One day as I was lazily looking over the sloop's side into the
clear waters, my father shouted: "Breakers ahead!" Looking up, I
saw through a lifting mist a white object that towered several
hundred feet high, completely shutting off our advance. We
lowered sail immediately, and none too soon. In a moment we found
ourselves wedged between two monstrous icebergs. Each was
crowding and grinding against its fellow mountain of ice. They
were like two gods of war contending for supremacy. We were
greatly alarmed. Indeed, we were between the lines of a battle
royal; the sonorous thunder of the grinding ice was like the
continued volleys of artillery. Blocks of ice larger than a house
were frequently lifted up a hundred feet by the mighty force of
lateral pressure; they would shudder and rock to and fro for a
few seconds, then come crashing down with a deafening roar, and
disappear in the foaming waters. Thus, for more than two hours,
the contest of the icy giants continued.

It seemed as if the end had come. The ice pressure was terrific,
and while we were not caught in the dangerous part of the jam,
and were safe for the time being, yet the heaving and rending of
tons of ice as it fell splashing here and there into the watery
depths filled us with shaking fear.

Finally, to our great joy, the grinding of the ice ceased, and
within a few hours the great mass slowly divided, and, as if an
act of Providence had been performed, right before us lay an open
channel. Should we venture with our little craft into this
opening? If the pressure came on again, our little sloop as well
as ourselves would be crushed into nothingness. We decided to
take the chance, and, accordingly, hoisted our sail to a favoring