Until the end of September, their course was one unvarying scene of battling against difficulties similar to those just described. Having reached the western extremity of Banks Land, “I determined,” writes Captain M’Clure, “to make this our winter quarters, and, having remarked upon the south side of the bank on which we had grounded, a well-protected bay, Mr. Court was despatched to sound it; and, shortly making the signal there was sufficient water, we bore up, and at forty-five minutes past 7 A.M. we anchored in four and a half fathoms, and that night were firmly frozen in, in what has since proved a most safe and excellent harbor, which, in grateful remembrance of the many perils that we had escaped during the passage of that terrible Polar Sea, we have named the ‘Bay of Mercy’; thus finally terminating this short season’s operations, having been actually only five entire days under way.” From now on every preparation was made to spend the winter as comfortably as conditions would admit.
“As there appeared much game in the vicinity,” writes Captain M’Clure, “and the weather continued mild, shooting parties were established in different directions between the 9th and 23d of October; so that, with what was killed from the ship, our supply of fresh provisions at the commencement of the winter consisted of nine deer, fifty-three hares, and forty-four ptarmigan, all in fine condition, the former having from two to three inches of fat.”
“In consequence of our favored position,” he continues, “the crew were enabled to ramble over the hills almost daily in quest of game, and their exertions happily supplied a fresh meal of venison three times a fortnight, with the exception of about three weeks in January, when it was too dark for shooting. The small game, such as ptarmigan and hares, being scarce, were allowed to be retained by the sportsmen as private property. This healthy and exhilarating exercise kept us all well and in excellent spirits during another tedious winter, so that on the 1st of April we had upwards of a thousand pounds of venison hanging at the yard-arms.”
The exciting experience of Sergeant Woon, a marine, while out hunting, is interesting. While pursuing a wounded deer, he suddenly and unexpectedly met a couple of musk-bulls, which he succeeded in wounding. Infuriated with pain, one of the musk-oxen rushed towards him. Having expended his shot, the sergeant fired his “worm” at the animal, but, this having little or no effect, the bull, though weakened from the loss of blood, when within six feet, put his head to the ground as if for a final rush. With quick action the sergeant fired his iron ramrod, which, entering behind the animal’s left shoulder, passed through the heart and out at the right flank, dropping him lifeless.
On another occasion, the presence of mind of Sergeant Woon saved the life of a companion, a coloured man and member of the crew. It was in January and bitterly cold; the coloured man had been out hunting and lost his way. He began to fancy himself frozen to death, and from sheer terror lost his wits. The sergeant met him, but could not induce the poor fellow to follow him. The coloured man stood dazed and shivering, and finally fell in a fit. Waiting until he was somewhat revived, the sergeant either carried or rolled him down hills or hummocks for ten long hours, until he got him within a mile of the ship. The sergeant was by this time thoroughly exhausted and tried to persuade the negro to walk, but the poor demented creature only begged to be “let alone to die.” Being unable to persuade him, the only thing left was to place him in a bed of deep snow, and then, with all his remaining strength, the sergeant hastened to the ship for assistance. Returning as soon as possible to the spot where the poor negro had been left, they found him with his arms stiff and raised above his head, his eyes open, and his mouth so firmly frozen that it required considerable force to open it and pour down restoratives. He still lived, however, and eventually recovered, with no more serious results than frost-bites to his hands, feet, and face.
The second Christmas was passed cheerfully and with a bounteous supply of good things. “As it was to be our last,” writes Captain M’Clure, “the crew determined to make it memorable, and their exertions were completely successful; each mess was gayly illuminated and decorated with original paintings by our lower-deck artists, exhibiting the ship in her perilous positions during the transit of the polar sea, and divers other subjects; but the grand features of the day were the enormous plum puddings (some weighing twenty-six pounds), haunches of venison, hares roasted, and soup made of the same, with ptarmigan and sea pies. Such dainties in such profusion I should imagine never before graced a ship’s lower deck; any stranger, to have witnessed the scene, could but faintly imagine that he saw a crew which had passed upwards of two years, in these dreary regions, and three entirely upon their own resources, enjoying such excellent health—so joyful, so happy; indeed, such a mirthful assemblage, under any circumstances, would be most gratifying to any officer; but in this lonely situation, I could not but feel deeply impressed as I contemplated the gay and plenteous sight, with the many and great mercies, which a kind and beneficent Providence had extended towards us, to whom alone is due the heart-felt praises as thanksgivings of all for the great blessings which we have hitherto experienced in positions the most desolate which can be conceived.”
In the autumn of 1852, Captain M’Clure had made known his intentions of sending to England, the following spring, half of the officers and crew via Baffin Bay (taking the boat from Cape Spencer) and the Mackenzie. The remainder of the crew were to stand by the ship in the hope of releasing her in the summer of 1853, should they fail in this they would proceed with sledges in 1854 by Port Leopold, “our provisions admitting of no other arrangement.” In the despatch prepared by Captain M’Clure which he sent home by the land party in 1853, occurs the following passage:—
“Should any of her Majesty’s ships be sent for our relief, and we have quitted Port Leopold, a notice containing information of our route will be left on the door of the house at Whaler’s Point, or on some conspicuous position. If, however, no intimation should be found of our having been there, it may at once be surmised that some fatal catastrophe has happened, either from our being carried into the Polar Sea, or smashed in Barrow’s Strait, and no survivors left. If such be the case,—which, however, I will not anticipate,—it will then be quite unnecessary to penetrate further to the westward for our relief, as, by the period that any vessel could reach that port, we must, from want of provisions, all have perished. In such a case, I would submit that the officers may be directed to return, and by no means incur the danger of losing other lives in quest of those who will then be no more.”
The thrilling adventures in the American wilderness told by Franklin, Richardson, Back, and others, foretold that this sledge journey proposed by M’Clure would be long and hazardous in the extreme. The weaker ones were to undertake it, thirty of the healthiest men being retained to stand by the ships with the captain.
The curse of scurvy had long since stricken many of the crew; these could not hope to brave another Arctic winter, and their only chance was to penetrate the wilderness to civilization, however difficult and dangerous the undertaking. But while M’Clure and his gallant comrades were making every preparation for this last attempt to communicate with England, relief came unexpectedly to hand.