We spent a couple of hours in taking photographs of the natives, their tupics, our poor little abandoned house and its surroundings, and then bade farewell to Redcliffe. It had been my home for thirteen months—some of them had seemed more than twice as long as any ordinary month—and I felt sorry to leave it to the mercy of wind and weather and Eskimo. Mané asked me if she might pitch her tupic in my room, saying it would be so nice and dry, and the wind could not strike it and blow it over; then, too, no matter how cold it might be, her ikkimer would be sufficient to heat it comfortably. I told her she might do so, but she must take good care of the house and not allow others to destroy anything about it, until the return of the next sun, when, if we did not come back, it should belong to Ikwa and herself to do with as they wished.
It was about noon when I left the settlement with the last boat-load, and as soon as we were safely on board the “Kite” the work of raising the anchor was begun. In the meantime Ikwa and Kyo in their kayaks were paddling round and round the “Kite,” calling to us their last good-byes. Ikwa asked if he might come aboard just once more, and on permission being granted, he immediately climbed over the side and jumped on deck. Some one took a fancy to his kayak paddle, which had been broken and mended, as only an Eskimo can mend, in at least a dozen different places, and gave him an old sledge-runner for it. When the time came for the Old Pirate to leave us all of us felt badly, and when he said “Gooby,” with his peculiar accent, his eyes filled and he choked. After this he would not turn his head in our direction, and only waved his hand in answer to our good-byes. His picture, as he paddled himself with the sledge-runner, curved at both ends, to the shore, will never fade from my memory.
As the “Kite” steamed slowly down the bay the natives ran along the beach, shouting to us and waving their hands, Kulutingwah bringing up the rear with a torn American flag attached to a pole, which he waved frantically to the imminent danger of those near him. I could not help thinking, Have these poor ignorant people, who are absolutely isolated from the rest of humanity, really benefited by their intercourse with us, or have we only opened their eyes to their destitute condition? I hope the latter is not the case, for a happier, merrier set of people I have never seen; no thought beyond the present, and no care beyond that of getting enough to eat and to wear. As we steamed down the bay we turned our eyes on the red cliffs, and when they faded from view Cape Cleveland and Herbert and Northumberland Islands were the only familiar landmarks left in sight. On these we gazed with the feeling that we were looking our last upon the scene. The old Cape, especially, seemed very near and dear to me; twice it had sheltered and protected me from the fury of an Arctic gale—once in the winter when Mr. Peary and the doctor had gone to rescue “Jack,” my pet Newfoundland, from its precipitous cliffs, and the second time only a few days ago, when we returned from our venturesome boat journey up Inglefield Gulf.