292 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
“—•Ice all round, my Lord—ice a-all ro-ound!”— 
and so exit, sighing deeply over my trowsers. 
Yet it was immediately after one of these unpro¬ 
mising announcements, that for the first time—matters 
began to look a little brighter. The preceding four-and- 
twenty hours we had remained enveloped in a cold and 
dismal fog. But on coming on deck, I found the sky 
had already begun to clear; and although there was 
ice as far as the eye could see on either side of us, in 
front a narrow passage showed itself across a patch 
of loose ice into what seemed a freer sea beyond. The 
only consideration was—whether we could be certain 
of finding our way out again, should it turn out that 
the open water we saw—was only a basin without any 
exit in any other direction. The chance was too 
tempting to throw away; so the little schooner gallantly 
pushed her way through the intervening neck of ice 
where the floes seemed to be least huddled up together, 
and in half an hour afterwards found herself running 
up along the edge of the starboard ice, almost in a 
due northerly direction. And here I must take occasion 
to say, that—during the whole of this rather anxious 
time, my master—Mr. Wyse—conducted himself in 
