There are many changes in our surroundings which seem to indicate our nearness to open water. There is a noticeable swell which is shown by the alternate advance and retreat of floes about the icebergs, and by a total rise and fall of six inches of the sea-ice on the walls of the icebergs. The time between each rise is from 24 to 32 seconds. The evidence, then, of a wave under the ice is quite conclusive. Just how far beyond the pack edge the swell can be made to penetrate will depend very much upon the size of the floes and the amount of space between them. From our present experience it seems likely that a northerly storm is able to send an undulation at least fifty miles under a loose pack and, perhaps, much farther. But there are other signs of a nearness to an open sea. The floe into which the _Belgica_ is frozen is getting noticeably smaller, and all of the other floes are diminishing likewise. There is a great deal of brash, broken blocks, and pulverised ice and snow, in the water. The icebergs turn and move about, changing their relations to each other. New cracks and new leads are daily appearing. The temperature is rising steadily instead of falling, as it should with the retreat of the sun. The weather is unsteady, and constantly changing, but always in such a way as to indicate a nearness to an open sea. A month ago a storm had little effect upon the ice, but now even light winds bring about a noticeable commotion. May 4.--At seven o’clock this morning Lecointe rushed out of his bunk to get a glimpse of the stars, which broke through the high mist for a short period. From this observation he calculates our position at latitude 70° 33′ 30″, longitude 89° 22′. A sounding made at about the same time gave a depth to the sea of 1150 metres. From this great increase in depth we are still more convinced that we are going to the edge of the pack, and off of the submarine bank over which we have drifted since entering the main body of the ice. In nine days we have drifted about seventeen miles northward, and eastward nearly three degrees. We are going back to the east, and when the veil of darkness rises, we shall perhaps find ourselves near the position where we entered if, in the meantime, we are not forced out of the ice into the open sea. To be compelled to leave the ice at present, much as we should like it, would be quite dangerous. We have almost no daylight; the weather outside of the ice would certainly be stormy and foggy. How could we find our way in the darkness, among the certain dangers of icebergs and unknown rocks, over the storm-swept seas to South America at this time? Since the first the weather has grown colder; the temperature has ranged from -5° to -18° C. We have occasional strips of blue sky, with a cold sunburst, but in general the heavens have been cheerless--still it is an agreeable change from the wet, dirty weather which we had before.