The Bitter Blast,
However, Gave Us Good Speed; Our Bedraggled Canoe Rose And Fell On
The Waves As Solemnly As A Big Ship.
Our course was northwestward, up
the southwest side of the bay, near the shore of what seemed to be
the mainland, smooth marble islands being on our right.
About noon we
discovered the first of the great glaciers, the one I afterward named
for James Geikie, the noted Scotch geologist. Its lofty blue cliffs,
looming through the draggled skirts of the clouds, gave a tremendous
impression of savage power, while the roar of the newborn icebergs
thickened and emphasized the general roar of the storm. An hour and a
half beyond the Geikie Glacier we ran into a slight harbor where the
shore is low, dragged the canoe beyond the reach of drifting
icebergs, and, much against my desire to push ahead, encamped, the
guide insisting that the big ice-mountain at the head of the bay
could not be reached before dark, that the landing there was
dangerous even in daylight, and that this was the only safe harbor on
the way to it. While camp was being made. I strolled along the shore
to examine the rocks and the fossil timber that abounds here. All the
rocks are freshly glaciated, even below the sea-level, nor have the
waves as yet worn off the surface polish, much less the heavy
scratches and grooves and lines of glacial contour.
The next day being Sunday, the minister wished to stay in camp; and
so, on account of the weather, did the Indians.
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