272 
THE DRIFT. 
“ This cape is the great entering landmark of the 
northern shores of Lancaster Sound. Just one hundred 
days ago we passed it, urged by the wings of the storm ; 
our errand of mercy filling us with hope, and the gale 
calling for our best energies. We were then hut a few 
hours from Baffin’s Bay, and not over twenty-four from 
the coast of Greenland. How differently are we jour- 
neying now ! 
“ The Bay of Baffin, with its moving ice and oppos- 
ing icebergs, bathed in foggy darkness and destitute 
of human fellowship or habitable asylum, is before 
us ; and we, so utterly helpless, hampered, and non- 
resistant, must await the inevitable action of the 
ice. This nearness to Cape Warrender makes us feel 
that our silent marches have brought us near to an- 
other conflict. 
''December 29, Sunday. The drift shows an indent 
of the cape now abaft our beam. We are slowly mak- 
ing easting. The day is one of the same obscure and 
dimmed fog which for the past week has wrapped us 
in darkness. The ice gives no change as yet: the 
same great field of moving whiteness. 
"December 30, Monday. By a comparison of our sev- 
eral days’ positions, I find that from the 18th to the 
28th we have drifted fifty-two miles and a half, some- 
thing over five miles a day. The winds during this 
period have been from the westward, constant though 
gentle ; and our progress has been of the same steady 
but gentle sort. At this rate, we will in a few days 
more be within the Baffin’s Bay incognita. 
“ Looking round upon my mess-mates with that 
sort of scrutiny that belongs to my craft and my posi- 
tion, I am startled at the traces, moral and physical, 
of our Arctic winter life. Those who con it over the- 
