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ANCHORED AT LAST.

ON Wednesday, August seventeenth, the heralds of a storm from the South reached the brig. They made their announcement by hurling against her sides some heavy floe-pieces. Understanding this hint of what was coming, the explorers clung to their rocky breakwater by three heavy hawsers. Louder and louder roared the blast, and more fiercely crashed the ice which it hurled against the ledge. At midnight one of the cables, the smaller of the three, parted, and the storm seemed to shout its triumph at this success as it assailed the writhing vessel more vigorously. But the ledge broke the power in a measure of the wind and ice, and was, indeed, a godsend to the imperiled men, so they put it down on their chart as Godsend Ledge.

The next day the huge, human-faced walrus came quite near the brig in great numbers, shaking their grim, dripping fronts. The dovekies, more cheerful visitors, scud past toward the land. Both walrus and fowls proclaimed in their way the terribleness of the increasing tempest. The place of the broken hawser had been supplied, and the worried craft strained away at three strong lines which held on bravely. Everything on board was stowed away, or lashed securely, which could invite an assault by the wind.

Saturday, late in the afternoon, Dr. Kane, wet, and weary with watching, went below and threw himself for rest and warmth into his berth. Scarcely had he done this before a sharp, loud twang brought him to his feet. One of the six-inch hawsers had parted; its sound had scarcely been lost in the uproar before a sharp and shrill "twang! twang!" announced the snapping of the whale line. The brig now clung to the ledge by a single cable—a new ten-inch manilla line, which held on grandly. The mate came waddling down into the cabin as the doctor was drawing on his last article of clothing to go on deck. "Captain Kane," he exclaimed, "she wont hold much longer; it's blowing the devil himself."

All hands now gathered about the brave manilla line on which their fate seemed to depend. Its deep Eolian chant mingled solemnly with the rattle of the rigging and the moaning of the shrouds, and died away in the tumult of the conflicting wind and sea. The sailors were loud in its praises as they watched it with bated breath. It was singing its death song, for, with the noise of a shotted gun, and a wreath of smoke, it gave way, and out plunged the brig into the rushing current of the tempest-tossed ice.

Two hours of hard and skillful labor were bestowed on the vessel to get her back to the ledge; first by beating, or trying to do so, up into the wind; and then by warping along the edge of the solid floe, but all in vain. A light sail was then set, that they might keep command of the helm, and away they scud through a tortuous lead filled with heavy, broken ice.

At seven o'clock on Sunday morning the vessel was heading, under full way, upon huge masses of ice. The heaviest anchor was thrown out to stay her speed. But the ice-torrent so crowded upon the poor craft that a buoy was hastily fastened to the chain, and it was slipped, and away went "the best bower," the sailor's trusted friend in such dangers.

The vessel now went banging and scraping against the floes, one of which was forty feet thick, and many of which were thirty feet. These collisions smashed in her bulwarks, and covered her deck with icy fragments. Yet the plucky little brig returned to the conflict after every blow with only surface wounds.

These assaults failing to turn back or to destroy the little invading stranger, the arctic warriors now brought into the field their mightiest champions. Not far ahead, and apparently closing the lead, was a whole battalion of icebergs. It was an unequal light, and down upon them, with unwilling haste, came the "Advance." As it approached it was seen that a narrow line of clear water ran between the bergs and the solid, high wall of the floe. Into this the vessel shot, with the high wind directly after it. The sailors, caps in hand, were almost ready to send to the baffled enemy a shout of triumph, when the wind died away into a lull, which amounted, for a moment, to almost a dead calm. But on that moment the fate of the expedition appeared to hang. The enemy saw his opportunity and began to close up. There seemed no possible escape for the brig. On one side was the steep ice-wall of the floe, on which there could be no warping. On the other were the slowly but steadily advancing bergs in a compact line. Just in time, the anxious, waiting, and almost breathless crew, hailed their deliverer. It was a broad, low, platform-shaped berg, over which the water washed. It came sailing swiftly by, and into it they planted an ice-anchor attached to a tow line. Away galloped their crystal racer, outrunning the "pale horse" which followed them! So narrow became the channel between the bergs and floe e'er they reached the open water beyond, that the yards had to be "squared" to prevent them from being carried away, and the boats suspended over the sides were taken on deck to prevent them from being crushed. They came round under the lee of a great berg, making the enemy of a moment ago their protector now. Dr. Kane says: "Never did heart-tried men acknowledge with greater gratitude their merciful deliverance from a wretched death."

But the fight was not over. A sudden flaw puffed the "Advance" from its hiding-place, and drove it again into the drifting ice along the edge of the solid floe. Once she was lifted high in the air on the crest of a great wave, and, as it slipped from under her, she came down with tremendous force against the floe. The masts quivered like reeds in the wind, and the poor craft groaned like a struck bullock.

At last they reached a little pond of water near the shore. They had drifted since morning across Force Bay, ten miles. A berg, with pretended friendliness, came and anchored between the brig and the storm. The situation seemed to warrant a little rest, and the men went below and threw themselves into their bunks. Dr. Kane was yet on deck, distrusting the treacherous ice. Scarcely had the men begun to sleep before the vessel received a thump and a jerk upward. All hands were instantly on deck. Great ice-tables, twenty feet thick, crowding forward from the shore side with a force as from a sliding mountain, pressed the vessel against the shore front of the berg; had this been a perpendicular wall, no wood and iron wrought into a vessel could have prevented a general crash. But the unseen Hand was apparent again. The berg was sloping, and up its inclined plane the vessel went, in successive jerks. The men leaped upon the ice to await the result. Personal effects, such as could be carried and were deemed indispensable, were in readiness in the cabin for leave-taking. Sledge equipments and camping conveniences were put in order and placed at hand. The explorers had experienced a midnight assault, and were ready for the flight. But Dr. Kane bears warm testimony concerning the coolness and self-possession of every man. While awaiting the fate of the vessel, on which hung their own fate also, not a sound was heard save the roaring of the wind, the crashing ice, and the groaning of the vessel's timbers, as she received shock after shock, and mounted steadily up the ice-mountain. Having attained a cradle high and dry above the sea, the brig rested there several hours. Finally she quietly settled down into her old position among the ice rubbish of the sea.

When the escape was apparent, there was for a moment a deep-breathing silence among the men, before the rapturous outburst of joyful congratulation.

While this last thrilling incident had been transpiring, four of the men were missing. They had gone upon the ice some hours before to carry out a warp, and had been carried away on an ice-raft. When the morning came, and the vessel grounded in a safe place, a rescue party was sent out, who soon returned with them. A little rest was now obtained by all.