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Updated: August 16, 2024
Grandfather McClintock, still able to walk about, was spending the autumn with William and we had a great deal of talk concerning the changes which had come to the country and especially to our family group. "Ye scatter like the leaves of autumn," he said sadly then added, "Perhaps in the Final Day the trumpet of the Lord will bring us all together again."
Captain McClintock, who had commanded former expeditions, undertook the post of leader. The Fox was purchased, and on the 1st of July, 1857, the search again was entered upon. After an interesting voyage, the Fox arrived off Upernavik, and procured some dogs for the sleighs. On the 6th of August letters were sent home, and the yacht bore away for Baffin's Bay.
McClintock stared at the ceiling. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute. Certainly I never met him. Why?" "I was just wondering. You say you need a man. Just how particular are you? Will he have to bring recommendations?" "He will not. His face will be all I need. Have you got someone in mind for me?" "Finish your breakfast and I'll tell you the story."
At Winter Harbour Captain McClure found a large fragment of sandstone, with this inscription "His Britannic Majesty's ships Hecla and Griper, Commanders Parry and Lyddon, wintered in the adjacent harbour during the winter of 1819-20. A. Fisher, sculpsit." Lieutenant McClintock had left a notice of his visit on the previous year on the same fragment, and protected it by a large cairn.
Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. "You two will have this island by the ears," he said, wiping his eyes.
William got it out of a tree and didn't have time to pick all the bees out of it." At this point my memories of this day fuse and flow into another visit to the McClintock homestead which must have taken place the next year, for it is my final record of my grandmother.
McClintock no longer gave lessons; he then suggested that she might recommend a teacher of French, and endeavored to prolong the interview, but the lady sedately answered all his queries with a sad and pensive expression far removed from what he had expected, and rising politely, rang the bell for her servant to show him out. After a little time, however, the old man returned to the charge.
Both Hall and McClintock account for the fact of so few bodies being found, by the presumption that Captain Crozier and his men followed the shore ice down, and, dying there, fell through into the water when the ice melted during the summer.
McClintock is always McClintock, he is always consistent, his style is always his own style. He does not make the mistake of being relevant on one page and irrelevant on another; he is irrelevant on all of them. He does not make the mistake of being lucid in one place and obscure in another; he is obscure all the time.
Young Peter Johnson howled with the rest, his sulks forgotten; and even the withered serving-man relaxed to a smile a portent hitherto unknown. "Come; we grow giddy," chided McClintock at last, wiping his own eyes as he spoke. "We have done with talk of yonder ghost-bogle mine. But I must trouble you yet with a word of my own, which is partly to justify me before you.
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