The first of September was an eventful day for the Expedition. A gale blew from the south-west, and after it had continued with undiminished violence for some hours, we could see through the drifting snow, blown in clouds from the land, that the ice was separating from the shore, and leaving a lane of water between it and the “ice-foot.” Such a chance would not come twice, and there was no time to be lost. Under full steam, and with reefed topsails and foresail, our ship was soon flying northwards, trusting to chance for security when the floes would close again. Flying mists of snow left little to be seen but the black band of water ahead, and the bases of dark, steep cliffs on the left. We were passing Cape Union, but which of the numerous bold bluffs had received that name we could not tell. After a few hours, it was plain that it lay behind us, for the land began to trend to the westward. At noon the ship still advanced, but at right angles to her former course. The cliffs of Robeson Channel were past, and what could be seen of the shore was a low undulating beach fringed by a barrier reef of grounded icebergs. Our lane of water extended about two miles along this shore, and then ended at a low point of land, from which the pack had never moved in spite of the violence of the gale. The wind was now lessening rapidly, and the floes were closing steadily and resistlessly inwards. To be caught between them and the wall of grounded ice would be instant and hopeless destruction. A mile behind us we had noticed a gap in the barrier of ice. There was just time to run back and push the ship through it, into the shallow water between the grounded ice-blocks and the shore, and to make her fast under the shelter of one of the blocks, when the pack closed in with a grinding crush that made some of us at least expect to see ice-barrier, ship, and all pushed high and dry on the beach. In a few hours it again came on to blow, and this time furiously. The ice-pack was again driven off shore, carrying part of our barrier with it, the hawsers holding the ship to hillocks of grounded ice tightened like bars, and finally, in a fierce gust, snapt, and the ship drifted outside her shelter, but was again brought up by her anchor. Then the wind suddenly veered, and drove the ice in on us with alarming speed. There was no time to turn the ship; struggling sideways and sternwards through the tide of slush and tumbling ice that raced along the outside of the barrier, she reached the friendly gap just in time to be helped in by the closing pack. The roar of crushing ice had already commenced on the point of land north-west of the ship. It approached and increased every moment, till the whole beach was in full chorus, creaking, screaming, and crashing. Under such an enormous pressure the strongest ship that ever floated would have been reduced to matches in one minute.