[Illustration: CUTTING ICE DOCKS.] “A hundred songs from hoarse throats resounded through the gale, the sharp chipping of the saws told that the work was flying, and the laugh and broad witticisms of the crews mingled with the words of command and encouragement to exertion given by the officers. “The pencil of a Wilkie could hardly convey the characteristics of such a scene, and it is far beyond my humble pen to tell of the stirring animation exhibited by twenty ships’ companies, who knew that on their own exertions depended the safety of their vessels and the success of their voyage. The ice was of an average thickness of three feet, and to cut this, saws of ten feet long were used, the length of stroke being about as far as the men directing the saw could reach up and down. A little powder was used to break up the pieces that were cut, so as to get them easily out of the mouth of the dock—an operation which the officers of our vessels performed while the men cut away with the saws. In a very short time all the vessels were in safety, the pressure of the pack expending itself on a chain of bergs some ten miles north of our present position. The unequal contest between floe and iceberg exhibited itself there in a fearful manner; for the former, pressing onward against the huge grounded masses, were torn into shreds, and thrown back piecemeal, layer on layer of many feet in elevation, as if mere shreds of some flimsy material, instead of solid, hard ice, every cubic yard of which weighed nearly a ton.” [Illustration: ICE MOUNTAINS.] They were not always so fortunate. A little later they were again beset, and escape seemed hopeless. The commander, called from his berth to deck, found the vessel thrown considerably over by the pressure of the ice on one side, while every timber was straining, cracking, and groaning. “On reaching the deck,” says Osborn, “I saw, indeed, that the poor _Pioneer_ was in sad peril: the deck was arching with the pressure on her sides, the scupper pieces were turned up out of the mortices, and a quiver of agony wrung my craft’s frame from stem to taffrail, whilst the floe, as if impatient to overwhelm its victim, had piled up as high as the bulwark in many places. The men who, whaler fashion, had without orders brought their clothes on deck, ready to save their little property, stood in knots waiting for directions from their officers, who, with anxious eyes, watched the floe-edge as it ground past the side to see whether the strain was easing. Suddenly it did so, and we were safe. But a deep dent in the _Pioneer’s_ side, extending for some forty feet, and the fact, as we afterwards learned, of twenty-one timbers being broken on one side, proved that the trial had been a severe one.”