant out-door exercise, exposure, 
and absence of artificial heat, is quite genial. But for 
the moisture — ^that wretched, comfortless, rheumatic 
drawback — we would be quite snug. 
“ Our captain is the best of sailors ; but, intent al- 
ways on the primary objects and duties of his cruise, 
he is apt to forget or postpone a provident regard for 
those creature-comforts which have interest for others. 
To-day, with the thermometer at 10°, we for the first 
time commenced the manufacture of stove-pipes. 1 
need not say that the cold metal played hob with the 
tinkers. If they go on at the present rate, the pipes 
will he nearly ready by next sunamer. 
‘^September 26. The hummocks around us still re- 
main without apparent motion, heaped up like snow- 
covered barriers of street rioters. We are wedged in 
a huge mass of tables, completely out of water, cra- 
dled by ice. I wish it would give us an even keel. 
We are eighteen inches higher on one quarter than 
the other. 
“ The two large pools we observed yesterday, one on 
