266 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
was actually intent on stalking the peripatetic school — 
to use a technical expression—whose evolutions had 
so much astonished us. The great object of the sports¬ 
man is to judge by their last appearance what part of 
the water the fish are likely to select for the scene of 
their next promenade. Directly he has determined 
this in his own mind, he rows noiselessly to the spot, 
and as soon as they show themselves—hooks them with 
a landing-net into his boat. 
By this time it had become a doubtful point whether 
it would not be as little trouble to row on to Alten 
as to return to the schooner, so we determined to go on. 
Unfortunately we turned down a wrong fiord, and after 
a long pull about two o’clock in the morning had the 
satisfaction of finding ourselves in a cul-cle-sac. To 
add to our discomfort, clouds of mosquitoes with the 
bodies of behemoths and the stings of dragons, had col¬ 
lected from all quarters of the heavens to make a prey of 
us. In vain we struggled,—strove to knock them down 
with the oars,—plunged our heads under the water,— 
smacked our faces with frantic violence; on they came 
in myriads, until I thought our bleaching bones would 
alone remain to indicate our fate. At last Sigurdr 
