When we entered Melville Bay there were but eight days remaining to us of the month of August. I had to regret the loss of time at the settlements; but this was unavoidable. Before leaving Upernavik I had resolved upon the course which I would pursue,--to take the pack whenever we should find it, enter it at the most favorable opening, and, without looking for the land ice, to make the most direct line for Cape York. It was much in our favor that the wind had prevailed for many days from the eastward, and had apparently pushed the whole pack over toward the American side, opening for us a clear, broad expanse of water. Would it so remain, and give us a free passage to Cape York? I have already said that I saw its reflection over the clouds,--the "ice-blink" to the westward. It was not far away. Would it remain so? While reflecting upon the chances ahead the wind rose, and blew half a gale. A heavy sea was getting up behind us. A dark cloud, which had hung upon the southern horizon for some time, came climbing up the sky, and at length spreading itself out in flying fragments, it shook over us a shower of frozen vapor, and then settled into a regular snow storm. Unable to see fifty yards on either side, I came down from my uncomfortable perch on the fore-yard. It became now a subject for serious consideration whether we should continue on in our course, or heave to and wait for better weather. In either case we were exposed to much risk. By heaving to, the vessel would not be under command; and, drifting through the gloom, we stood a fair chance of settling upon a stray berg or upon the ice-fields which we had every reason to suppose would, sooner or later, obstruct our progress; besides, and it was not an unimportant consideration, we lost a fine wind. On the other hand, by holding on, although we had the vessel under control, there was an even chance that, in the event of ice lying in our course, we would not be able to see it through the thick atmosphere in time to avoid it. The question was, however, quickly decided. Preferring that danger which had some energy in it, I reefed every thing down, pointed the schooner's head for Cape York, and went at it. [Sidenote: AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.] I paced the deck in much anxiety of mind. We were traversing a sea which no keel had ever plowed before without meeting ice, and why should better fortune be in store for our little craft. The air was so thick that I could sometimes barely see the lookout on the forecastle; then again it would lighten up, and, underneath the broad canopy of dark vapors, which seemed to be supported by the icebergs that here and there appeared, I could see a distance of several miles. Then again the air became thick with the falling snow and rattling hail; the wind whistled through the rigging, and all the while the heavy waves were rolling up behind us, deluging the decks, and threatening to swallow us up. I shall not soon forget our first ten hours in Melville Bay.