After an uncomfortable night, with the mercury at 45° below zero, they left camp and followed the old trail, as on the previous day, jolting along with little difficulty in the rubble-ice, the dogs doing admirably, bracing themselves to the effort at bad places, like so many men. They reached Depot B at 2.50 P. M., and pitched the tents, this making the tenth time that Lockwood had crossed the straits above Fort Conger. The traveling was tedious and slow, but they reached Depot A at noon, stopping only half an hour, and arrived at Fort Conger in the afternoon. Everything there was quiet as the grave. “General Grant” was the only one, man or beast, that knew of their approach and came out to meet them. Even when they passed the windows and reached the door, no one saw or heard them, and Lockwood walked in on Lieutenant Greely like a ghost, and simply said: “Well, I’m back again; open water at Black Horn Cliffs.” Some of his further reflections were to this effect: “Do I take up my pen to write the humiliating word _failed_? I do, and bitter is the dose, although it is now a week since first I tasted it. My return here, the inaction after two and a half weeks of activity, and the monotony, not to mention the disappointment of Lieutenant Greely, make it fresh as when first mixed. I tried yesterday and to-day to induce Lieutenant Greely to let me go out again, but he says this is our last year here, that I still have last year’s work to fall back on, and, above all, that it is not _prudent_. I have a scheme by which I could travel four days beyond the farthest of ’82, and get back here in forty-four days, leaving April 21st and returning June 3d—that is, provided an overland route around the Black Horn Cliffs can be found, and provided the conditions beyond are no worse than last year. My proposal was to take the two teams, the two Esquimaux and Brainard, five sacks of pemmican, one tent, two sleeping-bags, etc., and forty-four days’ rations for the party. The five sacks would last the dogs twenty-three days, after which about eight dogs of the twenty would be killed one by one, and thus the remainder fed on the return. We should have to make long marches, it is true. Perhaps the refusal is for the best, and I still have the country southwest of the head of Archer Fiord to operate in; but I am reluctant to give up this scheme for passing 83° 24′.” Everything at the station was very quiet, and much as when they left, except that a party had been sent for the boat at Thank-God Harbor. XV. ACROSS GRINNELL LAND.