ON THE rOUNG 10 E. 
359 
crowds of gray netsik, the rough or hispid seal of the 
whalers, disporting in an open sea of water. 
I had hardly welcomed the spectacle when I saw 
that we had passed upon a new belt of ice that was 
obviously unsafe. To the right and left and front was 
one great expanse of snow-flowered ice. The nearest 
solid floe was a mere lump, which stood like an island 
in the white level. To turn was impossible: we had 
to keep up our gait. We urged on the dogs with whip 
SEALS SPORTING. 
and voice, the ice rolling like leather beneath the 
sledge-runners: it was more than a mile to 1 the lump 
of solid ice. Fear gave to the poor beasts their utmost 
speed, and our voices were soon hushed to silence. 
The suspense, unrelieved by action or effort, was in¬ 
tolerable : we knew that there was no remedy but to 
reach the floe, and that every thing depended upon 
our dogs, and our dogs alone. A moment’s check 
would plunge the whole concern into the rapid tide¬ 
way : no presence of mind or resource bodily or mental 
could avail us. The seals—for we were now near 
