On the 2d of February, Rice and Jans started to test the passage of the straits, hoping to reach Littleton Island, where they expected to find some provisions or a relief-ship. But, alas! they were stopped by open water, and not successful, though they traveled about fifty miles up and down the floes, and were absent four days. Owing to the bad weather, they did not even get a glimpse of the coast of Greenland. All were greatly disappointed, and some felt that death from starvation was staring them in the face; and yet they found some relief in the increased light preceding the reappearance of the sun. Lockwood, who now became despondent and apathetic, endeavored to peer into the future, and wondered whether his bones were really to be left in the Arctic regions. He mourned over the fact that he had not been as good a son and as kind a brother as he might have been, and hoped that the dear ones at home would remember him as he wished to be, and not as he had been. As to the end, he hoped it would come soon, whatever it might be; and he declared himself possessed by a feeling of indifference to hunger, cold, and gloom, “all of them enemies of existence.” After mourning over the approaching fate of Ellison, he recorded these touching words: “How often I think of the dear ones at home, the Sunday evening reunions, and all the bright and happy pictures that present themselves! My dear, good old father! may he look with charity on my many short-comings! My dear mother and sisters and Harry, brothers-in-law, and nieces! I trust that they are well and happy, and, if I do not pull through this, will learn to look on my memory kindly!” An allusion that he now made to his companions in suffering was to this effect: “The party presents a bold front, and is not wanting in spirit. If our fate is the worst, I do not think we shall disgrace the name of Americans and of soldiers.” The attempt of Rice to cross the straits to Littleton Island was heroic in the extreme, and his pluck was further exemplified by a proposition that he submitted to Greely to make a second effort to cross the straits, and that, too, unattended by any companion; but the idea was not sanctioned. On the 22d of February, strange to say, a raven made its appearance in the vicinity of the Arctic camp, but was not killed, although it might have been enjoyed at the forthcoming dinner. It must have been a great relief to some of the party that it disappeared without uttering its dreadful cry, “_Nevermore!_” as translated by the poet, Poe. On the 27th, not knowing what might happen to him, Lockwood wrote the following in his journal: “The chronometer in my pocket is the one used on the trip to 83° 24´ and on all my trips in this region. My intention is to buy it, but, in case I do not get back, I would have it purchased and kept in the family.”