On the 5th of August Walton writes to his sister. He may well reach home before this letter reaches her. Even so, something so strange has happened that he cannot keep from recording it.
Five days earlier, on Monday the 31st of July, the ship was hemmed in by ice pressing from every side. There was barely water enough for her to float, and a thick fog made it more dangerous still. They lay to, hoping the weather would change.
Around two in the afternoon the fog lifts. Vast, broken plains of ice stretch away in every direction with no end in sight. Some of the men groaned, and Walton’s own mind grew tense with worry.