_March 25th._—This morning I discarded the light deerskin coat in which I had travelled thus far for an old but dry one. The former was simply sodden while I had it on, froze solid as soon as I took it off and it had to be thawed out in the morning with the warmth of my hands. Last night was a little more comfortable than the previous one, but not much. I got the bubble out of the thermometer and when I took it outside the igloo it fell so rapidly from minus 25° F. (the temperature of our bed platform where it had been resting close to my head) that at first I feared it was broken. It finally stopped at minus 61½° F. During the march it has ranged from minus 55 and minus 53 to _minus 50 in the sun_, and yet to-day has been the most comfortable one for the past week (my Eskimos corroborate this). Am sorry now I did not put the thermometer in commission sooner. We must have had some record temperatures. A dog abandoned by one of the parties ahead and which I picked up yesterday, fed last night and tied in the other igloo so the wind would not reach him, pricked up his hitherto dejected ears at my appearance and after he had eaten another piece of pemmican lay down and rolled on his back like any civilised dog. He is utterly useless, poor thing, but has worked faithfully, no doubt, and as I have pemmican to spare just now he shall not starve yet. To-day he has kept on in one of the teams and his hitherto hopeless eyes brighten, I fancy, when he looks at me. Quite a bit of young ice in to-day’s march and several magnificent old floes with hummocks on them like ranges of hills. The sun is rapidly creeping around to complete the entire circle, and at noon I fancy there is a slight sensation of warmth in his rays. To-day has been quite hazy or smoky like the days immediately after we left the land which I do not like, as this means cracks or leads in the ice. But the weather we are having is just the thing, cold and calm, to cement the ice firmer and firmer, and quickly render any new cracks or leads passable. I hope it may continue so till we get back to the land; the colder and the calmer the better. I want no wind or mild weather until we are back on board ship. _March 26th._—A glorious day, and a splendid march, over the finest going and then—bang up against it, as I have been fearing all along. I have been dreaming too much these last few days, for which there could be of course, but one result, a black eye to my hopes of speedy success. Early in the morning heard the welcome sound of grinding ice and turning out found the lead, beside which we had camped, had narrowed enough to eliminate the unsafe ice. We were soon packed and over, following the Captain’s new trail, which gradually swung westward until it cut Henson’s trail beyond his igloo. (The thermometer had registered –60° F. during the night, and stood at –52° F. when I took it up.)