The morning watch found me on deck, and, as before, our position was shown by the record of the lead. The lead was a false prophet, for instead of running outside we were rushing squarely upon the cape. Satisfied, however, by the assurances which I had received, I went below to breakfast, and had scarcely been seated when that most disagreeable of all cries,--once heard, never to be forgotten,--"Breakers ahead!" startled us. Upon reaching the deck, I found the sails shivering in the wind, and almost within pistol-shot rose a great black wall, against which the sea was breaking in a most threatening manner. Fortunately the schooner came quickly to the wind and held in stays, otherwise we must have struck in a very few minutes. As it was, we settled close upon the rocks before the sails filled and we began to crawl slowly off. The spray, thrown back from the sullen cliff, actually fell upon the deck, and it seemed as if I could almost touch the rocks with my hand. We were soon relieved by seeing the dark fog-veil drawn between us and danger. But the danger was, apparently, not yet passed. In half an hour the wind died away almost to a calm, leaving us a heavy sea to fight with, while out of the blackness came the wail of the angry surf bemoaning the loss of its prey. The wind increased toward noon, and freed us from suspense. Resolved this time to give Cape Race a wide berth, we ran off E. S. E., and not until I was sure, by the color of the water, that Newfoundland was at a safe distance, did I let the schooner fill away on her course toward Cape Farewell. By this time a stiff breeze was blowing from the south, and as the night closed in we were running before the wind under a close-reefed topsail. A succession of southerly gales now chased us northward, and we hauled in our latitude with gratifying rapidity. In a few days we were ploughing the waters which bathe the rock-bound coasts of Greenland. [Sidenote: ACROSS THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.] On the 30th of July I had the satisfaction of being once more within the Arctic Circle. That imaginary line was crossed at eight o'clock in the evening, and the event was celebrated by a salute from our signal-gun and a display of bunting. We now felt that we had fairly entered upon our career.