Records of our advance were to be deposited at Lyttelton Island, for the information of a relief ship which would so far follow us if the Expedition should remain northward for two winters. Accordingly, on the morning of 28th July, our ships anchored off Reindeer Point, Port Foulke. Here we were on ground that must always possess a deep interest for every Arctic traveller. The southern side of our little bay shut in the winter quarters from which Dr. Hayes had brought his ship safely home; out to seaward Lyttelton Island was strewn with remains of the “Polaris;” and Rensselaer Harbour, famed as the winter quarters of Dr. Kane, was but thirty miles to the northward. A path, still plainly discernible, led across a gap in the Doige range to the deserted Eskimo settlement of Etah; and if any further inducement was required to make the shore attractive, it was supplied by a little note on our chart, “reindeer plentiful.” Our time for exploration was limited, for the ships would weigh anchor on the return of the main party from Lyttelton Island. Leaving the ship as soon as possible after breakfast, we landed amongst fragments of shore ice which still lined the little bay, and travelled inland up a valley completely bare of snow, and green with saxifrage, willow, and grasses. A rivulet trickled through some marshy ground in its centre, amongst treacherous islands of rich-coloured velvety moss, and occasional broad ripple-marked slabs of red sandstone. The whole ground was covered with footprints of reindeer, but a gentle wind blew up the valley, and left little hope of sighting them. Climbing the hills to the northward to obtain a better view, a broad undulating table-land lay spread out before us, ridges of plutonic rock, like low walls, traversed the country from east to west, and here and there marshy pools, some of them almost deserving the name of lakes, lay in the hollows, and sent little streams winding towards gaps in the coast cliffs. Beyond and below the cliffs lay Smith’s Sound, an unbroken expanse of blue, limited westward by snow-clad Ellesmere Land between Capes Isabella and distant Sabine. The strait was, so far, quite open and unencumbered by ice, but away to the northward, where Hayes’ Sound interrupted the outline of the coast, a long thin line of pack, the first indication of coming troubles, streaked the horizon. This was bad news to have to report on our return to the ship, but there was no help for it. We turned our backs on it, and struck out inland across the muddy flats in the direction of Foulke Fiord. The Doige Range looked near enough, but an hour’s hard walking did not bring it much nearer. Two steep ravines had to be crossed, as well as a stream, which fortunately was in one place bridged by a deep snowdrift that afforded firm footing across. At length the precipitous cliffs of Foulke Fiord were reached at a point close above the deserted settlement of Etah. Looking down into the fiord, large