THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MIRANDA. Ill 



It was an impressive scene, and one that will always live in 

 my memory. Near ns, in a large boat, rowed by Eskimos, 

 were the governors and their ladies, who had come to bid us 

 a final farewell. We gave them cheer upon cheer, which they 

 returned, and in which the Eskimo rowers joined. On shore 

 a solid phalanx of Eskimos was drawn up, rapidly firing part- 

 ing salutes, and all about us the kayaks darted, and the 

 little kayakers waved us a last good-by. Gradually the Mi- 

 randa towed us out of the harbor into the open sea, and 

 the mists fell about us, and the shores of Greenland were hid- 

 den from our sight. And another mist, too, gathered in the 

 eyes of many a member of the expedition, straining his vision 

 to catch a last glimpse of a place that had become endeared to 

 us all by many acts of courtesy and kindness. There is a deep 

 pathos in a farewell when human beings whom chance has 

 brought together in the close companionship of strange places 

 look upon one another's faces for the last time, knowing that 

 in life they shall not meet again. Farewell — a long farewell to 

 the warm hearts in that stout little Danish house perched on the 

 cold and barren rocks of Greenland ; and farewell, too, to the 

 little people who gather near by and make the night merry 

 with dancing and laughter ! Somewhere — somewhere, when 

 the mists have all rolled away, may we meet again I 



