222 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
good ten minutes tete-a-tete , trying who could stare 
the other out of countenance. 
It was now high time to he off. As soon then 
as we had collected some geological specimens, and duly 
christened the little cove, at the bottom of which we 
had landed, “ Clandeboye Creek,”—we walked back to 
the gig. But—so rapidly was the ice drifting down 
upon the island,—we found it had already become 
doubtful whether we should not have to carry the 
boat over the patch which—during the couple of hours 
we had spent on shore—had almost cut her off from 
access to the water. If this was the case with the 
gig, it was very evident the quicker we got the 
schooner out to sea again the better. So immediately 
we returned on board, having first fired a gun in 
token of adieu to the desolate land we should never 
again set foot on, the ship was put about, and our 
task of working out towards the open water recom¬ 
menced. As this operation was likely to require some 
time, directly breakfast was over (it was now about eleven 
o’clock A.M.), and after a vain attempt had been made 
to take a photograph of the mountain, which the mist 
was again beginning to envelop, I turned in to take 
