There, facing me, was the celebrated "Strait"—so called—of Frobisher, and beyond it in the distance Meta Incognita[1]—thus named by Queen Elizabeth, but termed Kingaite by the Esquimaux. Two hundred and eighty-two years previously, in that very month of August, the great English navigator, then on his third voyage, was sailing on the waters now within my view, and, after many perils from storms, fogs, and floating ice, he and part of his original fleet (which consisted of fifteen vessels) assembled in "Countess of Warwick's Sound," which I supposed to be not far off. As I gazed, how I longed to be exploring it, then hopefully anticipating it would prove the highway to my ultimate destination, King William's Land. But such was not to be. Disappointment is the lot of all men. Mine afterward proved great; and yet I have reason to be thankful for what I afterward accomplished.
I looked long and earnestly. The land on the opposite side of the "Straits" was clear before me, though at a distance of some forty miles, and it appeared as if a long line of ice or snow topped a considerable portion of it. I hastened from the place whereon I stood, and walked to the beach, where the waters of the so-called Frobisher Strait washed the shores. There, with spy-glass, I again carefully examined the opposite land. The same appearance presented itself. But not till some months afterward, when exploring up the "Straits," did I have positive proof that what I now saw was really an enormous and magnificent glacier, which, when I visited it, I called after the name of Henry Grinnell.
Continuing with my glass to trace the land westerly, it seemed to me that the mountains in that direction united with the land on which I stood, and if so, no "strait" existed. But, as refraction at first was going on, I fancied that I might be deceived. A longer look, however, made me still feel doubtful;[2] and while I stood charmed and spell-
