144 
A VOYAGE TO SPITZBEBGEN . 
portions which become detached from the pack invari¬ 
ably taking a southerly direction. Our little vessel 
dances merrily along in its freedom down the long 
lanes like some village maiden hurrying to some tryst- 
ing-place ; the lane sides here are not hawthorn clothed 
with May however, but solid walls of ice on either 
hand, dangerous, no doubt, yet their formidable aspect 
is somewhat tempered by the glorious effect of their 
prismatic colours as they reflect the sun’s rays, playing 
upon them as they stand out of the cold blue water. 
To the eastward we observe a thick, dense, dark blue 
cloud, which to the sailors is an omen of gladness. 
This indigo cloud is, after all, no cloud, but a reflec¬ 
tion of the open water beneath it—water we cannot see 
owing to our position, but clear water ready waiting 
to receive us. Everywhere else in all directions the 
horizon is one dazzling glare of light, and out of this 
glare we strive to escape in the direction of our goal, 
steering our ship with obstinate determination to reach 
the blue cloud. 
Our look-out man, seated in his crow’s nest, now 
sings out in gleeful accents: “ Them unicorns is a 
blowing like mad the other side the stream of ice.” 
The sight is a strange one ; the beasts with dappled sides 
are curvetting about close to the surface, the pointed 
tilting spear thrust from beneath the waves as they rise 
