It was eight in the evening when they once more moved forward on this final effort, and for nine hours they made fair progress, but then a change came, a strong wind sprang up against them and hurried the pack still faster away from shore. Presently the floes, forced by both wind and tide, began to move with alarming violence, wheeling and turning in a most perplexing way, so that the men over and over again crossed their own track. They were now sixteen hours on the march, and every hour the land looked more distant, but they still fought on, with every thought concentrated on hurrying on at full speed. If they had stopped to consider it, there was not at this time the faintest human possibility of reaching the land against the ice-drift. But their misfortunes had reached a climax; at one in the afternoon of the 11th the wind veered to the opposite direction, and came on to blow hard. The wheeling and tossing of the floes greatly increased, but the fatal drift was checked. Providence had given them this chance, and they one and all determined to make the most of it, so, redoubling every effort, they pushed on for the land. Some fell asleep as they pulled in the drag-belts, and when they reached the edge of the pack and launched their boat, others slept at the oars. But finally, at seven in the morning of the 12th of August, land was reached, and they flung themselves down on the beach at Cape Lieber after an unprecedented march of thirty-two consecutive hours. When they had rested at this point, they had but to cross Lady Franklin Strait to reach the ships. The distance was about twelve miles, and the floes comparatively stationary. One march brought them more than half-way over, and just as they began the second, shouts and cheers coming to them across the ice heralded the arrival of a strong party from the “Alert.” They had been seen by our look-outs, and were all soon on board, and never were guests more welcome. Next day, 15th August, they reached their own ship, after an absence of no less than 130 days.