- winged butterfly, and—who would believe it?—a
mosquito. And these I add to an entymological collection which already numbers ten moths, three spiders, two humble-bees, and two flies,—a pretty good proportion of the genus Insecta for this latitude, 78° 17´ N., longitude 73° W.
July 10th.
A heavy swell is setting into the harbor from the southwest. There has evidently been a strong southerly wind outside, although it has been blowing but lightly here. The ice has been breaking up through the day, and crack after crack is opening across the harbor. If it lasts twelve hours longer we will be liberated. It is a sort of crisis, and may be a dangerous one. The crashing of the ice is perfectly frightful. The schooner still holds fast in her cradle.
July 11th.
AFLOAT AGAIN! We have passed through a day of much excitement, and are yet not free from it. The seas continuing to roll in, more cracks opened across the harbor, until the swell at length reached the vessel. Late this afternoon, after more than thirty-six hours of suspense, the ice opened close beside us, and after a few minutes another split came diagonally across the vessel. This was what I had feared, and it was to prevent it that I had sawed across the harbor. The ice was, however, quickly loosened from the bows, but held by the stern, and the wrenches given the schooner by the first few movements made every timber of her fairly creak again; but finally the sawed crack came to the rescue, and, separating a little, the schooner gave a lurch to port, which loosened the ice from under the counter, and we were really afloat, but grinding most uncomfortably, and are grinding still.
