This area is covered by ice such as we have passed through all day. As the sea rolls under, it seems a quivering mass of small fragments. There is nothing about it to suggest its ensnaring powers. We steam into a tongue which spreads out seaward. Over this there is a smoky sky indicating that behind this ice, and immediately before us, there is an open sea. Soon after we enter the ice, an on-shore wind and swell force the fragments together and bring a number of icebergs against the pack edge. We try with steam and sails to gain our release from the sudden embrace, but our efforts will be of no avail until the wind changes and the icy grip loosens. Our surroundings are wildly picturesque. To the east of us are the high peaks and limitless glaciers of Grahamland. The country is visible for only short periods and in patches, for a high fog hangs constantly over the land, leaving only an opening here and there. To the west the sky is fairly clear. A dark smoky zone near the horizon indicates the limits of the ice and the open sea beyond. Hundreds of icebergs are on the horizon. These are of a size and type quite similar to those of the arctic sea. The entire mass--icebergs, sea-ice, and the ship--rises and falls with the gigantic heave of this South Pacific, and for a time it seems as though we are to be carried with the moving drift against one of a number of small islands. But a change in the direction of the wind promises to so separate the ice that we shall soon be able to force our way out into the open sea westward.