When Sunshine Is Sifting Through The Midst Of The Multitude Of
Icebergs That Fill The Fiord And Through The Jets
Of radiant spray
ever rising from the tremendous dashing and splashing of the falling
and upspringing bergs, the effect is
Indescribably glorious.
Glorious, too, are the shows they make in the night when the moon and
stars are shining. The berg-thunder seems far louder than by day, and
the projecting buttresses seem higher as they stand forward in the
pale light, relieved by gloomy hollows, while the new-born bergs are
dimly seen, crowned with faint lunar rainbows in the up-dashing
spray. But it is in the darkest nights when storms are blowing and
the waves are phosphorescent that the most impressive displays are
made. Then the long range of ice-bluffs is plainly seen stretching
through the gloom in weird, unearthly splendor, luminous wave foam
dashing against every bluff and drifting berg; and ever and anon amid
all this wild auroral splendor some huge new-born berg dashes the
living water into yet brighter foam, and the streaming torrents
pouring from its sides are worn as robes of light, while they roar in
awful accord with the winds and waves, deep calling unto deep,
glacier to glacier, from fiord to fiord over all the wonderful bay.
After spending a few days here, we struck across to the main Hoona
village on the south side of Icy Strait, thence by a long cut-off
with one short portage to Chatham Strait, and thence down through
Peril Strait, sailing all night, hoping to catch the mail steamer at
Sitka.
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