210 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
or so of ice in a thick fog—in our fragile schooner, 
would have been out of the question. 
The ship’s course, therefore, having been shaped 
in accordance with this view, I stole back into bed and 
resumed my violated slumbers. Towards mid-day the 
weather began to moderate, and by four o’clock we were 
skimming along on a smooth sea, with all sails set. 
This state of prosperity continued for the next twenty- 
four hours; we had made about eighty knots since 
parting company with the Frenchman, and it was now 
time to run down West and pick up the land. Luckily 
the sky was pretty clear, and as we sailed on through 
open water I really began to think our prospects very 
brilliant. But about three o’clock on the second day, 
specks of ice began to flicker here and there on the 
horizon, then large bulks came floating by in forms as 
picturesque as ever—(one, I particularly remember, a 
human hand thrust up out of the water with outstretched 
forefinger, as if to warn us against proceeding farther), 
until at last the whole sea became clouded with hum¬ 
mocks that seemed to gather on our path in magical 
multiplicity. 
Up to this time we had seen nothing of the island, 
