In August the first frost came and formed "young ice" on the sea, but
this lasted only for a brief hour or two, and was broken up by the tide
and melted. By the 10th of September the young ice cemented the floes of
last year's ice together, and soon rendered the ice round the ship
immovable. Hummocks clustered round several rocky islets in the
neighbourhood, and the rising and falling of the tide covered the sides
of the rocks with bright crystals. All the feathered tribes took their
departure for less rigorous climes, with the exception of a small white
bird about the size of a sparrow, called the snow-bird, which is the
last to leave the icy North. Then a tremendous storm arose, and the sea
became choked up with icebergs and floes, which the frost soon locked
together into a solid mass. Towards the close of the storm snow fell in
great abundance, and when the mariners ventured again to put their heads
up the opened hatchways, the decks were knee-deep, the drift to windward
was almost level with the bulwarks, every yard was edged with white,
every rope and cord had a light side and a dark, every point and truck
had a white button on it, and every hole, corner, crack, and crevice was
choked up.

The land and the sea were also clothed with this spotless garment, which
is indeed a strikingly appropriate emblem of purity, and the only dark
objects visible in the landscape were those precipices which were too
steep for the snow to lie on, the towering form of the giant flagstaff,
and the leaden clouds that rolled angrily across the sky. But these
leaden clouds soon rolled off, leaving a blue wintry sky and a bright
sun behind.

The storm blew itself out early in the morning, and at breakfast-time on