This they attempted to do, but, on reaching Dutch Island, had to give it up, as the entire harbor, bay, and straits were full of drifting ice, many of the floes standing five feet out of water. The launch having been left at anchor near the island, the next morning Lieutenant Greely ordered all hands down to the island to rescue her from impending peril. They found her very much careened and half full of water. She had been anchored in shoal water, and, heeling over at ebb-tide, had filled at the next flood. Fortunately, no harm was done to the boat, which might yet prove to be their salvation, and should be got into safe winter quarters, as that season was evidently already setting in. It was after this boat excitement that Lockwood indulged in these reflections: “I find myself constantly reading over old letters brought with me and received at St. John’s, though read before again and again. The effect is depressing, bringing too strongly into view home and the dear ones there. I am oppressed with _ennui_ and low spirits, and can’t shake off this feeling, partly induced by the cruel disappointment of _no ship_.” Subsequently he wrote, “Have been reading of Kane and his travels. He is my _beau idéal_ of an Arctic traveler. How pitiful that so bold a spirit was incased in so feeble a frame! Why is Nature inconsistent? In the Arctic his health seems to have been fair. He of all his advance party escaped the scurvy. It was his spirit, doubtless, that kept him up. Hayes does not compare with him. Though beautifully written, there is an air of exaggeration about Hayes’ book, which destroys its interest. Doctor Pavy, who has hitherto been the advocate of Hayes, since his return from Carl Ritter Bay seems to have changed his mind about him, and now agrees with Greely and me that Hayes never reached Cape Lieber. To have done so, he must have performed in part of his journey ninety-six miles in fourteen hours—an impossibility. “The life we are now leading is somewhat similar to that of a prisoner in the Bastile: no amusements, no recreations, no event to break the monotony or dispel _ennui_. I take a long walk every day along shore to North Valley with that view, study French a little, or do some tailoring, now doubly necessary, as our supply of clothing is getting low. Our stock of reading matter, unfortunately, is limited except in Arctic books. One must live up here within himself, and is unfortunate if dependent on others for happiness. The others are as moody as I am—Greely sometimes, Kislingbury always, and as to the doctor, to say he is not congenial is to put it in a very mild way indeed. But why not study? Well, the atmosphere is not conducive to it. I must go on another sledge-journey to dispel this gloom. Lieutenant Greely was thinking of sending me to Lake Hazen to continue his explorations, but thinks the snow too deep. I will make a trip to the Bellows, and follow up the cañon at its head.