Whenever we have advanced on our mysterious drift with the restless pack, either far east or far south, or both, we are arrested in our progress and the temperature falls. In the east there is also great pressure, and it is only in the far east or south that we get easterly or southerly winds. These winds have the character of land breezes--extremely dry, with a low temperature--followed by delightful, clear weather. From these facts we must conclude that the east and south are lined with land of large proportions or islands united by ice. An easy wind south or west drives us quickly; indeed, at times we drift northward without wind. The bergs now seem to press north and east. June 5.--To-day we have to record the darkest page in our log--the death of our beloved comrade, Danco. It has not been unexpected, for we have known that he could not recover, but the awful blank left by his demise is keenly felt, and the sudden gloom of despair, thus thrown over the entire party, is impossible of description. Poor fellow! in the past forty-eight hours he had been steadily improving, and, although we were not encouraged by this, he felt so much better that he was cheerful and altogether more like his former self, but it was the calm before the storm. Without any premonition of his coming death Danco passed away easily to-night; his last words to me were, “I can breathe lighter and will soon get strength.” A companion with noble traits has left us. The event is too sad to note in detail. His life has steadily and persistently sunk with the northerly setting of the sun. In ordinary health, his circulation was so nicely balanced that it needed but the unbalancing element of the prolonged darkness to disturb the equilibrium, and send him to a premature grave.