Then we turned in.

It was a fine day, with clear, brilliant sunlight, a fine breeze from the north, and temperature in the minus forties.
The next march, on the 22d, was a fair one of not less than fifteen miles.

The going was at first tortuous, over rough, heavy ice, which taxed the sledges, dogs, and drivers to the utmost; then we struck a direct line across large and level floes.

At the end of this march I found that Bartlett and one of his men had already left; but Henson and his party were in their igloo.

Ooqueah, of Bartlett's party, whose sledge had broken down the day before, was also in camp.