When a little more than half-way between the first and second of the Duck Islands we ran, at nearly full speed, upon a sunken rock not laid down on the charts—perhaps for the reason that nobody ever hit it before, but more probably, as it seemed, because of the disposition of our mate to allow no opportunity to be lost for sounding Baffin’s Bay with the keel of the _Panther_. We struck it first with the stem, and fortunately glanced off to port, thus easing the shock, and, by somewhat deadening the headway of the steamer, the better enabled us to take the rock again and get fast aground.
The shock was, I need hardly say, rather startling. The worst results were, not without reason, anticipated. The timber-heads were of course, as everybody supposed, started and glaring wide open; of course the ship had sprung a leak; of course we would have to take to our boats, and make our way as best we could to Tessuisak and Upernavik, and there meet the Danish ship, and reach home by way of Copenhagen, leaving the _Panther_ to go to pieces on the rocks. It was not a pleasant prospect, but there was no help for it. The artists were in a great stew about the “negatives.” Our special artist (the very lively young gentleman, much given to caricature, already mentioned, who, for short, bore the cheering name of “Blob”) was much alarmed for the safety of his numerous sketches. “The Professor” bemoaned the fate of his collection of specimens. But to every body’s great surprise, and to the utter destruction of every body’s well-laid plans of misfortune, a careful examination proved that no harm had been done whatever, except to the cabin furniture. The shock set our cups and plates shying about the deck in a very fragmentary state, and sent our cabin-boy, who was, as usual, asleep in the pantry, head foremost through the door, where he tripped up the steward, who was bringing in a pot of boiled mush, all of which the unhappy boy received on the abdominal region, and for the first, last, and only time during the cruise got thoroughly waked up.
It was none of our (that is to say, the passengers’) business whether the _Panther_ got off the rocks or not. That was the captain’s affair; and therefore, when we learned that no hole had been made in her bottom, we were eager to get ashore, and after the birds. “The Professor” was easy in his mind about the specimens; “Blob” was relieved about his caricatures, and the “negatives” were safe. What was to prevent us? Nothing but the settlement of the question of responsibility as to whose fault it was that we hit the rock. The mate said it wasn’t his. Oh no! who ever was at fault when any mischief was done? But the captain declared it was; and the mate, with equal zeal, repeated that it was not. But the second mate was against him, and every body else appeared to be; so he protested very loudly that it was no part of his duty to keep the run of all the rocks in Baffin’s Bay; which was rather hard upon the captain, who kept the charts, and, if there were any rocks lying around loose, should know about it.