November twenty-seventh the commander sent out a volunteer party under Bonsall to see if the Esquimo had returned to the huts which had been seen in the fall. The darkness at noonday was too great for reading, and the cold was terrible. The party returned after one night's encamping, the sledge having broken, and the tent and luggage being left behind. A few days after Morton started alone to recover the lost articles. In two days and a half he returned bringing every thing. He tramped in that time, with the cold forty degrees below zero, sixty-two miles, making only three halts. The darkness during the time was such that a hummock of ice fifty paces ahead could hardly be seen. The effect of the darkness on the dogs was very marked, but so long as there was any sledging for them to do their spirits kept up. One of the Newfoundlands, named Grim, was a character. He was noted for a profound appreciation of his dinner, of which he never had enough, for a disrelish for work, and a remarkable knowledge of the arts of hypocrisy. His cunning fawning, and the beseeching wink of his eye, procured for him warm quarters in the deck-house, and a bed on the captain's fur coat, while his fellows had to be content with their kennel. Though Grim thus proved his knowledge of the best place at the dog-table, and the best bits it afforded, as well as the best place to sleep, he never could understand a call to the sledge-harness. He always happened at such times to be out of the way. Once, when the dog-team was about to start, he was found hid in a barrel, and was bid join the party. But Grim was equal to the occasion. He went limping across the deck, as much as to say, Would you have a poor lame dog go? The joke was so cute that he was allowed to remain at home, and after that he became suddenly lame as soon as a movement toward the sledges was made. Grim thus attained the usual success of shallow-brained, flattering hypocrisy--many favors and universal contempt. His end, too, was very befitting his life. His master, thinking he was becoming too fat in his lazy dignity, commanded him to join a sledge party. Grown presumptuous by indulgence, he refused, and showed his teeth, besides pleading lameness. But the order was peremptory this time, and a rope was put round his body and attached to the sledge, and he was made to trot after his faithful fellows. At the first halt he contrived to break the rope, and, carrying a few feet of it dragging after him, started in the darkness for the ship. Not having come home when the party returned, search was made for him with lanterns, as it was thought the rope might have caught and detained him in the hummock. His tracks were found not far from the vessel, and then they led away to the shore. Old Grim was never seen again.