In the beginning of May, 1814, we entered with the ship Esk, of Whitby, a spacious opening of the ice, in latitude 78° 10′, longitude 4° east, to a distance of ten or twelve leagues from the exterior, wherein we were tempted to stay, from the appearance of a great number of whales. On the 9th of May, the ship became fixed in the ice, and, until the 16th, we lay immovable. A break of the bay-ice then appeared about half-a-mile from us, to attain which we laboured with energy, and, in eight hours, accomplished a passage for the ship. On the 20th, in attempting to advance, we endured a heavy pressure of the bay-ice, which shook the ship in an alarming manner. After a fatiguing effort in passing through the midst of an aggregation of floes against the wind, we reached a channel, which led us several miles to the south-eastward; and, on the 23rd, we lay at rest with four other ships. The day following, having sawn a place for the ship in a thin floe, we forced forward between two large masses, where bay-ice, unconsolidated, had been compressed till it had become ten or twelve feet thick. We were assisted by a hundred men from the accompanying ships, which followed close in our rear. After applying all our mechanical powers during eight or nine hours, we passed the strait of about a furlong in length, and immediately the ice collapsed, and riveted the ships of our companions to the spot. We advanced on various winding courses to the distance of several miles, and then discovered a continuation of the navigation between two immense sheets of ice, but the channel was so narrow and intricate, that, for the distance of near a mile, it did not appear more than from ten to twenty yards in width. The prospect was, indeed, appalling; but, perceiving indications of the enlargement of the passage rather than the contrary, we advanced under a press of sail, driving aside some disengaged lumps of ice that opposed us, and shortly accomplished our wishes in safety. Here an enlivening prospect presented itself; to the extreme limits of the horizon no interruption was visible. We made a predetermined signal to the ships we had left, indicative of our hope of speedy release. In two hours, however, we were disappointed by meeting the fields in the act of collapsing, and completely barring our progress. As the distance across was scarcely a mile, and the sea, to appearance, clear beyond it, the interruption was most tantalizing. We waited at the point of union, and, on the morning of the 26th of May, our anxiety was happily relieved by the wished-for division of the ice. The ship, propelled by a brisk wind, darted through the strait, and entered a sea, which we considered the termination of our difficulties. After steering three hours to the south-eastward, we were concerned to discover our conclusions had been premature. An immense pack opened on our view, stretching directly across our path. There was no alternative but forcing through it; we therefore