To-night there was so much floating ice all about, that the swell was almost entirely broken, and the schooner lay as quiet as if in a country lake.

A watch was set, and we turned in again.
Breakfast at six.

Fog thick and flat on the ice.

The breeze in the night, blowing against the schooner, had turned the ice-field completely round.

Occasionally a cake of ice would bump up against us.
We could hear them grinding together all about; yet the wind was light, otherwise we might have had heavier thumps.