that form of destruction, than the ice began again to
close in, and this time the vessel was "nipped" with such severity, that
some of her principal timbers gave way. Finally, her back was broken,
and the bottom forced in.

"So," exclaimed the Captain, with a look of profound grief, "our voyage
in the _Whitebear_, lads, has come to an end. All that we can do now is
to get the boats and provisions, and as much of the cargo as we can,
safe on the ice. And sharp's the word, for when the floes ease off, the
poor little yacht will certainly go to the bottom."

"No, massa," said the negro steward, stepping on deck at that moment,
"we can't go to de bottom, cause we's dare a-ready!"

"What d'ye mean, Butterface?"

"Jus' what me say," replied the steward, with a look of calm
resignation. "I's bin b'low, an' seed de rocks stickin' troo de bottom.
Der's one de size ob a jolly-boat's bow comed right troo my pantry, an'
knock all de crockery to smash, an' de best teapot, he's so flat he
wouldn't know hisself in a lookin'-glass."

It turned out to be as Butterface said. The pack had actually thrust
the little vessel on a shoal, which extended out from the headland off
which the catastrophe occurred, and there was therefore no fear of her
sinking.

"Well, we've reason to be thankful for that, at all events," said the
Captain, with an attempt to look cheerful; "come, lads, let's to work.
Whatever our future course is to be, our first business is to get the
boats and cargo out of danger."

With tremendous energy--because action brought relief to their
overstrained feelings--the crew of the ill-fated yacht set to work to
haul the boats upon the grounded ice. The tide was falling, so that a
great part of the most valuable part of the cargo was placed in security
before the rising tide interrupted the work.

This was fortunate, for, when the water reached a certain point the ice
began to move, and the poor little vessel was so twisted about that they
dared not venture on board of her.

That night--if we may call it night in a region where the sun never
quite went down--the party encamped on the north-western coast of
Greenland, in the lee of a huge cliff just beyond which the tongue of a
mighty glacier dipped into the sea. For convenience the party divided
into two, with a blazing fire for each, round which the castaways
circled, conversing in subdued, sad tones while supper was being
prepared.

It was a solemn occasio