in Barrow’s Straits till the 12th of November; and then froze up, without anchoring, off Cape Cockburn, perhaps one hundred and forty miles from their harbor of the last winter.  The log-book of that winter is a curious record; the ingenuity of the officer in charge was well tasked to make one day differ from another.  Each day has the first entry for “ship’s position” thus:  “In the floe off Cape Cockburn.”  And the blank for the second entry, thus:  “In the same position.”  Lectures, theatricals, schools, &c., whiled away the time; but there could be no autumn travelling parties, and not much hope for discovery in the summer.

Spring came.  The captain went over ice in his little dog-sled to Beechey Island, and received his directions to abandon his ships.  It appears that he would rather have sent most of his men forward, and with a small crew brought the “Resolute” home that autumn or the next.  But Sir Edward Belcher considered his orders peremptory “that the safety of the crews must preclude any idea of extricating the ships.”  Both ships were to be abandoned.  Two distant travelling parties were away, one at the “Investigator,” one looking for traces of Collinson, which they found.  Word was left for them, at a proper point, not to seek the ship again, but to come on to Beechey Island.  And at last, having fitted the “Intrepid’s” engines so that she could be under steam in two hours, having stored both ships with equal proportions of provisions, and made both vessels “ready for occupation,” the captain calked down the hatches, and with all the crew he had not sent on before,—­forty-two persons in all,—­left her Monday, the 15th of May, 1854, and started with the sledges for Beechey Island.

Poor old “Resolute”!  All this gay company is gone who have made her sides split with their laughter.  Here is Harlequin’s dress, lying in one of the wardrooms, but there is nobody to dance Harlequin’s dances.  “Here is a lovely clear day,—­surely to-day they will come on deck and take a meridian!” No, nobody comes.  The sun grows hot on the decks; but it is all one, nobody looks at the thermometer!  “And so the poor ship was left all alone.”  Such gay times she has had with all these brave young men on board!  Such merry winters, such a lightsome summer!  So much fun, so much nonsense!  So much science and wisdom, and now it is all so still!  Is the poor “Resolute” conscious of the change?  Does she miss the races on the ice, the scientific lecture every Tuesday, the occasional racket and bustle of the theatre, and the worship of every Sunday?  Has not she shared the hope of Captain Kellett, of McClure, and of the crew, that she may break out well! She sees the last sledge leave her.  The captain drives off his six dogs,—­vanishes over the ice, and they are all gone “Will they not come back again?” says the poor ship.  And she looks wistfully across the ice to her little friend the steam tender “Intrepid,” and she sees there is no one there.  “Intrepid!