the signal, and away went the windlass round to the mirthful notes of joyous men, as they hove in chain and lifted anchor once more. Soon the ship was clear, and then, with lines out, all the boats were manned to tow her down the bay.
As we left the anchorage all our Innuit friends surrounded us, and with many words of kind regret again and again bade us "ter-bou-e-tie" (farewell). There were not a few among us who felt this parting. We had received much and constant kindness at their hands, and the final adieu was
"Ter-bou-e-tie, In-nu-it"—(Farewell, Innuits).
not without those softer shades of feeling which generally characterize partings at home.
But now it is over. The vessel moves on her way. The kias and oomiens, with their occupants, gradually recede from our view, and with a last wave of the hands, a parting look, we turn our glances seaward, and allow our thoughts to be occupied only with home.
During the morning we were compelled to use the boats
