On Charles’s Island is a curious peak, which juts into the sea. It is crooked, perfectly naked, being equally destitute of snow and verdure, and from its black appearance, or pointed figure, has been denominated the Devil’s Thumb. Its height may be about 1,500 or 2,000 feet. The middle hook of the foreland, as the central part of the chain of mountains in Charles’s Island is called, is a very interesting part of the coast. These mountains, which are, perhaps, the highest land adjoining the sea which is to be met with, take their rise at the water’s edge, and, by a continued ascent of an angle at first of about 30°, and increasing to about 45°, or more, each comes to a point, with the elevation of about six-sevenths of an English mile. This portion of the chain exhibits five distinct summits, some of them to appearance are within half a league, horizontal distance, of the margin of the sea. The points formed by the top of two or three of them are so fine, that the imagination is at a loss to conceive of a place on which an adventurer, attempting the hazardous exploit of climbing one of the summits, might rest. Were such an undertaking practicable, it is evident it could not be effected without imminent danger. Besides extraordinary courage and strength requisite in the adventurer, such an attempt would need the utmost powers of exertion, as well as the most irresistible perseverance. Frederick Martens, in his excellent account of a “Voyage to Spitzbergen,” undertaken in the year 1671, describes some of the cliffs as consisting of but one stone from the bottom to the top, and as smelling very sweet where covered with lichens. In Magdalen Bay, the rocks he describes as lying in a semicircular form, having at each extremity two high mountains, with natural excavations, “after the fashion of a breastwork,” and, at their summits, points and cracks like battlements. Some of the mountains of Spitzbergen are well-proportioned, four-sided pyramids, rising out of a base of a mile, or a mile and a half, to a league square; others form angular chains, resembling the roof of a house, which recede from the shore in parallel ridges, until they dwindle into obscurity in the distant perspective. Some exhibit the exact resemblance of art, but in a style of grandeur exceeding the famed pyramids of the east, or even the more wonderful tower of Babel. An instance of such a regular and magnificent work of nature is seen near the head of King’s Bay, consisting of three piles of rocks, of a regular form, known by the name of the Three Crowns. They rest on the top of the ordinary mountains, each commencing with a square table, or horizontal stratum of rock, on the top of which is another of similar form and height, but of smaller area; this is continued by a third, a fourth, and so on, each succeeding stratum being less than the next below it, until it forms a pyramid of steps, almost as regular, to appearance, as if worked by art.