In the shadows of the bergs the water was a rich green, and nothing could be more soft and tender than the gradations of color made by the sea shoaling on the sloping tongue of a berg close beside us. The tint increased in intensity where the ice overhung the water, and a deep cavern near by exhibited the solid color of the malachite mingled with the transparency of the emerald; while, in strange contrast, a broad streak of cobalt blue ran diagonally through its body.
The bewitching character of the scene was heightened by a thousand little cascades which leaped into the sea from these floating masses,—the water being discharged from lakes of melted snow and ice which reposed in quietude far up in the valleys separating the high icy hills of their upper surface. From other bergs large pieces were now and then detached,—plunging down into the water with deafening noise, while the slow moving swell of the ocean resounded through their broken archways.
I had been watching this scene for hours, lost in reverie and forgetfulness, when I was brought suddenly to my senses by the master's mate, who came to report, "Ice close aboard, sir." We were drifting slowly upon a berg about the height of our topmasts. The boats were quickly lowered to pull us off, and, the schooner once more in safety, I went to bed.
I awoke after a few hours, shivering with the cold. The "bull's-eye" above my head was open, and a chilly fog was pouring in upon me. Hurrying on deck, I found the whole scene changed. A dense gray mist had settled over the waters and icebergs and mountains, blending them all in chaotic gloom.
Twenty-four days at sea had brought the water very low in our casks, and I took advantage of the delay to send off to a neighboring iceberg for a fresh supply. The water of these bergs is pure and clear as crystal.
NEARING HARBOR.
AT PRÖVEN.
Getting at last a slant of the wind, we ran in among the low islands which line the coast above Svarte Huk; and Sonntag, who had gone ahead in a boat to Pröven, having sent off to us a swarthy-looking pilot, we wound our way slowly through the tortuous passage, and at a little after midnight of August 6th we dropped anchor in the snuggest of little harbors. The loud baying of dogs, and an odor, baffling description,—"a very ancient and fish-like smell,"—first warned us of our approach to a Greenland settlement.
