A SIGNAL NOT UNDERSTOOD. 
239 
men raised a hearty cheer. There is a lake near Albert 
Dirk’s Bay marked “ Salmon ” in the chart, and though 
we have not much faith in the chart itself, we are 
anxious, for sake of change, to combine fish with our 
venison and tender gosling dishes; we make sail in that 
direction. The ice steadily opposes itself to our wishes 
—that bugbear of all our voyage is driving down upon 
this side of the bay. A Norwegian sloop is in com¬ 
pany with us, and her skipper seems rather anxious ; 
once or twice he has hailed in broken English, and 
at last he runs up a flag and bears away. We 
beat backwards and forwards. After half an hour’s 
anxious tacking about to and fro, like some newly 
caught animal in a cage, we manage to escape through 
some lucky chance, just as the ice had almost caught 
us, and we cross to the opposite side of the bay 
where our Norwegian has already cast anchor under 
the lee of the land. Her captain offered to help us 
with a gift of some hard wood—he called it “ Hekey 
wood ” — to repair our broken stem ; but we had no 
experienced hands on board to attempt the work, and 
declined. He explained the custom of hoisting a flag 
to signal that the ice was open ahead, in order to 
warn his less lucky companion of the chance,—a signal 
we did not comprehend at the time. 
We made yet another hunting party for the pursuit 
