A great number of islands lie between Baring Island and Point Beecher, scattered in the midst of the ice-fields; the ice-streams crowd in great numbers in the little straits into which they divide the sea; when the weather is cold they have a tendency to accumulate; here and there hummocks were forming, and it was easy to see that the floes, already harder and more crowded, would, under the influence of the first frosts, soon form an impenetrable mass.
It was with great difficulty that the Forward made her way through the whirling snow. Still, with the variability which is a peculiarity of these regions, the sun would appear from time to time; the air grew much milder; the ice melted as if by enchantment, and a clear expanse of water, a most welcome sight to the eyes of the crew, spread out before them where a few moments before the ice had blocked their progress. All over the horizon there spread magnificent orange tints, which rested their eyes, weary with gazing at the eternal snow.
Thursday, July 26th, the Forward coasted along Dundas Island, and then stood more northward; but there she found herself face to face with a thick mass of ice, eight or nine feet high, consisting of little icebergs washed away from the shore; they had to prolong the curve they were making to the west. The continual cracking of the ice, joining with the creaking of the rolling ship, sounded like a gloomy lamentation. At last the brig found a passage and advanced through it slowly; often a huge floe delayed her for hours; the fog embarrassed the steersman; at one moment he could see a mile ahead, and it was easy to avoid all obstacles; but again the snow-squalls would hide everything from their sight at the distance of a cable's length. The sea ran very high.
Sometimes the smooth clouds assumed a strange appearance, as if they were reflecting the ice-banks; there were days when the sun could not pierce the dense mist.
The birds were still very numerous, and their cries were deafening; the seals, lying lazily on the drifting ice, raised their heads without being frightened, and turned their long necks to watch the ship go by. Often, too, the brig would leave bits of sheathing on the ice against which she grazed.
Finally, after six days of this slow sailing, August 1st, Point Beecher was made, sighted in the north; Hatteras passed the last hours in the lookout; the open sea, which Stewart had seen May 30, 1851, towards latitude 76° 20', could not be far off, and yet, as far as Hatteras could see, he could make out no sign of an open polar sea. He came down without saying a word.
"Do you believe in an open sea?" asked Shandon of the second mate.
"I'm beginning to have my doubts," answered James Wall.