Anxiously they waited during the rest of the day, wondering as to the fate of Lieutenant Parr, and half expecting to see him stagger back to the camp, his splendid courage overcome by the difficulties of his journey. But he did not return, and the men crept into their sleeping-bags under the tents scarcely daring to think what the morrow would bring forth. One or two of the sick men were visibly worse since the death of Porter, and the next day might mean the end of their lives. If their gallant rescuer managed to make his way at all, he could not reach the ship in time for relief to come for another day or two, and no man dared to speak of what might occur in that interval.
The shouts of men's voices while they were yet within their sleeping-bags on the morning of June 9 were so unexpected, that, at first, those who heard them blamed their ears for playing them false. But it was no deception. Lieutenant Parr, with a magnificent heroism that deserves honour even among the many brave deeds which British sailors have performed, struggled on after leaving the camp without a stop until he came in sight of the Alert. Directly he was discovered he told of his comrades waiting helpless and sick. Relief parties were formed on the moment, and two officers, Lieutenants May and Moss, with a dog-team sledge laden with lime-juice and restoratives, started away while the other sledges were loading.
They pressed on without a halt until they saw the tents of the camp, when they shouted, as no one was to be seen about the place. They were up to the tents before any one came out, and when they did it was as though new life had been given to each man. The lime-juice, of which they were in such dire want—for by an oversight it had been omitted from the stores—was at once served round, giving fresh energy to those who were still able to move about, and greatly relieving those who were incapacitated.
On the arrival of the remainder of the relief party, the invalids were all removed to the ship and attended to, every man recovering, under medical treatment, before the Alert weighed anchor for the South. This was done in August, when she rejoined the Discovery, the officers of which had also done splendid service in surveying the interior of Grinnel Land, behind Discovery Bay, and also along the northern coast of Greenland.
While the Discovery was lying in her winter quarters a successful attempt was made by Lieutenant Beaumont, accompanied by Dr. Coppinger and sixteen men, dragging two sledges, to communicate with the Alert. They started away on April 6, while the cold was still nearly 70° below zero, a temperature which made sleeping almost impossible, as they had constantly to exercise to maintain their bodily heat. In spite of these drawbacks, however, the Alert was reached.
The intention was to continue the journey across Robeson Channel over to Greenland, and to explore as much of the northern coast as was possible. Reinforced by Lieutenant Rawson and five men, the party started on April 20, from the Alert, with four sledges and provisions for fifty-six days. As they approached the Greenland coast the ice was very rough and tumbled about in irregular blocks, with heavy snow lying ankle deep. Arriving at Polaris Bay, a depôt of stores was made and a detachment left in charge, the journey then being resumed; but the ice became more and more difficult, and the snow deeper. The strength of the whole party was taxed to the utmost to make any progress, and at the end of each day's work every one was wearied out with fatigue. Falls were frequent, owing to the unevenness of the ice, and one man, Hand, was particularly unfortunate in this respect. By the time that Cape Stanton was reached he was suffering considerably from stiffness, which was at first attributed to his tumbles; but when pain began to be manifest in his legs and gums, the truth of the matter became evident. He was affected with scurvy.
This discovery was made on May 10, and the leader at once decided to send him back to Polaris Bay with Lieutenant Rawson and six men. The remainder of the men were asked to say whether they fancied they were affected; but all maintained the contrary, and asked to be allowed to continue the journey.
With six men Lieutenant Beaumont continued the route to the North, while Lieutenant Rawson returned to the depôt at Polaris Bay. On his way other members of his party developed scurvy, and their plight was so distressful that for some days before they reached the depôt, which they did on June 3, Lieutenant Rawson and one man alone were able to drag the sledge, the former being so severely afflicted with snow-blindness that he had to walk for days with his eyes covered by a bandage. Hand, the first man affected, died as the sledge came within sight of the camp.
In the meantime Lieutenant Beaumont's party pushed on, difficulties increasing with every mile. The snow became deeper as they advanced, until they sank at every step over their knees. Describing it, the leader said: "The hard crust on the top would only just not bear you, while the depth prevented you from pushing forward through it, each leg sinking to about three inches above the knee, and the effort of lifting them so high as to extricate them from the deep footholes soon began to tell upon the men." The sun shining on the snow seemed to be unusually warm, while the exertion made them intensely thirsty, besides so exhausting them that they had to stop every fifty yards to rest and recover their breath. They were crossing a wide bay at the time, striving to reach the other shore, which did not seem to be more than a mile away. But the clearness of the atmosphere was very deceiving as to distance, for they struggled on for two days and still the coast only seemed to be a mile distant.