Rain and snow often fell abundantly. On fair days, when the wind was not too violent, Marie remained on deck, and her eyes became accustomed to the uncouth scenes of the Polar Seas. On the 1st of August she was promenading aft, and talking with her uncle, Penellan, and André Vasling. The ship was then entering a channel three miles wide, across which broken masses of ice were rapidly descending southwards. “When shall we see land?” asked the young girl. “In three or four days at the latest,” replied Jean Cornbutte. “But shall we find there fresh traces of my poor Louis?” “Perhaps so, my daughter; but I fear that we are still far from the end of our voyage. It is to be feared that the ‘Froöern’ was driven farther northward.” “That may be,” added André Vasling, “for the squall which separated us from the Norwegian boat lasted three days, and in three days a ship makes good headway when it is no longer able to resist the wind.” “Permit me to tell you, Monsieur Vasling.” replied Penellan, “that that was in April, that the thaw had not then begun, and that therefore the ‘Froöern’ must have been soon arrested by the ice.” “And no doubt dashed into a thousand pieces,” said the mate, “as her crew could not manage her.” “But these ice-fields,” returned Penellan, “gave her an easy means of reaching land, from which she could not have been far distant.” “Let us hope so,” said Jean Cornbutte, interrupting the discussion, which was daily renewed between the mate and the helmsman. “I think we shall see land before long.” “There it is!” cried Marie. “See those mountains!” “No, my child,” replied her uncle. “Those are mountains of ice, the first we have met with. They would shatter us like glass if we got entangled between them. Penellan and Vasling, overlook the men.” These floating masses, more than fifty of which now appeared at the horizon, came nearer and nearer to the brig. Penellan took the helm, and Jean Cornbutte, mounted on the gallant, indicated the route to take. Towards evening the brig was entirely surrounded by these moving rocks, the crushing force of which is irresistible. It was necessary, then, to cross this fleet of mountains, for prudence prompted them to keep straight ahead. Another difficulty was added to these perils. The direction of the ship could not be accurately determined, as all the surrounding points constantly changed position, and thus failed to afford a fixed perspective. The darkness soon increased with the fog. Marie descended to her cabin, and the whole crew, by the captain’s orders, remained on deck. They were armed with long boat-poles, with iron spikes, to preserve the ship from collision with the ice.