330 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
first sight which meets your eye is an upright wall of 
black water, towering—you hardly know how many feet 
—into the air over the stern. Like a lion walking on 
its hind legs, it comes straight at you, roaring and 
shaking its white mane with fury—it overtakes the 
vessel—the upright shiny face curves inwards—the 
white mane seems to hang above your very head; but 
ere it topples over, the nimble little ship has already 
slipped from underneath. You hear the disappointed 
jaws of the sea-monster snap angrily together,—the 
schooner disdainfully kicks up her heel—and raging 
and bubbling up on either side the quarter, the un- 
pausing wave sweeps on, and you see its round back 
far a-head, gradually swelling upwards, as it gathers 
strength and volume for a new effort. 
We had now got considerably to the southward of 
North Cape. We had already seen several ships, and 
you would hardly imagine with what childish delight 
my people hailed these symptoms of having again 
reached more “ Christian latitudes,” as they called 
them. 
I had always intended, ever since my conversation 
with Mr. T. about the Malstrom, to have called in at 
