"At present it is thought that we are ice-imprisoned in Field Bay for the winter! Solid 'pack' in Davis's Strait has been seen to-day. How true it is that we know not what a day may bring forth!
"A few hours ago we were anticipating the short time that remained before the George Henry's sails were to be given to the wind, and we to be away to our loved ones at home; but now we are thinking of preparations for sustaining life in these regions of ice and snow. I must make as enduring as ink and paper will allow the incidents of this day. I begin with my trip across to the west side of the bay, to the highest mountain-top between Field Bay and the Bay of Frobisher.
"Early this morning the four boats, with the George Henry's crew, started off to cruise for whales. I set to work engaging a crew of the best Innuits among those who had just come aboard to accompany me across the bay, and a few minutes sufficed for this. Those selected were Ebierbing, Shevikoo, 'Jim Crow,' 'Miner,' Oo-ming-mung, At-tou-se-ark-chune.
"After making up the west side of the island, near which the vessel is anchored, and which forms the north and north-west side of the harbour, I was surprised to find much ice. Indeed, early this morning there was no ice in the harbour, but at the time we left it had formed so thick that it was with great difficulty that the boat could be pulled through it. Finding the ice too heavy to make progress, and apparently much thicker ahead of us, we concluded to turn our course and strike south-west, using the wind, which was favourable to the latter course. Sail being made, away we sped at a capital rate, occasionally plowing through sludge,'[1] that served greatly to deaden our speed.
"At about eleven o'clock we reached the land where the winter passage is made in going to Frobisher Bay. A few minutes were spent here in deciding which of the party should accompany me in my tramp to the mountain-top. All
- ↑ Just as the ice begins to break, sometimes the sea-water, to a considerable depth, becomes so cold that it is thick like porridge—so thick, indeed, that a boat might as well be pulled through a lake of tar as through "sludge."
