The sails are all bent on, the hawsers are brought on board, our depot ashore is completed, and we are ready for any fortune. If blown with the ice out to sea, we are fully prepared. Upon the hill-top of the north side of the harbor we have constructed a cairn, and under it I have deposited a brief record of the voyage. The Observatory I leave standing, and Kalutunah engages that the Esquimaux will not disturb it during my absence. All of them who have been here are so amply enriched that I think I ought to rely upon their good faith; yet the wood will be valuable to them, and these poor savages are not the only people who find it hard to resist temptation. July 9th. I have paid another visit to Chester Valley, and have had adieu to "Brother John." If the latter continues to grow until I come again, the stakes which I have stuck into its back will show some useful results. The valley was clothed in the full robes of summer. The green slopes were sparkling with flowers, and the ice had wholly disappeared from Alida Lake. Jensen shot some birds and tried hard to catch a deer, and while thus engaged I secured a yellow-winged butterfly, and--who would believe it?--a mosquito. And these I add to an entymological collection which already numbers ten moths, three spiders, two humble-bees, and two flies,--a pretty good proportion of the genus _Insecta_ for this latitude, 78° 17′ N., longitude 73° W. July 10th. A heavy swell is setting into the harbor from the southwest. There has evidently been a strong southerly wind outside, although it has been blowing but lightly here. The ice has been breaking up through the day, and crack after crack is opening across the harbor. If it lasts twelve hours longer we will be liberated. It is a sort of crisis, and may be a dangerous one. The crashing of the ice is perfectly frightful. The schooner still holds fast in her cradle. July 11th. [Sidenote: AFLOAT AGAIN!]