The long darkness, the isolation, the tinned foods, the continued low temperature, with increasing storms and a high humidity, finally reduced our systems to what we call polar anaemia. We became pale, with a kind of greenish hue; our secretions were more or less suppressed. The stomach and all the organs were sluggish, and refused to work. Most dangerous of all were the cardiac and cerebral symptoms. The heart acted as if it had lost its regulating influence. Its action was feeble, but its beats were not increased until other dangerous symptoms appeared. Its action was weak, irregular, and entirely unreliable throughout the night. The mental symptoms were not so noticeable. The men were incapable of concentration, and unable to continue prolonged thought. One sailor was forced to the verge of insanity, but he recovered with the returning sun. The first to feel the effects of polar anaemia seriously was our lamented friend and companion, Lieutenant Danco. With the descent of the sun began the beginning of his end. On the short journeys which we took during the few moments of noonday twilight Danco complained of shortness of breath. Indeed, we all had some difficulty of respiration upon the slightest exercise, but Danco would frequently stand still and gasp. For this he came under medical care early in May, but in spite of every effort he rapidly sank. June 1.--It is now difficult to get out of our warm beds in the morning. There is no dawn,--nothing to mark the usual division of night and morning until nearly noon. During the early part of the night it is next to impossible to go to sleep, and if we drink coffee we do not sleep at all. When we do sink into a slumber, it is so deep that we are not easily awakened. Our appetites are growing smaller and smaller, and the little food which is consumed gives much trouble. Oh, for that heavenly ball of fire! Not for the heat--the human economy can regulate that--but for the light--the hope of life. June 2.--The night was very cold with a wind veering from south-west to west, coming in puffs with a coldness that made the ice and the rigging of the _Belgica_ groan. At about six o’clock last night, while a stiff wind was blowing, the ice fractured around the _Belgica_ and allowed her to sink gradually into the water out of which she had been raised. The squeaking of the ship, the groaning of the ice, and the howling of the wind, were for a short time maddening. After a time we became accustomed to this and sank our anxiety and some fear (though we hesitated to own it) in a lively game of whist. This proved to be the coldest night thus far -29° C. (-20.2° F.).