To their surprise they found a note from Back stating that he had reached the shelter two days before by another route and had immediately pressed on in hope of finding the Indians, and if not, he would direct his steps to Fort Providence, though he doubted if he and his party could reach there in their present unfortunate condition. Franklin and his men gathered together what could be used as food and found several deerskins that had been thrown away the previous year and a few bones gathered from the refuse heap. These, with _tripe de roche_, they made into a soup and endeavoured to support life on the putrid mass. Later on one more member of the party came in, and a day or two after a man named Balanger of Back’s party reached camp in all but a dying condition. He had fallen into a rapid, had come near drowning, and was then speechless from exhaustion and exposure. When warmed, dry clothing put on, and given a little soup, he was sufficiently restored to answer questions. Back had not found the Indians and was making for Fort Providence. Thither Franklin determined to follow him with two of his men, the others volunteering to remain until succour should be sent to them. Owing to an unfortunate accident to his snow-shoes, Franklin was obliged to return to camp the next day, sending on his companions alone. The poor wretches that had been left at Fort Enterprise were in such a weakened state that it was with difficulty that Franklin could rouse them to any exertion. “We saw,” writes Franklin, “a herd of reindeer sporting on the river, about half a mile from the house; they remained there a long time, but none of the party felt themselves strong enough to go after them, nor was there one of us who could have fired a gun without resting it.” Eighteen long days passed slowly by, during which they endured frightful privations, when Dr. Richardson and Hepburn reached them, greatly enfeebled and emaciated. “The doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tones of our voices, which he requested of us to make more cheerful, if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key.” Hepburn divided a partridge he had shot and, says Franklin, “I and my three companions ravenously devoured our shares, as it was the first morsel of flesh any of us had tasted for thirty-one days, unless, indeed, the small, gristly particles which we found occasionally adhering to the pounded bones may be called flesh.” Dr. Richardson then told of the tragic death of Hood, who had been murdered by the Iroquois, Michel, whose threatening demeanour they had noted for some days, and whom they afterwards suspected of having put an end to two other members of the party. Under the circumstances, as a matter of self-preservation, it was deemed necessary to end the Indian’s life, and this Dr. Richardson did with a pistol-shot.