The records of Arctic exploration are full of stories of “hairbreadth escapes” from the perils of the ice-field and the ice-floe. Here is one which we borrow from the voyage of the _Dorothea_ and the _Trent_, under Captain Buchan and Lieutenant Franklin. The two vessels were making for Magdalena Bay, when they were caught in a violent storm, and compelled to heave-to under storm stay-sails. Next morning (June 30) the ice was seen along the lee, with a furious sea breaking upon it. Close-reefed sails were out in the hope of weathering the danger. When Buchan found that this could not be effected by his ship, a slow and heavy sailer, he resolved on the desperate expedient of “taking the pack,” in preference to falling, broadside on, among the roaring breakers and crashing ice. “Heaven help them!” was the involuntary cry of those on board the _Trent_, and the prayer was all the more earnest from the conviction that a similar fate would soon be their own. The _Dorothea_ wore, and, impelled by wind and sea, rushed towards what seemed inevitable destruction; those in the _Trent_ held their breath while they watched the perilous exploit. The suspense lasted but a moment, for the vessel, like a snow-flake before the storm, drove into the awful scene of foam, and spray, and broken ice, which formed a wall impenetrable to mortal eyesight. Whether she was lost or saved, the gallant hearts on board the _Trent_ would never know until they too were forced into a manœuvre which appeared like rushing into the jaws of death. But it was inevitable; and when Franklin had made all his preparations, he gave, in firm, decisive tones, the order to “put up the helm.” No language, says Admiral Beechey, who was then serving as a lieutenant on board the _Trent_, can convey an adequate idea of the terrific grandeur of the effects produced by the collision of the ice and the tempestuous ocean. No language, on the other hand, can convey an idea of the heroic calmness and resolution of Franklin and his crew. As they approached the terrible scene, Franklin watched for one opening less hazardous than another; but there was none. Before them stretched one long line of frightful breakers, immense blocks of ice heaving, rearing, and hurtling against one another with a din which rendered the loud voice of the gallant commander almost inaudible. On the crest of a huge billow the little _Trent_ rushed into the horrible turmoil; a shock, which quivered through the ship from stem to stern, and the crew were flung upon the deck, and the masts bent like willow wands.