We were not, however, permitted to come to any conclusions of our own as to what course we should pursue, for the most furious gale that it has ever been my fortune to encounter broke suddenly upon us, and left us no alternative but to seek shelter under the coast. Our position was now one of great danger. The heavy pack which we had passed the night previous lay to leeward of us, and was even visible from the mast-head, thus shutting off retreat in that direction, even should our necessities give us no choice but to run before the wind.
The entries of my diary will perhaps best exhibit the ineffectual struggle which followed:--
Blowing frightfully. We have run in under the coast, and are partly sheltered by it, and trying hard to find an anchorage. But for the protection of the land we could not show a stitch of canvas. We are about three miles from Sutherland Island, which lies close to Cape Alexander, on its south side, but we have ceased to gain any thing upon it. We can carry so little sail that the schooner will not work to windward; besides, here under the coast, the wind comes only in squalls. If we can only get in between the island and the mainland we shall be all right. I have not been in bed since the day before leaving Tessuissak, and during these six days I have snatched only now and then a little sleep. If our anchor once gets a clutch on the bottom I shall make up for lost time.
I ought to have been more cautious, and sought shelter sooner. A heavy white cloud hanging over Cape Alexander (Jensen calls it a "table-cloth") warned me of the approaching gale, but then I did not think it would come upon us with such fury.
It is a perfect hurricane. My chief fear is that we will be driven out to sea, which is everywhere filled with heavy ice.
There has been a dead calm under the coast for an hour. The "table-cloth" has lifted from the cape, and there is a decided change in the northern sky. The light windy clouds are disappearing, and stratus clouds are taking their place. The neck of the gale appears to be broken.
My calculations of the morning were quite wrong. The gale howls more furiously than ever. We are lying off Cape Saumarez, about two miles from shore. Failing to reach Sutherland Island, we were forced to run down the coast with the hope of finding shelter in the deep bay below; but the wind, sweeping round the cape, drove us back, and we are now trying to crawl in shore and get an anchor down in a little cove near by, and there repair our torn sails. We are a very uncomfortable party. The spray flies over the vessel, sheathing her in ice. Long icicles hang from the rigging and the bulwarks. The bob-stays and other head-gear are the thickness of a man's body; and, most unseamanlike procedure, we have to throw ashes on the deck to get about.