in a very exciting style. Edging
constantly along large floe-pieces, we were eventually carried next day
into the packed ice, through which our way had to be found under
double-reefed sails, the two pretty screw-schooners thrashing away in
gallant style, until a dead calm again left us to steam our best;
indeed, all night of the 19th was a constant heavy tussle with a pack,
in which the old floe-pieces were being glued together by young ice,
varying from two to five inches in thickness; patches of water, perhaps
each an acre in extent, were to be seen from the crow's nest, and from
one to the other of these we had to work our way. By-and-by the Cary
Isles showed themselves to the northward, and then the flat-topped land
between Cape York and Dudley Digges.

[Headnote: _EASTERN SIDE OF BAFFIN'S BAY._]

Our last hope of doing any service this season lay in the expectation
that open water would be found along the northeast side of Baffin's
Bay; but this expectation was damped by the disagreeable knowledge that
our provisions on board the steamers were too scanty to allow us to
follow up any opening we should have found.

On the afternoon of the 28th of August, a strong water-sky and heavy
bank showed the sea to be close at hand to the south, as well as a
strong breeze behind it. We rattled on for Wolstenholme Island, reached
under its lee by the evening, and edged away to the north, quickly
opening out Cape Stair, and finding it to be an island, as the Cape
York Esquimaux, on board the "Assistance," had led us to believe.
Passing some striking-looking land, which, although like that of the
more southern parts of Greenland, was bold and precipitous, intersected
with deep valleys, yet comparatively free from glaciers, we saw the
Booth Sound of Sir John Ross, and shortly afterwards sighted what
proved afterwards to be the southern bluff of Whale Sound. We could not
approach it, however, and, choosing an iceberg, we anchored our
steamers to await an opening.

On Thursday, the 21st of August, I started in a boat with Mr.
MacDougal, to see if we could get as far as Whale Sound. The bay-ice,
in which we could neither pull nor sail, whilst it was too thin to
stand upon, or track the boat through, materially checked our progress.
By the afternoon we reached a close pack-edge, which defied farther
progress; but, on landing, we found ourselves to be at the entrance of
a magnificent inlet, still filled with ice, which extended to