the intrepid captain was towed "in his small pinnesse, at the stern
of the Michael, thorow the raging seas; for the bark was not able to
receive, or relieve half his company." The "tongs, gridyron, and
fire-shovell," performed their work only for as many minutes as were
absolutely necessary, for the pinnesse came no sooner aboard the
ship, and the men entred, but she presently shivered and fell in
pieces, and sunke at the ship's stern with all the poor men's
furniture."

Now, too, as we sail up the strait, explored a few years after these
events by Master John Davis, how proudly we remember him as a right
worthy forerunner of those countrymen of his and ours who since have
sailed over his track. Nor ought we to pass on without calling to
mind the melancholy fate, in 1606, of Master John Knight, driven, in
the Hopewell, among huge masses of ice with a tremendous surf, his
rudder knocked away, his ship half full of water, at the entrance to
these straits. Hoping to find a harbour, he set forth to explore a
large island, and landed, leaving two men to watch the boat, while
he, with three men and the mate, set forth and disappeared over a
hill. For thirteen hours the watchers kept their post; one had his
trumpet with him, for he was a trumpeter, the other had a gun. They
trumpeted often and loudly; they fired, but no answer came. They
watched ashore all night for the return of their captain and his
party, "but they came not at all."

The season is advanced. As we sail on, the sea steams like a line-
kiln, "frost-smoke" covers it. The water, cooled less rapidly, is
warmer now than the surrounding air, and yields this vapour in
consequence. By the time our vessel has reached Baffin's Bay, still
coasting along Greenland, in addition to old floes and bergs, the