Taking as plunder a potful of silver reals,—the pot, says Fletcher, “as big as a bushel,”—and some other booty, Drake sailed west, then northwest and north, “fourteen hundred leagues in all.” This, according to the account of Fletcher, his chaplain, brought them to the 3d of June,[146] when they were in north latitude 42°. On the night of that day, the weather (which had been very hot) became bitterly cold; the ropes of the ship were stiff with ice, and sleet fell instead of rain. This cold weather continued for days. On the fifth they ran in to a shore which they then first descried, and anchored in a bad bay, which was the best roadstead they could find. But the moment the gale lulled, “thick stinking fogs” settled down on them; they could not abide there; and from this place[147] they turned south, and ran along the coast. They found it “low and reasonable plain.” Every hill was covered with snow, though it was in June. In the latitude of 38° 30′, they came to a “convenient and fit harbour.” Another narrator says, “It pleased God to send us into a fair and good bay, with a good wind to enter the same.” They entered, and remained in it till the 23d of July. During all this time they were visited with the “like nipping colds.” They would have been glad to keep their beds, and if they were not at work, would have worn their winter clothes. For a fortnight together they could take no observations of sun or star. When they met the natives, they found them shivering even under their furs; and the “ground was without greenness” and the trees without leaves in June and July.