CHAPTER XXIX. 
November 22.1 walked yesterday, and to-day again, 
to the open water that separates us from Wellington 
Channel. It is a hold and rapid river, as broad as the 
Delaware at Trenton or the Schuylkill at Philadelphia, 
rolling wildly between dislocated hummock crags, and 
whirling along in its black current the abraded frag- 
ments of its shores. Ice of recent growth had cement- 
ed the gnarled masses about its margin into a ragged 
wall some twenty feet high, and perhaps thirty paces 
wide. I stood with perfect safety on a tall, spire-like 
pinnacle, and endeavored to trace its course. It could 
be seen reaching from a remote point in the southeast- 
ern part of the channel, and is probably connected with 
the open shore leads that stretch from Cape Riley past 
Cape Spencer toward the further coasts of North Dev- 
on. It passed about a mile and a half to the north- 
west of our vessels, and was lost in the distant ice- 
fields to the east. 
“Returning with Captain De Haven, we saw the 
recent prints of a bear and two cubs, that had evident- 
ly been scenting our foot-marks of the day before. The 
old bear was not large, measuring by her trail only six 
feet four inches ; the young ones so small as to sur- 
prise us, their track not much bigger than that of a 
Newfoundland dog. At what breeding season were 
these cubs produced ? 
“I have been for some evenings giving lectures on 
topics of popular science, the atmosphere, the barom- 
eter, &c., to the crew. They are not a very intellect- 
