[Illustration: PROFILE OF FLOE; PORT SIDE.]
"_JUNE_ 6. Our bumping continued all I night, without any apparent
effect I upon our sticking-plaster. Acting, as this impact does, at
the long end of a lever, our stern being immovably fixed, it must be
hard upon the rudder post, a beam that is now protruding from the least
strengthened part of our brig into a transparent glue of tenacious
ice. The twelve-feet saw, suspended from a tripod of spars, is at
work, trying to cut a line across the mass to our keel. But for this
appendage, we would be now warping through the fissures.
"7 P.M. The position of things continues unchanged. Our ice-saw with
great labor buried its length in the floe, reaching nearly to our
stern; but the submerged material is so thick that it has little or no
effect. Wedging, by billets of wood between her sides and the mounding
ice, was equally ineffectual. Gunpowder would perhaps release us; but
that we can not spare.
"I tried to measure the depth of this inveterate companion of ours.
Standing at our port gangway, I lowered the pump-rod twenty-four feet
to a shelf projecting from the mass: beneath this, a prolongation or
tongue stretched to a depth which I could not determine. On the other
side, to starboard, the ice descends in solid mass some twenty feet.
Adopting twenty-four feet as a mean depth, and ninety by fifty feet
as the mean of dimensions at the surface, the solid contents of this
troublesome winter relic would be 108,000 cubic feet. No wonder it
lifts up our little craft bodily. I have made my drawings of it with
all topographical accuracy.
"The wind has been hauling round from the south to the west, and by
afternoon blew quite freshly. We made all sail, even to studding-sails,
in hopes of forcing the cracks ahead, and tearing ourselves, as it
were, from our impediment. Thus far all has failed.
"10 P.M. The ship is covered with canvas: she stands motionless amid
the ice, although her wings are spread and tense. The wind is fresh and
steady from the northwest. Our swell ceases with this wind, and the
floes seem disposed to come together again; but the days of winter have
passed by, and the interposing calves prevent the apposition of the
edges.
"The effects of a constant force, slight as it seems, have been
beautifully shown by our brig. Pressing as we do, under full canvas,
against heavy yet quiescent masses, we gradually force ahead, breasting
aside the floes, and leaving behind us a pool of open water. Our rate
is ten feet per hour! Remember that the old man of Sinbad still clings
to us, and that we carry the burden in this slow progress. I hope that
the Sinbad comparison will end here; for I can readily, without much
imagination, carry it further.
"12 Midnight. Still advancing, dragging behind us this pertinacious
mass. We have butted several times against projecting floes, but it is
as unmoved as solid rock. Very foggy: _Rescue_ not visible. Thermometer
at 29 degrees.
"We recognize, among the floe fragments around us, old play-fellows.
Here we played foot-ball; there we skated; by this hummock crag stood
my thermometers; and here I shot a bear. We are passing slowly from
them, or they from us. Now and then a rubbish pile will show itself,
cresting the pure ice. Even an old champagne basket, full of nothing
but sadly-pleasant associations, is recognized upon a distant floe.
This breaking up of a curtilage is not without its regrets. I wish that
our 'old man' would loosen his gripping knees: three hours would put us
into comparatively open water.
"_June_ 7, Saturday. The captain says that the shocks of the night of
the fifth were the hardest our brig has experienced yet.
"This morning we made our incubus fast to one end of a passing floe,
and ourselves fast to the other: double hawsers were used, blocks and
tackle rigged, and all hands placed at our patent winch, the slack
being controlled by a windlass. We parted our stern hawser, and that
was all. Our resort now is to the fourteen-feet saw. With this, before
the day closes, we shall cut a skerf as far as our fore-foot, and then
try the efficacy of wedges.
"Toward evening the _Rescue_ made sail, and forced her way slowly
through the fragments. By eight P.M. she was snugly secured to the
other side of our own floe. A beautiful sight it was to see once more,
even in this labyrinth of rubbish, a moving sail-spread vessel. Once a
momentary opening showed us the dark water, and beneath it the shadow
of the brig.
"10:40. A crash! a low, grinding sound, followed by loud exclamations
of 'Back,' 'back!' 'Hold on,' 'hold on!' I ran upon deck in time to
add one cheer more to three which came from the ice. A large fragment,
extending from her saw-crack along the bottom on the port side, had
broken off, cutting the triangle in half, and leaving the crew behind
floating and separated from the ship. All that now confined us was the
mass (_a_) which remained on her starboard quarter. This descended some
twenty or more feet, embracing our keel, and by its size sustaining us
in our perched condition. We had settled but nine inches in consequence
of our partial disengagement.
"Looking from the taffrail down the stern-post, we can now see the
position of this portion of our brig distinctly. A strip of her false
keel has been forced from its attachments, drawing the heavy bolts,
and tearing away some of our sheathing. How far the injury extends,
whether the entire length of the brig, or through some few yards, we
can not tell. It must have occurred during the great ice commotion of
December 7th and 8th. The disruption of January no doubt added to the
thickness of the underlying tables; but our keel probably received its
shock at the same time that we received our elevation. We have escaped
wonderfully.
"_June_ 8, Sunday. Even keel again! Once more floating ship-fashion, in
a ship's element. It was between twelve and one o'clock this morning.
Murdaugh went down upon the fragment, which was still adhering to our
starboard side. He had hardly rested his weight upon it, when, with
certain hurried, scarcely premonitory grindings, it cleared itself.
He had barely time to scramble up the brig's side, tearing his nails
in the effort, before, with crash and turmoil, it tumbled up to the
surface, letting us down once more into clear water. When I reached the
deck, I could hardly realize the level, horizontal condition of things,
we have been accustomed to this up and down hill work so long.
"9 P.M. At 1 o'clock P.M. the wind freshened from the northward, enough
to make sail. We cast off, and renewed the old time process of boring,
standing irregularly among the fragments to the southward and eastward.
We received some heavy bumps, but kept under weigh until 6 P.M., when
an impenetrable ice-fog caused us to haul up to a heavy floe, to which
we are now fast by three anchors. We estimate our progress at six
miles. The _Rescue_ is not visible.
"From the heavy floe to which we are secured we obtained fresh _thawed_
water. This is the first time since the 15th of September that I have
drunk water liquefied without fire. Eight months and twenty-four days:
think of that, dear strawberry and cream eating family!
"We saw an ice-floe to-day, which had evidently come from the upper
northern regions of Wellington, or the North Baffin's Straits. This
ice, though pure and beautiful, could never have been created in
any single winter. It has made me understand for the first time the
startling stories of Wrangell. This floe is now more than two hundred
and fifty yards long by four hundred wide; a size too large for
infraposition of tables, while its purity precludes the idea of ground
ice. Its depth, ascertained from its mean line of flotation, exceeds
forty feet. Its surface is level, and the appearance, looking down
into its pure depths, beautiful beyond description. It forms part of a
great field, miles in circumference, as similar coaptating fragments
are seen in every direction; the great swell of the 5th having no
doubt destroyed its integrity. From what great winter basin comes this
colossal ice?"