After leaving the cache we travelled for four hours more. The snow was nearly all gone from the ice here now, and two or three days more of warm weather would remove it entirely. The effect of the fall in temperature was very perceptible in the lowering of the water level in all the smaller pools. The sun shone at intervals during the march but could not make up its mind to clear, and wind, directly in our faces, continued. It was a great comfort to start the next morning with dry foot-gear, even though it did not stay dry long. Quite decent travelling most of the day though we had a few hours of heavy work. There were plenty of lakes and streams all about us, but keeping along the crack saved us. Anywhere else was nearly if not quite impracticable. The bulk of the snow had already melted, and the streams were falling, but of course many of the lakes would remain till they froze the next fall. The sun shone at intervals alternating with dense fog and snow squalls. The wind was fresh while we slept, and through the greater part of the march, but died away, about as we camped, and it became dead calm and foggy. We camped on the outer swell of the great glacier forming Aldrich’s last “low-sloping spit.” The more level ice-foot extending from the base of this swell to the ragged sea ice, ten to twelve miles distant, was covered with lakes and rivers. For a half hour or so, I had some striking views of the magnificent peaks from Cape Alfred Ernest westward. Again I quote from my Journal: _Yelverton Bay, July 10th._—Out of my new domain, and back into the known world again. It was calm while we slept at the last camp, and the sun was warm enough through the fog and clouds, to still further dry our clothing and gear. Got an earlier start than usual and had good going, and decent weather (calm and overcast) until 9 A. M. when we struck the river from a glacier at the head of the bay, and after deflecting for two miles along its swampy banks, were obliged to ford it, one hundred yards wide, knee deep, and running with a current that threatened to sweep us and the dogs and sledges away. Then the thick fog making it impossible to pick a course through the lakes and rivers, I camped. Our tent here, as at the last camp was in a slushy swamp, a small spot being made a little firmer by tamping the snow first with the snowshoes, and then with our feet. Two fine snow-capped mountains back of Alert Point are deserving of a name. _Off Milne Bay, July 11th._—Another day of watery hell, beating out in fog and driving snow, through the devil-inspired labyrinth of lakes and rivers set in a morass of knee-deep slush which fills this bay. Nine and one-half hours of uninterrupted travel brought us out to the series of “rafters” which form the line of demarcation between the edge of the bay-ice and the pack. Here the roar of some river or lake which was pouring through a crack to the sea, filled our ears.