The Audubon Reader (59 page)

Bank Swallows in sight this moment, with the weather thick, foggy, and an east wind; where are these delicate pilgrims bound? The
Black-poll Warbler is more abundant and forever singing, if the noise it makes can be called a song; it resembles the clicking of small pebbles together five or six times and is renewed every few minutes.

June 26
. We have been waiting five days for wind and so has the
Gulnare
. The fishing fleet of six or seven sails has made out to beat four miles to other fishing grounds. It has rained nearly all day but we have all been on shore, to be beaten back by the rain and the mosquitoes. John brought a female
White-crowned Sparrow; the black and white of the head was as pure as in the male, which is not common. It rains hard, and is now calm. God send us a fair wind tomorrow morning, and morning here is about half-past two.

June
27. It rained quite hard when I awoke this morning; the fog was so thick the very shores of our harbor, not distant more than a hundred yards, were enveloped in gloom. After breakfast we went ashore; the weather cleared up and the wind blew fresh. We rambled about the brushwoods till dinnertime, shot two
Canada Jays, one old and one young, the former much darker than those of Maine; the young one was full fledged, but had no white about its head; the whole of the body and head was of a deep, very deep blue. It must have been about three weeks old, and the egg from which it was hatched must have been laid about the 10th of May, when the thermometer was below the freezing point. We shot also a Ruby-crowned Wren; no person who has not heard it would believe that the song of this bird is louder, stronger and far more melodious than that of the Canary bird. It sang for a long time ere it was shot, and perched on the tops of the tallest fir trees removing from one to another as we approached. So strange, so beautiful was that song that I pronounced the musician, ere it was shot, a new species of Warbler. John shot it; it fell to the ground, and though the six of us looked for it we could not find it, and went elsewhere; in the course of the afternoon we passed by the spot again and John found it and gave it to me. We shot a new
species of
Finch, which I have named
Fringilla lincolnii
; it is allied to the
Swamp Sparrow in general appearance, but is considerably smaller, and may be known at once from all others thus far described by the light buff streak which runs from the base of the lower mandible until it melts into the duller buff of the breast, and by the bright ash streak over the eye. The note of this bird attracted me at once; it was loud and sonorous; the bird flew low and forward, perching on the firs, very shy, and cunningly eluding our pursuit; we however shot three, but lost one. I shall draw it tomorrow.

June 28
. The weather shocking—rainy, foggy, dark and cold. I began drawing at daylight and finished one of my new Finches and outlined another. At noon the wind suddenly changed and blew hard from the northwest with heavy rain and such a swell that I was almost seasick and had to abandon drawing. We dined and immediately afterward the wind came round to southwest; all was bustle with us and with the
Gulnare
, for we both were preparing our sails and raising our anchors ere proceeding to sea.
We
sailed, and managed so well that we cleared the outer cape east of our harbor and went out to sea in good style. The
Gulnare
was not so fortunate; she attempted to beat out in vain, and returned to her anchorage. The sea was so high in consequence of the late gales that we all took to our berths, and I am only now able to write.

June 29
. At three this morning we were off the land about fifteen miles, and about fifty from American Harbor. Wind favorable but light; at about ten it freshened. We neared the shore, but as before, our would-be pilot could not recognize the land and our captain had to search for the harbor where we now are, himself. We passed near an island covered with
Foolish
Guillemots and came to for the purpose of landing; we did so through a heavy surf and found two eggers just landed and running over the rocks for eggs. We did the same and soon collected about a hundred. These men told me they visited every island in the vicinity every day, and that in consequence they had fresh eggs every day. They had collected eight hundred dozen and expect to get two thousand dozen. The number of broken eggs created a fetid smell on this island scarcely to be borne. The
Black-backed Gulls were here in hundreds and destroying the eggs of the Guillemots by thousands.

From this island we went to another and there found the
Common Puffin breeding in great numbers. We caught many in their
burrows, killed some and collected some of the
eggs. On this island their burrows were dug in the light black loam formed of decayed moss, three to six feet deep yet not more than about a foot under the surface. The burrows ran in all directions and in some instances connected; the end of the burrow is rounded and there is the pure white egg. Those caught at the holes bit most furiously and scratched shockingly with the inner claw, making a mournful noise all the time. The whole island was perforated with their burrows. No young were yet hatched, and the eggers do not collect these eggs, finding them indifferent. They say the same of the eggs of the Razor-billed Auk, which they call “Tinkers.” The Puffin they call “Sea Parrots.” Each species seems to have its own island except the Auks which admits the
Guillemots.

As we advanced we passed by a rock literally covered with
Cormorants, of what species I know not yet; their effluvia could be perceived more than a mile off. We made the fine anchorage where we now are about four o’clock. We found some difficulty in entering on account of our pilot being an ignorant ass;
twice
did we see the rocks under our vessel. The appearance of the country around is quite different from that near American Harbor; nothing in view here as far as eye can reach but bare, high, rugged rocks, grand indeed, but not a shrub a foot above the ground. The moss is shorter and more compact, the flowers are fewer and every plant more diminutive. No matter which way you glance the prospect is cold and forbidding; deep banks of snow appear here and there and yet I have found the
Shore Lark in beautiful summer plumage. I found the nest of the
Brown Lark with five eggs in it; the nest was planted at the foot of a rock, buried in dark mould and beautifully made of fine grass, well and neatly worked in circularly without any hair or other lining. We shot a
White-crowned Sparrow, two
Savannah Finches, and saw more, and a Red-bellied Nuthatch; this last bird must have been blown here accidentally, as not a bush is there for it to alight upon. I found the tail of an unknown
Owl, and a dead
Snowbird which from its appearance must have died from cold and famine. John brought a young Cormorant alive from the nest but I cannot ascertain its species without the adult, which we hope to
secure tomorrow. At dusk the
Gulnare
passed us. All my
young men are engaged in skinning the
Puffins.

June 30
. I have drawn three birds this day since eight o’clock, one
Fringilla lincolnii
, one Ruby-crowned Wren, and a male
White-winged Crossbill. Found a
nest of the
Savannah Finch with two eggs; it was planted in the moss and covered by a rampant branch; it was made of fine grass, neither hair nor feathers in its composition. Shot the
Black-backed Gulls in fine order, all with the wings extending nearly two inches beyond the tail, and all in the same state of molt, merely showing in the middle primaries. These birds suck other birds’ eggs like Crows, Jays, and Ravens. Shot six
Common Cormorants in full plumage, species well ascertained by their white throat; found abundance of their eggs and young.

July 1
. The weather was so cold that it was painful for me to draw almost the whole day, yet I have drawn a White-winged Crossbill and a Puffin. We have had three of these latter on board alive these three days past; it is amusing to see them running about the cabin and the hold with a surprising quickness, watching our motions and particularly our eyes. A Pigeon Hawk’s nest was found today; it was on the top of a fir tree about ten feet high, made of sticks and lined with moss and as large as a Crow’s nest; it contained two birds just hatched and three eggs, which the young inside had just cracked. The parent birds were anxious about their newly born ones and flew close to us. The little ones were pure white, soft and downy. We found also three young of the
American Ring Plover and several old ones; these birds breed on the margin of a small lake among the low grasses. Traces have been seen of hares or rabbits and one island is perforated throughout its shallow substratum of moss by a species of rat, but in such burrows search for them is vain. The
Gulnare
came in this evening; our captain brought her in as pilot. We have had an almost complete eclipse of the moon this evening at half-past seven. The air very chilly.

July 2
. A beautiful day for Labrador. Drew another Puffin. Went on shore and was most pleased with what I saw. The country, so wild and grand, is of itself enough to interest anyone in its wonderful dreariness. Its mossy, gray-clothed rocks, heaped and thrown together as if by chance in the most fantastical groups imaginable,
huge masses hanging on minor ones as if about to roll themselves down from their doubtful-looking situations into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays without end, sprinkled with rocky islands of all shapes and sizes, where in every fissure a
Guillemot, a
Cormorant, or some other wild bird retreats to secure its egg and raise its young or save itself from the hunter’s pursuit. The peculiar cast of the sky which never seems to be certain, butterflies flitting over snow banks probing beautiful dwarf flowerets of many hues pushing their tender stems from the thick bed of moss which everywhere covers the granite rocks. Then the morasses, wherein you plunge up to your knees, or the walking over the stubborn, dwarfish shrubbery, making one think that as he goes he treads down the
forests
of Labrador. The unexpected
Bunting, or perhaps a
Warbler, which perchance, and indeed as if by chance alone, you now and then see flying before you, or hear singing from the creeping plants on the ground. The beautiful freshwater lakes on the rugged crests of greatly elevated islands, wherein the Red and
Black-necked Divers swim as proudly as swans do in other latitudes and where the fish appear to have been cast as strayed beings from the surplus food of the ocean. All—all is wonderfully grand, wild—aye, and terrific. And yet how beautiful it is now when one sees the wild bee moving from one flower to another in search of food, which doubtless is as sweet to it as the essence of the magnolia is to those of favored Louisiana. The little
Ring Plover rearing its delicate and tender young, the
Eider Duck swimming man-of-war-like amid her floating brood, like the guard ship of a most valuable convoy; the
White-crowned Bunting’s sonorous note reaching the ear ever and anon; the crowds of seabirds in search of places wherein to repose or to feed—how beautiful is all this in this wonderful rocky desert at this season, the beginning of July, compared with the horrid blasts of winter which here predominate by the will of God, when every rock is rendered smooth with snows so deep that every step the traveler takes is as if entering into his grave; for even should he escape an avalanche, his eye dreads to search the horizon, for full well does he know that snow—snow—is all that can be seen. I watched the Ring Plover for some time; the parents were so intent on saving their young that they both lay on the rocks as if shot, quivering their wings and dragging their bodies as if quite
disabled. We left them and their young to the care of the Creator. I would not have shot one of the old ones, or taken one of the young for any consideration, and I was glad my young men were as forbearing. The
Black-backed Gull is extremely abundant here; they are forever harassing every other bird, sucking their eggs and devouring their young; they take here the place of
Eagles and
Hawks; not an Eagle have we seen yet and only two or three small Hawks and one small
Owl; yet what a harvest they would have here, were there trees for them to rest upon.

July 3
. We had a regular stiff gale from the eastward the whole day accompanied with rain and cold weather, and the water so rough that I could not go ashore to get plants to draw. This afternoon, however, the wind and waves abated and we landed for a short time. The view from the topmost rock overlooking the agitated sea was grand; the small islets were covered with the angry foam. Thank God! we were not at sea. I had the pleasure of coming immediately upon a Cormorant’s
nest that lay in a declivity not more than four or five yards below me; the mother bird was on her nest with three young; I was unobserved by her for some minutes, and was delighted to see how kindly attentive she was to her dear brood; suddenly her keen eye saw me, and she flew off as if to dive in the sea.

July 4
. At four this morning I sent Tom Lincoln on shore after four plants and a Cormorant’s nest for me to draw. The nest was literally
pasted
to the rock’s edge, so thick was the decomposed, putrid matter below it, and to which the upper part of the nest was attached. It was formed of such sticks as the country affords, sea moss and other garbage, and weighed over fifteen pounds. I have drawn all day and have finished the plate of the
Fringilla lincolnii
, to which I have put three plants of the country, all new to me and probably never before figured; to us they are very fitting for the purpose, as Lincoln gathered them. Our party divided as usual into three bands: John and Lincoln off after Divers; Coolidge, Shattuck and Ingalls to the main land, and our captain and four men to a pond after fish, which they will catch with a seine.
Captain Bayfield sent us a quarter of mutton, a rarity, I will venture to say, on this coast even on the Fourth of July. John and Lincoln returned with a
Red-necked Diver, or Scapegrace, Coolidge and
party with the
nest and two eggs of the Great Northern Diver. This nest was found on the margin of a pond and was made of short grasses, weeds, etc.; well fashioned and fifteen inches in diameter. After dinner John and I went on shore to release a
Foolish Guille
mot that we had confined in the fissure of a rock; the poor thing was sadly weak, but will soon recover from this trial of ours.