348 
WATER. 
“9 P.M. The gale continues. Our thermometer 
outside at a maximum of +33°. Every thing wet, 
warm, and summer-like. 
“ I have a story to tell — a foolish adventure; hut I 
was ennuied past all bearing. Walking the deck, 
heast-like, in our damp cage, it occurred to me that I 
would climb the rigging. Climb the rigging I did; 
and, by a glimpse between the long wreaths of drift, 
saw W ater ! The temptation was a sore one : I yield- 
ed to it, came down from my perch, donned my seal- 
skin, shouldered my carbine, and walked off with my 
face toward the wonder. None of the crew would 
accompany me: my messmates did not volunteer: so 
I was alone. 
“It was a walk to be remembered. Snow up to the 
neck; drift moist and blinding; and a gale, luckily 
not a cold one, in my face. But after a mile of such 
promenading as no other region can boast of, I reach- 
ed the water at last. Water it was; dark, surging 
water; no pellicles of glazing ice; no sludgy streams 
of pancake ; hut the liquid element itself, such as we 
saw last summer, and you see every day, stretching 
out as broad as the Delaware, and in contrast with 
the snow at its margin as black as Styx. 
“ I took a good look at it, and turned to come back. 
The wind had wiped out my footsteps: all within the 
horizon was a waste of sleet. I had neither compass 
nor signal pole to show me the way ; but I kept the 
gale behind me, and waded onward. I do not know 
how far I might have traveled before reaching the 
vessel; but I had buffeted the elements quite long 
enough to content me, when I heard Captain Griffin 
hailing me through the drift. He had been uneasy 
at my stay, and was out in search of me. We took 
I 
