As it grew dark on the night of the 9th September, Cape Isabella, at the western side of the entrance of Smith’s Sound, came into view. We knew that this was one of the points where letters might perhaps have been deposited for us, and the ships were hove-to under the wild, steep rocks, while a boat was called away to search the depôt. It soon left the ship, and disappeared in the dusk. Fearing disappointment, we tried to persuade ourselves that there was really very little chance of letters being left at this particular spot. After a while the boat reappeared. We could scarcely dare to hope, but in a few minutes bundles of letters and newspapers were being eagerly distributed. The gallant little “Pandora” had been working hard for us, and Captain Allen Young had thoroughly carried out the kindly service volunteered by him. With news but four months old on board, and only Melville Bay and the Atlantic between us and home, we felt that the Expedition was practically concluded. Melville Bay had been so rarely visited at this late season of the year that hardly anything was known about it. To our surprise we found it altogether free from pack-ice, a rolling sea of comparatively warm water, very green in colour, and swarming with microscopic animal life. Our coal at last came to an end, and for fourteen days strong head-winds baffled us; day after day the two ships beat about in fog and storm, through fleets of icebergs that would have made us very uncomfortable if we had not learnt implicit confidence in our officers of the watches. Finally the weather moderated, and we reached Disco on 25th September. Every Eskimo that came on board looked like an old friend. We were most kindly received by all the inhabitants, from the Danish Inspector, who shared his small stock of coal with us, to the young urchins that kept us supplied with delicious fresh fish. Poor people! they were more in need of help from us than we were from them. The season had been a bad one, and scurvy was very prevalent both at Disco and Egedesminde. Even the little children looked miserably withered and weak, and we were glad to have some little remains of our mess stock to serve out amongst them. At Disco we bade good-bye to our two trusty dog-drivers, Hans and Fred, and on 2nd October the Expedition set sail for England. The voyage home was one succession of gales; the Flying Dutchman himself could hardly have experienced worse weather. The ships soon lost sight of each other, and to complicate matters the “Alert’s” rudder, which had never been strong since its last crush in the ice, gave way completely, and left her to make for the nearest port as best she could. On the 27th October she reached Valentia, and two days afterwards her consort, the “Discovery,” anchored in Bantry Bay. [Illustration: DEVICE ON DELF-WARE OF THE EXPEDITION.]