When the immense iceberg commences to tumble to pieces and change its position in the water, the sight is really grand—perhaps one that can vie with an earthquake. Masses inconceivably great, four times the size of St. Paul's Cathedral or Westminster Abbey, are submerged in the still blue water to appear again at the surface, rolling and heaving gigantically in the swelling waves. Volumes of spray rise like clouds of white vapor into the air all around, and shut out the beholder from a scene too sacred tor eyes not immortal. The sound that is emitted is not second to terrific peals of thunder, or the discharge of whole parks of artillery. The sea, smooth and tranquil, is aroused, and oscillations travel ten or twelve miles in every direction ; and if iceshould cover its surfacein one entire sheet, it becomes broken up into detached pieces, in the same manner as if the swell of- an extensive sea or ocean had reached it, and before a quiescent state is assumed probably two or three large icebergs occupy its place,the tops of some of which may be at an elevation of upwards of two hundred feet, having, in the course of the revolution, turned up the blue mud from the bottom, at a depth of two or three hundred fathoms.
This article was originally published with the title "Breaking up of an Iceberg"