Thursday, August 5. Sea calm, atmosphere hazy, but the wind has turned at last slightly offshore and the sun penetrates through the mists, until it conquers and shines, warm and bright if not wholly clear, once more. Ice visible only on the horizon. At 7.15 we start on another effort to reach Barrow. Pass Wainwright, and all is well until after lunch, when fog (though fortunately not thick) develops and the floes increase until they are as thick as at the first attempt in this same region. Heavy bumps and strains follow one another and the boat must often go very slow or even stop altogether. Sometimes the heavy ship just staggers from the impact, but the floes are generally broken by the shock and swirl away out of our way, or scraping the ship pass to the rear. All aboard show new interest and energy. The forced stops and inaction were dulling even to the crew. File a wireless to be sent from Barrow. It will reach Washington to-morrow after we shall have started on the return journey. Two dogs on board fight fiercely. An officer, the owner of one, trying to separate them is bitten by his own through a finger. A marine, in swinging the heavy lead with which they are constantly sounding the depth, gets the cord caught about his hand and suffers a bad sprain with fracture. The captain's little black cat, Peter, helps to entertain us by his antics. No wonder sailors in their often monotonous existence like all sorts of mascots. Friday, August 6. Of course our dates got mixed, and more than one has to consult the calendar and count. The _Bear_ had to turn back once more last night; ice too heavy. Anchored, however, not far to south. This morning very cloudy, rainy, chilly, but wind from near to east, and so from about 6 a. m. we are once more laboriously on our way. Now and then a bump, heave, stagger, then again the screw resumes its cheerful song. We are passing through the most dangerous part of all the coast here where many vessels have been lost, sometimes whole small fleets of whalers. But very few come here now--we have seen but one since leaving Kotzebue. They call this stretch "the boat graveyard." Saturday, August 7. Stalled, about 30 miles from Barrow. Anchored in the protection of a great grounded flat, in a clear pond of water, with ice all around it, but especially seaward, where the pack seems solid. Some open water reported beyond it, but wind (wild) keeps from the wrong quarter and the captain will make no further attempt until conditions change. Of course it is cloudy again and has rained some during the night and morning, but the temperature is somewhat higher, so that one does not need an overcoat and gloves, although the officers wear their sheep-lined short coats which are nice and warm.