clearly see faces peering over her bows. Did
they see us? Did they hear the trumpet? In
breathless anxiety all watched her, and
prepared for the coming crash, and battle for life
in the angry sea. "Starboard hard—steady,"
sang out a loud, clear voice, and as the great ship
answered her helm, she payed off handsomely,
surged past us, and rapidly vanished into the
night.

To be snatched suddenly from inevitable
destruction, to be unexpectedly reprieved when
all hope of life has flown, are joys known only
to those who have experienced the terror of a
lifetime condensed into a few fleeting moments;
a relief magical in its results, perhaps
fortunately so, or the mind might snap like an
overstrained cord, if subject to any lengthened
tension so terrible in its intensity.

When day dawned, the wind gradually lulled
and shifted to another quarter, and as the fog
lifted and disappeared before the sun, we
discovered several fishing-vessels anchored within
a mile of us, hitherto quite hidden in the mist.
Then followed weary days and weeks of
interminable fogs, sudden changes of temperature,
wind ahead, astern, abeam, now a ten-knot
breeze, anon a dead calm. Strange caprices did
old Æolus indulge in. As the skipper quaintly
remarked, "Guess, boys, the old wind Boss is jist
a squatting on the headland, with his bag chock
full of wind, a practiseing."

Sometimes the wind suddenly falling, in ten
minutes the vessel would be completely muffled
in mist, that hung like gossamer to the masts
and spars. (These fogs that hang continually
over the banks, and hover along the shore, are
occasioned, so it is said, by the warm water of
the Gulf Stream meeting with the colder
currents which flow down from the Polar regions,
aided by the prevailing north-easterly wind.)
Watching the passing sea-birds, and gossiping
away the time, "Cappen," said our skipper, "I
kalkilate fish are plaguey like gals, mighty
changeable institeutions; just as fickle as they
are fair; you never know when you've fixed 'em;
it takes a mighty big bunch of cipherin' to
find 'em out, that's a fact."

We sailed steadily along towards the north,
sauntering and idling over the sea, passed
very near the much-dreaded Virgin Rocks,
and eventually reached Cape Broyle, a
miserable desolate headland of most inhospitable
aspect. High cliffs and beetling precipices
frowned down upon the angry surf that washed
their base; the entire coast line, from north to
south, a succession of rugged peaks, their
summits lost in everlasting clouds of fog. One
could easily picture the old Norsemen's utter
disgust at its barren solitude; or, still later, that
of Cabot, by whom it may be said that the land
was discovered a second time, and called
Newfoundland.

Coasting on and on without taking any fish
was indeed weary work. At last, almost
dispirited, Captain Zach put about, and stood
back again towards our old station.
Fortune at length deigned to smile upon us; as
we passed a well-known and favourite locality,
again we fell among the cod, and for some
time waged most successful war with them.
Often a huge ling, or still more unwieldy
ponderous halibut, came struggling and writhing
to the surface, requiring the combined efforts of
two or three fishermen to get him on deck.
The halibut is perhaps the strongest and most
obstinate fish in the sea when hooked. Often
attaining a weight of from four to six hundred
pounds, it is by no means an easy matter to
manage such a leviathan. Several of these grand
takes nearly filled our holds, and we seriously
discussed the question of return, when, drifting
along, every now and then taking soundings,
we came suddenly into the midst of a shoal
of mackerel, and, what was more fortunate, they
were in a biting humour; no time was to be lost,
or they might suddenly disappear. Quite a different
system of fishing is adopted for mackerel:
the hooks, two in number, are separated by a
stretcher, and baited with small pieces of cod;
the hook being unbarbed and made of soft iron,
no time is wasted in unhooking. As soon as
the fish comes in sight, a skilful jerk swings it
over the ship's side, and it falls on the deck
freed from the hook. A heap of mackerel, as
they come fresh from the sea, is one of the most
wonderful and lovely sights imaginable; the
colours continually change and curiously blend
one into another. The dying fish appear to flush
out a stream of coloured light. The slightest
alarm, the sudden appearance of a humpbacked
whale, a shoal of porpoises, or a shark, and the
mackerel disappear. Our catch was split and
salted much in the same way as the cod, and
stowed away for home.

As we ran clear of the fog, I saw for the
first time an iceberg. The sun shone brightly,
displaying the full splendour of its colour.
Like an island of crystal it drifted majestically
along, and as the bright light illuminated it,
revealing all its prismatic hues, its burnished
surface, and fantastic frost-work, the ideal
realms of fairyland became a reality. There
were grottos, castles, mosques, minarets, plazas,
palaces, and gardens, all of glass, and shining
metal, and precious stones, set in gold and
emerald. Then it changed to a ship in full sail,
then into a monster fortress gleaming with
countless lights, again into a marble ruin. I
could have gazed on it for hours, it seemed
in nothing constant, but continued change. It
towered like a vast mountain high into the
air, and stirred up the mud and silt from
the bottom. It must, we knew by the soundings,
reach forty fathoms below the surface.
Rocks, boulders, and débris of all kinds were
lodged on its craggy sides, or embedded in its
substance. Such a vast mass of ice floating through
the ocean, bearing with it from Arctic solitudes
materials that in some remote time yet to come
are destined to form other continents, is not seen
every day. Who could help recalling the
wretched fate of the unfortunate steamer President,
or fail to reflect on the perils of Arctic
voyages?