I have before forgot to mention the great length of the days; indeed, for some time past there had scarcely been any night. Now, for the first time in my life, I saw the sun set and rise at midnight. It was my first watch; and, as eight bells were struck, the sun, floating majestically on the horizon, began again its upward course through the sky. On the other side the whole sky was tinged with a rich pink glow, while the sky above was of a deep clear blue. I could scarcely tear myself from the spectacle, till old David laughed heartily at me for remaining on deck when it was my watch below. Now was the time to push onward, if we could once penetrate the ice. We had worked our way to the east, in the hopes of there finding a passage. "Land on the starboard bow!" shouted the second mate from the crow's-nest. Still on we sailed, till we saw it clearly from the deck. Lofty black rocks were peeping out from amid snow-capped heights, and eternal glaciers glittering in the sunbeams. In the foreground were icebergs tinged with many varied hues. Deep valleys appeared running up far inland; and above all, in the distance, were a succession of towering mountain ranges, reaching to the sky. Still on we sailed. "Well, lad, how long do you think it would take you to pull on shore now?" asked old David. "Better than half-an-hour, in a whale-boat, with a good crew," I answered, thinking the distance was about four or five miles. The old whaler chuckled, in the way he always did when he had got, what he called, the weather-gauge of me. "Now I tell you it would take you three good hours, with the best crew that ever laid hand on oar, and the fastest boat, too, to get from this ship to that shore." "Come now, David, you are passing your jokes off on a greenhorn," I replied. "Why, if the water was not cold, I don't think I should find much difficulty in swimming there, when we got a little closer in." This answer produced a fresh succession of chuckles. Still on we sailed; and I confess that at the end of an hour we appeared no nearer than before. "Well, what do you think of it now?" asked old David. "Why, that there must be a strong current against us, setting off shore," I answered, wishing to show my knowledge. He replied that there was no current, and that I was wrong. Another half-hour passed, and still we did not seem to have gained ground. "What do you think of our being off Cape Flyaway, youngster?" asked David, pretending to be alarmed. "Did you never hear speak of that? The longer you sail after it the farther off it goes, till it takes you right round the world. If that's it, and I don't say it isn't, it will be long enough before we get back to old England again." Having thus delivered himself, he walked away, to avoid being questioned. Tom Stokes, who was near me, and, as I have said, was very fond of reading, heard his remark.