s, or swans, or
whipped cream, for instance; very pretty to look at, but frequently
only the frostings of large, slushy, and dangerous cakes that lurked
beneath. Strange birds, somewhat smaller than penguins, sitting up
stiffly and absurdly on their tails, marshaled themselves in military
rows upon the ice, and occasionally a seal poked up its snaky and
inquiring head from beneath the still waters. The sea was mirror-like.
Sometimes, intensified by the fog and mist which hung about, the sun
shone down hot, as the vessel crept slowly through the haze and maze of
her uncanny surroundings. It was a strange, weird scene, recalling the
"Rime of the Ancient Mariner," about the albatross, the fog, the mist,
and the red-hot sun. Several times we lay to for half a day. There was
now no night. On one occasion, when the ship slowly pushed into a cake
of melting ice, the contact causing the red paint to gush to the
surface, a bright Irishman in the steerage temporarily relieved the
monotony by shouting out, "She bleeds at the nose."

And it was becoming very monotonous. It was then June 22, and with fair
conditions we should have been at Nome two days earlier. Passengers
became uneasy or disgusted, and many expressed themselves to the effect
that our excellent captain didn't know his business,--that we were lost,
and would likely have to remain thus a month more,--and they were for
"butting right through" the ice anyhow. Some day there may be a great
disaster in Bering Sea when an iron ship tries to force its way through
the ice. There was a close call this season. Later in the day, however,
icy and uninviting Nunivak Island appeared close at hand, some four
hundred miles south of Nome, and we then knew where we were. Passing at
half speed along it, at what seemed a safe distance, suddenly there was
a bump, followed almost immediately by a reversal of the engines, a
churning of mud and eighteen feet of water, and frantic efforts to get
off a treacherous mud-flat. This seemed the last straw, but the quick
action of our engineer saved the day and a very dismal prospect. It was
near this same island that the _Lane_, our transport of last year,
struck a reef on her way "down below" (Nome lingo for Washington,
Oregon, or California) a month later. Her captain, imagining himself
well out at sea, was booming along in the fog at full speed and with
sails up, when the vessel struck with a mighty jar and became a total
loss. The few passenge