punished—one method being to stop their pay
and give it to the constables, or others, who
apprehended them. It struck me, however, that the
punishment is intended to prevent misconduct in
others, and not to revenge their individual
misconduct: men know very well when they are in
the wrong, and there is clearly no chance of any
repetition of the offence until we get to
Valparaiso, or the Sandwich Islands; so I got up at
four o'clock, had everybody on deck, sent Gore
and the sergeant of marines below, and searched
the whole deck for spirits, which were thrown
overboard. This took two good hours; soon
after which we up anchor, and made sail out.
I said nothing to any of them. They evidently
expected a rowing, and the old man with the
wife looked very sheepish, and would not look
me in the face; but nothing more was said, and
the men have behaved not a bit the worse ever
since."

Was this wise forbearance, this merciful
interpretation of the true end of punishment,
tenderly remembered, on both sides, when officers
and men lay helpless together, waiting for their
long release, in the voiceless and Iifeless
solitudes of the North? Even such a trifle as the
memory of what had happened at Stromness
might have helped to soothe the last moments
of some among the lost men when the end was
near at hand. We may at least hope and
believe that it might have been so.

The journal which has, thus far, mainly occupied
itself with life and character on board the
Erebus, goes on to narrate the various events
and changes of weather which accompanied the
progress of the ships on the fatal northward
voyage. On the 11th and 12th of June, the wind
is high—the colour of the sea is " a beautiful,
delicate, cold-looking green"—" long rollers, as
if carved out of the essence of glass bottles,"
swell onwards in grand procession, meeting the
vessels. The rate of sailing is so rapid, with the
high wind in their favour, that they get within
six miles of Iceland. On the 14th the rain
pours down and the fogs close round them. The
Erebus sails on through the dense obscurity,
with the Terror on one side, and the transport
on the other, all three keeping close together
for fear of losing each other. On this day the
officers amuse themselves by arranging their
books, and find to their satisfaction that they
can produce a very sufficient library.
Ice-master Reid comes out in his quaint
experienced way with a morsel of useful information
on the subject of cookery. He sees the steward
towing some fish overboard to try and get a
little of the salt out of it; roars out sarcastically,
"What are you making faces at there? That's
not the way to get the sarlt oout;" and instructs
the steward to boil the fish first, and then to
take it off the fire and keep it just not boiling.
It is Saturday night when Reid sets matters
right with the salt fish; and he and Purser
Osmar socially hob-and-nob together, drinking
the favourite sea-toast of Sweethearts and Wives,
and asking Captain Fitzjames to join them
He, poor fellow, meets them with his light-
hearted joke, in return—says he has not got a
sweetheart and does not want a wife—and ends
the entry in his journal, for that day, by writing
"good night" to his dear friends in England.

On the 16th it is calm enough to allow of a
boat visit to the Terror. On the 17th the night
is cloudy, with a bright light on the horizon to
the north-east, which Gore thinks is the Aurora
Borealis. Practical Reid, with his old whaling
experience, calls it ice-blink. Captain Fitzjames
says it is the reflexion of sunset, and
likens the effect of it to a large town on fire
twenty miles off. On the 18th, they make a
catalogue of their little library; and, remember-
ing that it is " Waterloo Day," drink the Duke
of Wellington's health at Sir John Franklin's
table. On this day, also, the " crow's nest" is
completed. It is usually "a cask, lined with
canvas, at the fore-topmast head, for a man to
stand in to look out for channels in the ice;"
on board the Erebus, however, it is " a sort of
canvas cylinder, hooped." Ice-master Reid is
to be perched up in this observatory, and
criticises it, with his north-country eye on the main
chance, as " a very expensive one." At ten at
night—the time which, allowing for difference
of longitude, answers to half-past seven in London
—Captain Fitzjames takes a glass of brandy-
and-water, in honour of his own anticipated
promotion at the brevet of the 18th, which has been
talked of in England. He pleases himself with
the idea that he is taking an imaginary glass of
wine with Mr. and Mrs. Coningham, at that
moment; and, while he is telling them this in the
journal, Reid comes in, and sees him writing as
usual. " Why, Mister Jems," says the surprised
ice-master, perplexedly scratching his head, "you
never seem to me to sleep at arl; you're always
writin!" On the 21st the ships are in Davis's
Straits; bottle-nose whales are plunging and
tumbling all round them; and tree-trunks, with
the bark rubbed off by the ice, are floating by.
The next day is Sunday: it is blowing hard, and
the ships are rolling prodigiously; but they
contrive to struggle through the Church service on
the lower deck. The 23rd brings a downright
gale; the dinner-party in Sir John's cabin is
obliged to be given up, the host finding that
his guests cannot combine the two actions of
holding on and eating and drinking at the same
time. The next day is calmer; and the Arctic
cold begins to make itself so sensibly felt, that
the ship's monkey is obliged to be clothed in a
blanket, frock, and trousers, which the sailors
have made for her. On the 25th, they sight the
coast of Greenland, " rugged, and sparkling
with snow." The sea is now of a delicate blue
in the shadows, and so calm that " the Terror's
mast-heads are reflected close alongside, though
she is half a mile off. The air is delightfully
cool and bracing, and everybody is in good-
humour either with himself or his neighbours.
Captain Fitzjames has been on deck all day,
taking observations. Goodsir is catching the
most extraordinary animals in a net, and is in
ecstasies. Gore and Des Voeux are over the
side, poking with nets and long poles, with