I 
ARCTIC VOYAGERS. 369 
“ 10 P.M. The effort failed, as no doubt it ought 
to have done : we must wait for the great break-up 
to give us an even keel. From the mast-head we 
can see encroachments all around. The plains, over 
which I chased bear and shot at Auks, are now wa- 
ter. The floe is reduced to its old winter dimensions, 
three miles in one diameter, five in the other. We 
have not yet reached the narrow passage ; and the 
wind, now from the southward, seems to be holding 
us back. Strange as it sounds, we are in hopes of a 
break-up at Cape Walsingham. 
25, Sunday. Howling a perfect gale ; drift 
impenetrable. By some providential interference the 
wind returned last night to its old quarter, the north- 
west, a direction corresponding with the trend of the 
shore. It is undoubtedly driving us fast to the south- 
ward, and is, of all quarters, that most favorable to a 
passage without disruption. Once past Cape W alsing- 
ham, the expansion of the bay is sudden and extensive. 
If, then, our floe maintains its integrity through the 
strait, the relief from pressure may allow us to con- 
tinue our drifting journey. So at least we argue. 
“ And just so, it may be, others have argued before 
us about chances of escape that never came ; there 
is a cycle even in the history of adventure. It makes 
me sad sometimes when I think of the fruitless la- 
bors of the men who in the very olden times har- 
assed themselves with these perplexing seas. There 
have been Sir John Franklins before, and searchers 
too, who in searching shared the fate of those they 
sought after. It is good food for thought here, while 
I am of and among them, to recall the heart-burnings 
and the failures, the famishings and the freezings, the 
silent, unrecorded transits of ‘ y® Arctic voyageres.’ 
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