March 17.--The storm is still raging; the sky, and even the snow seems black under the inky gloom. The temperature has risen nearly twenty degrees in twenty-four hours, which is a very remarkable phenomenon for the antarctic. The sky in the north-north-east is almost constantly black, indicating what we believe to be open water in that direction. From the ease with which the swell comes in under the pack, and the frequent zones of water-sky, we estimate that we are within fifty miles of the open ice-free ocean; but to reach it is at present impossible. The Commandant and the captain still entertain hopes of getting out, and if our engines were stronger and our efforts to gain freedom were more prolonged we might. The majority, however, are now resigned to the fate of a year on a field of drifting ice, though Gerlache still talks of going to Buenos Aires, and Lecointe discusses a long list of needful things which he wishes to purchase for the next campaign. The days are growing rapidly shorter and the nights, only too noticeably longer. The nights have not now that white glow which they had a few weeks ago. It is this discouraging veil of blackness, falling over the sparkling whiteness of earlier nights, which sends a vein of despair running through our souls. March 18.--The storm persists with its hellish howl, but the wind is veering easterly. The temperature remains near zero and this, with the saturation of the atmosphere and almost continuous fall of snow, makes everything about wet and slushy. The decks are covered with a mixture of wet snow and soot and heterogeneous masses of wood. The surface of the pack is wet and the snow on it is soaked with water. We cannot travel on it without snowshoes, and we cannot use snowshoes because the snow adheres to the wood. We must in consequence remain on board in our cabins and listen to the maddening howl of the tempest, as it plays on the ropes and masts and deck over us. Nothing could be more uncomfortable than this thaw coming, as it does, while the winter is well advanced. We are now prepared for cold weather. Steady low temperatures would be our delight, but these wet, warm days bring out a grunt and a complaint from everybody, and when a wet snow-charged tempest drives the slush into our faces and through every break in our clothing, as we make the necessary observations, the situation becomes befitting to the sulphureous epithets which one hears from stem to stern.