The next morning the day broke fine and clear. Captain West affirmed that to see a perfect summer day one must go to the far north. The Corwin took the lead, and a five-mile run brought us to the edge of the ice-pack. There the Corwin slowed down, and we ran as close alongside as was safe. Captain West shouted through the megaphone, "Good-morning. I find the ice pretty heavy, but it is loose, and with care you will be able to follow us." He then sent to us Captain Coffin, an old-time whaling captain, whom he happened to have with him on the Corwin, to act as ice pilot for our boat. Captain Coffin has a record of over forty years in the north seas. As I was anxious to have the experience of smashing through the ice on an icebreaker, I went aboard the Corwin. The Progress followed about six lengths behind.
The Corwin has twelve feet of solid green-heart timber in her bows, four feet of the same on the sides, and two feet aft. She is barkentine rigged, a hundred and twenty feet long, with a speed of nine knots. She is twenty-four years old, all but one of which have been spent in Arctic waters.
Natives at Indian Point, Siberia.
When all is ready Captain West mounts to the crow's-nest to con the ship, and Captain Forrest, another old whaler, is on the bridge. The wheel is in the hands of two intelligent Boston sailors. Captain West sings out, "One bell—starboard—steady!" and we are off. It looks as if it were going to be a ticklish business for the Progress, with only half an inch of steel to withstand the pressure of the loose bergs, but I say to myself that with Captain Coffin in the crow's-nest, and the Corwin in the lead, it is ten to one that she comes through without even knocking the paint off.
As we gather speed I hurry to the stern to see how the Progress is coming on. She winds her way beautifully between the bergs, in and out through the passage which we are making.
Some of the ice the Corwin can push to one side or the other, but when this is not possible she backs up in order to get good headway, and charges the obstruction, and strikes it fairly between the eyes. She comes to a dead stop, and quivers from stem to stern with the tremendous impact. A rending, grinding noise is heard, and the berg which challenged us is a berg no longer; and its fragments are brushed aside as we push our way through. Captain West laughingly calls from above, "Get out of the way, if you don't want to get hit." So on we go, backing and turning, and plunging and wriggling through the ice.
As we were thus engaged I espied a seal, about three hundred yards off our starboard bow, and, seizing a Winchester, I let drive. The captain called down, "Killed; good shot." I should have done well to rest on my laurels, for though I had above forty more shots that day I did not kill anything.
By six o'clock we were through the ice and in open water again, with Indian Point, or Cape Chaplain, dead ahead. Almost immediately we were boarded by the natives, who called out: