THE OPEN POLAR SEA.
With the warm flood of the Gulf Stream pouring northward, and keeping the waters of the Polar Sea at a temperature above the freezing point, while the winds, blowing as constantly under the Arctic as under the Tropic sky, and the ceaseless currents of the sea and the tide-flow of the surface, keep the waters ever in movement, it is not possible, as I have before observed, that even any considerable portion of this extensive sea can be frozen over. At no point within the Arctic Circle has there been found an ice-belt extending, either in winter or in summer, more than from fifty to a hundred miles from land. And even in the narrow channels separating the islands of the Parry Archipelago, in Baffin Bay, in the North Water, and the mouth of Smith Sound,—everywhere, indeed, within the broad area of the Frigid Zone, the waters will not freeze except when sheltered by the land, or when an ice-pack, accumulated by a long continuance of winds from one quarter, affords the same protection. That the sea does not close except when at rest, I had abundant reason to know during the late winter; for at all times, as this narrative frequently records, even when the temperature of the air was below the freezing point of mercury, I could hear from the deck of the schooner the roar of the beating waves.
THE OPEN WATER.
It would be needless for me to detain the reader with the conclusions to be drawn from the condition of the sea as observed by me at the point from which the last chapter left us returning, as the facts speak for themselves. It will not, however, be out of place to observe that no one whose eye has ever rested upon the Arctic ice or witnessed the changes of the Arctic seasons, could fail to realize that in a very short time, as the summer advanced, the open water would steadily eat its way southward, through Kennedy Channel, into Smith Sound.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
ON BOARD THE SCHOONER.—REVIEW OF THE JOURNEY.—THE RETURN DOWN KENNEDY CHANNEL.—A SEVERE MARCH IN A SNOW-STORM.—ROTTEN ICE.—EFFECTS OF A GALE.—RETURNING THROUGH THE HUMMOCKS.—THE DOGS BREAKING DOWN.—ADRIFT ON A FLOE AT CAIRN POINT.—THE OPEN WATER COMPELS US TO TAKE TO THE LAND.—REACHING THE SCHOONER.—PROJECTING A CHART.—THE NEW SOUND.—MY NORTHERN DISCOVERIES.
Port Foulke, June 3d.
Back again on board the schooner after two months' toiling and journeying on the ice.
Since I left her deck on the 3d of April, I have traveled not less than 1300 miles, and not less than 1600 since first setting out in March. I am somewhat battered and weather-beaten, but a day or so of rest and civilized comfort, the luxury of a wash and a bed, and of a table covered with clean crockery filled with the best of things that my old Swedish cook can turn out, are wondrously rejuvenating,—potent as the touch of Hebe to the war-worn Iolas.