DOCTOR.—"What?"
WILSON.—"Oh, nothing, Sir;—only we're going to the hicy regions, Sir, ain't we? Well, I've just seen that ere brig as is come from there, Sir, and they say there's a precious lot of ice this year! (Pause.) Do you know, Sir, the skipper showed me the bows of his vessel, Sir? She's got seven feet of solid timber in her for'ard: WE'VE only two inches, Sir!"
(DIVES BELOW.)
VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN (WITH A SLIGHT ACCENT).—"Are you ready?"
Lord D—.-"Ay, ay, Sir! Up anchor!"
LETTER VIII.
START FROM REYKJAVIK—SNAEFELL—THE LADY OF FRODA-A BERSERK TRAGEDY—THE CHAMPION OF BREIDAVIK—ONUNDER FIORD—THE LAST NIGHT—CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE—FETE ON BOARD THE "REINE HORTENSE"—LE PERE ARCTIQUE-WE FALL IN WITH THE ICE—THE "SAXON" DISAPPEARS—MIST—A PARTING IN A LONELY SPOT—JAN MAYEN—MOUNT BEERENBERG—AN UNPLEASANT POSITION—SHIFT OF WIND AND EXTRICATION—"TO NORROWAY OVER THE FAEM"—A NASTY COAST—HAMMERFEST.
Hammerfest, July.
Back in Europe again,—within reach of posts! The glad sun shining, the soft winds blowing, and roses on the cabin table,—as if the region of fog and ice we have just fled forth from were indeed the dream-land these summer sights would make it seem. I cannot tell you how gay and joyous it all appears to us, fresh from a climate that would not have been unworthy of Dante's Inferno. And yet—had it been twice as bad, what we have seen would have more than repaid us, though it has been no child's play to get to see it.
But I must begin where I left off in my last letter,—just, I think, as we were getting under way, to be towed by the "Reine Hortense" out of Reykjavik Harbour. Having been up all night,—as soon as we were well clear of the land, and that it was evident the towing business was doing well—I turned in for a few hours. When I came on deck again we had crossed the Faxe Fiord on our way north, and were sweeping round the base of Snaefell—an extinct volcano which rises from the sea in an icy cone to the height of 5,000 feet, and grimly looks across to Greenland. The day was beautiful; the mountain's summit beamed down upon us in unclouded splendour, and everything seemed to promise an uninterrupted view of the west coast of Iceland, along whose rugged cliffs few mariners have ever sailed. Indeed, until within these last few years, the passage, I believe, was altogether impracticable, in consequence of the continuous fields of ice which used to drift down the narrow channel between the frozen continent and the northern extremity of the island. Lately, some great change seems to have taken place in the lie of the Greenland ice; and during the summer-time you can pass through, though late in the year a solid belt binds the two shores together.