Sunday 21st.—When I went on deck the next morning about eight, I found the weather very thick, with heavy rain. Our position seemed to me but little improved from that of the past night, for numerous “bergs” of every size and shape appeared to obstruct our path. A fresh breeze was blowing from the S.E., and our ship was bounding nimbly to it in water as smooth as a mill-pond. But no sooner did she get to the end of her course one way, than she had to retrace her steps and try it another. We seemed completely hemmed in on every side by heavy packed ice, rough uneven hummocks, or a complete fleet of enormous bergs. Like a frightened hare did the poor thing seem to fly, here, there, and everywhere, vainly striving to escape from the apparent trap she had got into. It was a strange and novel sight. I could hardly realise it. It seemed as though I were merely witnessing the representation of it, and was, myself, free from sharing in any of its undoubted danger. For three or four hours,—indeed ever since we had entered this basin of water, we had been vainly striving to find some passage out of it, in as near a direction as possible to our proper course; but neither this way, nor any other way, nor even that in which we had entered (for the passage had again suddenly closed), could we find one.