Meanwhile Jackson and his companions, having been foiled in their attempt to penetrate far to the north, turned their attention to the vast tract of undiscovered country which lay to the west of them, and they spent the rest of the summer in exploring and mapping out Alexandra Land as far as Cape Mary Harmsworth. Two serious losses befell them during their second winter at Cape Flora, in that one of their ponies was found hanged in its stable one morning, while another fell sick and died. Otherwise, however, the winter months passed without incident. The spring was spent in another trip north along the shores of British Channel, during the course of which Jackson and his companions added islands and capes innumerable to the map of Franz Josef Land. Their discoveries, however, though of great geographic value, need not be recorded at length here, and it was not until June 17 that an event occurred of which we must give any detailed account. We leave Mr Jackson to tell the story in his own words. [Illustration: THE MEETING BETWEEN JACKSON AND NANSEN] “Just after dinner,” he writes, “Armitage came rushing down to tell me that through his field-glass he could see a man on the floe to the S.S.E. of Cape Flora, about four miles off. I could hardly believe it; such a thing seemed utterly impossible, and thought he had mistaken a walrus on the ice for a man, but having got a glass I could see he was correct. I could also make out somewhat indistinctly a staff or mast, with another man apparently standing near it close to the water’s edge. It occurred then to me that it might be one of my own men, although they had all been at dinner a few minutes before, but I, however, found that all were present. I got a gun with all speed, and firing off a shot on the bank to endeavour to arrest the stranger’s attention, I started off to meet him coming across the ice.... On our approaching each other, about three miles distant from the land, I saw a tall man on ski with roughly-made clothes and an old felt hat on his head. He was covered with oil and grease, and black from head to foot. I at once concluded from his wearing ski that he was no English sailor, but that he must be a man from some Norwegian walrus sloop who had come to grief and wintered somewhere on Franz Josef Land in very rough circumstances. His hair was very long and dirty, his complexion appeared to be fair, but dirt prevented me from being sure on this point, and his beard was straggly and dirty also. We shook hands heartily, and I expressed the greatest pleasure at seeing him. I inquired if he had a ship. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘my ship is not here’—rather sadly I thought—and then he remarked, in reply to my question, that he had only one companion, who was at the floe edge. It then struck me that his features, in spite of the black grease and long hair and beard, resembled Nansen, whom I had met once in London before he started in 1893, and I exclaimed:— “‘Aren’t you Nansen?’