Fortunately none of the pieces of ice struck us; though Wade and Raed, who were a little behind, were well bespattered.

We hurried down to the boat, greatly to the relief of Weymouth, who expected we had "got blown up." [Raed begs me to add that he hopes the reader will be able to suggest a better explanation of this singular phenomenon than the one that has occurred to him.] Jumping to the boat, we pulled round to "The Curlew." The sailors were watching for us, with a touch of anxiety on their rough, honest faces.
"Throw us a line!" shouted Capt.

Mazard; "and bear a hand at those pike-poles to shove her off.

We'll get clear of this iceberg as quick as we can.

Something the matter with its insides: liable to bust, I'm afraid." Catching the line, we bent to the oars, and, with the help of the men with the poles tugged the schooner off, and gradually towed her to a distance of three or four hundred yards from the berg.