Another novel application of steam took place to-day. We came to a bar of ice, formed of loose floe-pieces of all sizes, but too small to heave through by means of ice-anchors and lines; Penny stood close up to it, but he could neither sail through it, nor warp; he had therefore to make a long detour round its edge: _steam_ however was able to do it; and with our knife-like bows, aided by the propeller, we soon wedged a road through for ourselves and the "Resolute." Detentions in the ice were amongst the most trying moments of our life in the North; and from the composition of our squadron, namely, two fast vessels, and two slow ones, the constant waiting for one another put me much in mind of the old doggerel:-- "The Earl of Chatham with sword drawn, Was waiting for Sir Richard Strachan; Sir Richard longing to be at 'em, Was waiting for the Earl of Chatham." The risk of detention in such a region can be understood by all; but few, perhaps, will appreciate the feeling of mingled passion and regret with which the leading vessel in such a mission as we had in hand found herself obliged to wait to close her consort, when all was water ahead, and the chances of it remaining so were but slight. A few hours we all knew had often made the difference of a passage across Melville Bay without detention, or of a long, laborious voyage--here we were waiting for our consorts. On the 10th, a short tow; and in company with a portion of the whalers, for several had retreated, we again had to dock, to escape nipping from the ice, and on the morrow, a similar scene of hurry and excitement took place when liberation came. [Headnote: _FAVOURABLE PROSPECT._]