As May came in signs of scurvy made themselves only too evident among the members of the crew, and on May 11 the leaders decided that the next day they would have to turn to the south once more. They started with a light sledge in the morning and pushed on till noon, when they took their bearings. They had reached latitude 83° 20' 26" N., and were then only 399½ miles from the Pole itself, having beaten all other records of Arctic explorations.
The little band, weary and sickening, forgot their woes in the presence of their achievement. A jorum of whisky had been presented to the expedition by the Dean of Dundee on condition that it was opened in the highest latitude reached. It was now produced, and the success of their efforts was toasted, the while each man smoked a cigar, also sent for consumption in the "farthest North."
A hole was cut in the ice and soundings were taken, the sea being seventy-two fathoms (432 feet) deep below them, with a clay bottom, the surface temperature being 28.5° and the temperature at the bottom 28.8°. Then they turned their backs upon the cold, bleak, ice-bound North, and began the journey home again, a journey which was to prove more trying than that which they had already accomplished.
The man who had first sickened, and whose name was Porter, had become so weak that he could not move from the sledge on which he lay wrapped in a sleeping-bag. Gradually one man after another began to lose his strength, until three or four were only able to support themselves, and could give no assistance in hauling the sledges, with the result that the labour pressed all the more heavily on the remainder of the party, all of whom were more or less affected by scurvy. The first fortnight of the return journey was a terribly wearying time to the leaders, for they saw their men becoming weaker every day, so that the progress was slower and more difficult, while at the same time the only hope of escape was to reach land. On the coast it would be possible for relief to meet them, but out amongst the rugged hummocks of the Polar Sea the whole ship's company would not be able to find them. The extra work thrown upon those who were not entirely incapacitated told severely upon their already enfeebled systems. The toil no longer encouraged their appetites; instead, the sight of food became nauseous to them, until towards the end of the month half a pannikin of pemmican was more than each man could manage to eat. But the toil was still as weary, and the cold as intense, and without sufficient food to keep up their strength, the outlook was almost hopeless.
Still, however, the little band of seventeen struggled on, setting an example of courage, determination, and absolute devotion to discipline and duty which has won for them as deep an admiration as their achievement of the "farthest North" record. On June 2 only six men and the two officers were able to do anything in the way of labour. Five men lay sick and helpless on the already laden sledges, and four more were just able to stagger along from point to point after the dreary procession of sledges. The progress was very slow now, as it required all the strength which was left in the eight, who alone were able to do anything, to move one sledge at a time. The second boat had been abandoned, as it could not be dragged farther, and the strain of moving the three sledges that remained was so great that when, on June 5, land was reached after an absence of two months, the entire party was in a state of collapse.
The next day they rested and debated what was the best course to adopt to obtain help, for it was outside of their power to drag the sledges any farther. Porter was almost at death's door, and unless help came very soon several more would be in a similar condition. Lieutenant Parr was the strongest, but even he was in a very low condition. That, however, did not rob him of his courage, nor of his readiness to give the rest of his life, if necessary, for the rescue of his comrades.
He volunteered to set out alone for the ship, to carry word of the terrible plight of the party and the need for instant relief. It was almost a hopeless task, and the heavy hearts of the stricken men, beating more hopefully at the token of such manly bravery, drooped again as they remembered the dreary miles of snow and ice which would have to be covered, and saw the weakened state of their would-be rescuer's strength. But he was not to be gainsaid; weak as he was, he was yet the strongest of the party, and he would make the attempt.
On June 7 he started, the little band watching him as he trudged bravely away, giving him as hearty a cheer as they could. Slowly he made his way over the frozen shore, and, when he had passed out of sight, the men looked at one another and wondered. How far would he get before death overtook him? How long before they all yielded to the same conqueror?
By the next morning one had already gone, Porter passing away after nearly two months' fighting against the scourge. Commander Markham, and the four who were alone able to help him, paid the last honours to their deceased comrade. The British ensign was lowered to half-mast on the pole of the big sledge and a Union Jack was carefully wrapped round the body. With great exertion, in their emaciated condition, a place was hollowed out in the frozen soil, and there they placed him, the funeral service being read by Commander Markham, who, in his diary, thus wrote of the ceremony: "Of all the melancholy and mournful duties I have ever been called upon to perform, this has been the saddest. A death in a small party like ours, and under the present circumstances, is a most depressing event, and is keenly felt by all. During the service all were more or less affected, and many to tears."
A rude cross was fashioned out of a boat's oar and a spare sledge batten, and it was placed at the head of the grave with the following inscription: "Beneath this cross lie buried the remains of George Porter, R.M.A., who died June 8, 1876. 'Thy will be done!'"