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CORNELL LAB of ORNITHOLOGY
LIBRARY

AT SAPSUCKER WOODS

Illustration of Snowy Owl by Louis Agassiz Fuertes

CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

Cornell University

Library

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090251228

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
From the portrait by G. P. A. Healy, London, 1838

IN
AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

BY

CHARLES WENDELL TOWNSEND, M.D.

AUTHOR OF
«‘ Along the Labrador Coast,’’ «*A Labrador Spring”?
“© Captain Cartwright and his Labrador Fournal’?’
and ** Sand Dunes and Salt Marshes”’

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
AND A MAP

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Che Vivergide Press, Cambridge
1918

COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY CHARLES W. TOWNSEND

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published April 1918
ORNITH.

r
(3G
TI5A

PREFACE

It is always a satisfaction to accomplish some-
thing one has dreamed about for years. Ever
since my boyhood, when I read Audubon’s
Birds of America, with its frequent references
to the Labrador coast, I have longed to fol-
low the great ornithologist’s footsteps in those
regions. In 1906, on a visit to eastern Labra-
dor, I had a glimpse of Bradore and Blanc
Sablon, the termination of Audubon’s trip,
and in 1909 and 1912 I reached from the West
the starting-point of his trip at Natashquan
and looked eagerly into the promised land.
Only after another interval of three years was
I able to carry out my long-cherished plan
and explore the intervening two hundred and
fifty miles — Audubon’s Labrador.

I am indebted to many friends on the Labra-
dor coast who are mentioned in these pages.
I wish to thank Mr. Ruthven Deane, of Chi-
cago, for the pictures of Thomas Lincoln and
Joseph A. Coolidge and for his interest in this

Vv

PREFACE

work; also Dr. Frederick C. Shattuck for the
photograph of his father and for the letters
published in the Appendix.

The portion of Chapter XII concerning the
old stumps at Blanc Sablon has been pub-
lished in Rhodora for September, 1916, and a
part of Chapter XIII has been published in the
Seventh Annual Report of the Commission of
Conservation, Canada, 1916. Chapter XIV
was published in The Auk, for 1914.

In the Index will be found the scientific
names of the plants and animals referred to
in the text.

Boston, February, 1918.

XII.
XII.
XIV.

CONTENTS

. AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP. . . . . I
. TO THE STARTING-POINT Rok a <a eae
. AMERICAN HaRBor, OR NATASHQUAN . . 46
. GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE . . 74
. WAPITAGUN . . «we tSSst=~<‘“SCT

. AS FAR AS Dr. GRENFELL’S HOSPITAL AT Har-

RINGTON . . . . . «ee 29

. Lirtte Mecatrina IsLanD AND Mutton Bay 153
VII.

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET TO THE ST.
AUGUSTINE RIVER . & « « « ~~ 166

. SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER . . . 182

. A DESCENDANT OF THE CHEVALIER DE ST.

PAUL, WITH REMARKS ON VINLAND THE

GooD AND THE Port OF BREST . . . 208

. BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND. . 230
BLANC SABLON . . . . wee 4G
CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR . . .—.: 272

A PLEA FOR THE CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER 301
APPENDIX «© «© = «6 «© # w * «3I%,

INDEX © ee ee ee ee + 339

ILLUSTRATIONS

Joun JAMEs AUDUBON . . « « « Frontispiece

From the portrait by G. P. A. Healy, 1838, in the
possession of the Boston Society of Natural History

GrEorGE C. SHATTUCK, WILLIAM INGALLS, JOHN
WoopHousE AUDUBON, AND JOSEPH A. COOLIDGE .

Tuomas LINCOLN

LINcOoLN’s SPARROW: AUDUBON PLATE .
CAPTAIN J. HEARN

Napo.teon A. CoMEAU .

THE Priests OF NATASHQUAN .

M. JoHAN BEETZ

FALLS OF GRAND RIVER OF PIASHTE Bay .

NEst OF RED-BREASTED MERGANSER: LABRADOR-
TEA .

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN
Emer Ducks: AUDUBON PLATE

MontTAGNAIS INDIAN GIRLS PICKING MOUNTAIN
CRANBERRIES (Graines Rouges) AT NATASHQUAN .

INDIAN COUPLE AT ROMAINE

THE SEA STAR

ILLUSTRATIONS

Captain A. EpMonD Joncas . . . . «

Looxinc NortH OVER GRAND ROMAINE RIVER
NEAR ITs MoutH oe oes el. SL GE. CS. Ca

INDIANS AT ROMAINE . . . «+ s+ se
SurF ON HaArsBor ISLAND, OLD ROMAINE .
Havutinc A Cop-TRAP. . . .. .

GrEAT BLACK-BACKED GULLS . . . . .
Photograph by Howard H. Cleaves

YounG GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULLS . . ...

OuTER ISLAND: MURRES AND THEIR EGGs: DOUBLE-
CRESTED CORMORANTS, NESTS, AND YOUNG ..

CapE WHITTLE a et: a ere

NeEst OF DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANT CONTAIN-
ING YOUNG . . . . . . .

Wapitacun: NESTING-POOoL OF RED-THROATED Loon
RED-THROATED Loon: AUDUBON PLATE

THE CAPTAIN AND WILLIAM PUTTING UP THE
Cross aT MATCHIATIK ISLAND

Nest oF RING-BILLED GULL WITH EGGS AND
MOUNG:-s @ #2 @ -# “2 & & m4

CLEANING FIsH AT SEAL-NET POINT, OR POINTE

AU MAURIER &, toe Fara eo

NEAR THE SUMMIT OF LITTLE MECATTINA: POISED
BOULDERS . . . . «6. «. -

HARRINGTON AND THE HOSPITAL . . . .. .

x

76

86
86

94
94
98

98

112

. 118

. 118

124

. 124

. 128

128

. 132

. 132

146

ILLUSTRATIONS
Our FRIENDS THE EskIMO PUPPIES AND THEIR
MoTHER AT HARRINGTON es cigs 4

THE SEA STAR IN HarE Harsor, LitrLe MEcat-
TINA. ISLAND; 3 « &® «% % #® & © %

Mutton Bay (BAIE DE PoRTAGE). . . . .

SAMUEL ROBERTSON, 3D, AND SOME OF HIS Docs,
AT SPARR POINT. . . . . . 2 es

Petite RIGOLET . . . . . . ..
THE CoOK AND THE First MATE OF THE SEA STAR
Sanpy ISLAND... www
CuMBERLAND HEAD. lw wwtawti “ket
STRAND WHEAT ee Mek. Sila Hays Tae ce ve seat. We
GLacIAL LuNoOID FURROWS AND GROOVES. ...
THE SEA STAR IN SHECATICA INLET . . .
SHECATICA RIVER . . . . . .

LooKING DOWN SHECATICA INLET FROM THE GRAND
PORTAGE: (22 s@ (wo (4) (Ow wl

FRAMEWORK OF SwEAT-House at INDIAN CaAmp-

ING-PLACE ON THE GRAND PORTAGE. . . .
ENTERING SHECATICA INLET . . . . . .
SPRUCE GROUSE . . . . . .. .
Grassy IsLAND: RAISED BEACH . . . . .
Op Fort: SITE OF BREST. . . . . . .

Showing Raised Beaches

A GLimpsE OF BRADORE IN THE FoG . . ..
xi

. 146

158
168

168
174
174
184
184
188
188

194

- 194

198

198

204

. 204

222

222

240

ILLUSTRATIONS

PERROQUET ISLAND

Cow PaRsNIPS AND STRAND WHEAT AT PERROQUET
IsLAND ‘

Bianc SABLoN: JoB BROTHERS AND COMPANY,
LIMITED .

THE CLIFFS AT BLANC SABLON

Tue VALLEY AT BLANC SABLON
Photograph by Edmund Hunt

A DESCENDANT OF THE CHEVALIER DE ST. PAUL

Davy, A Bic Cop, AND Mr. GRANT
Photograph by Edmund Hunt

DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANTS LEAVING THEIR
NEsts AT GULL ISLAND OFF CAPE WHITTLE

DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANTS AND MURRES . .

FacsIMILE OF A LETTER FROM AUDUBON TO Dr.
GEorRGE C. SHATTUCK

Map or Aupuson’s LABRADOR

. 240

. 244

- 244
- 248
. 248

. 268
. 268

. 290

290

» 334
+ 338

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

CHAPTER I
AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

OR many years John James Audubon, the

great ornithologist, had contemplated a trip
to Labrador in order to study and paint the birds
of that coast for his monumental work ‘The
Birds of America.”” On the 6th of June, 1833, he
sailed from Eastport, Maine, in the schooner
Ripley, of one hundred and six tons burden, com-
manded by Captain Emery. His party consisted
of five young and vigorous men, all between
eighteen and twenty-one years of age, who were
looking forward to all the pleasures, hardships,
and adventures of the trip, and to doing loyal
work for their leader in procuring specimens of
birds and eggs as well as other objects of natural
history. Of these, George C. Shattuck, of Bos-
ton, was afterwards a well-known physician,
under whom many years later it was my priv-
ilege to serve as house officer at the Massachu-

1

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

setts General Hospital. He was the son of Dr.
George Cheyne Shattuck, and he died in 1893
in his eightieth year. His two sons, Frederick C.
and George B., and his grandson, George C., are
all well-known physicians in Boston to-day.
Another was William Ingalls, of Boston, who
afterwards became a physician. He was a
charming man and one who carried the bloom
and optimism of youth until his death within a
month of his ninety-first birthday in 1903. A
motto he once sent me with a pair of sugar tongs
is characteristic of the man: ‘‘Something to pick
up sweets with as onward you journey along.”
Joseph A. Coolidge, of Maine, the third of this
band, died in California in 1901 at the age of
eighty-six. The fourth was Thomas Lincoln, of
Dennysville, Maine, the son of an old friend of
Audubon and one whose name ornithologists all
remember, as it was immortalized by Audubon
in the name of a new species of sparrow discov-
ered in Labrador. He died at the age of seventy-
one on his birthday, March 27, in 1883. There
remains Audubon’s son, John Woodhouse Audu-
bon, the artist, who, of this band of young men,
was the only one to fail to reach advanced age,
for he died in his fortieth year, in 1862. He was
2

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

the father of Miss Maria R. Audubon, who has
preserved for all time her father’s history in
that interesting work “Audubon and his Jour-
nals.”

A letter written October 9, 1896, to Miss Au-
dubon by Mr. Joseph Coolidge says of the great
leader: ‘‘ You had only to meet him to love him;
and when you had conversed with him for a
moment, you looked upon him as an old friend,
rather than a stranger....To this day I can
see him, a magnificent gray-haired man, child-
likein his simplicity, kind-hearted, noble-souled,
lover of nature and lover of youth, friend of hu-
manity, and one whose religion was the golden
rule.” }

Dr. William Ingalls,? in a letter to Mr. Ruth-
ven Deane, dated October 30, 1902, gives an
interesting outline of his recollection of the
individuals of the party as follows: —

“Mr. Audubon was known by many, and I
think there is no exception to the fact that those
that have spoken of him have testified to his
great amiability and manliness, his humanity,
and it has always seemed to me he was one of

1 Audubon and his Journals, vol. 1, p. 68.
2 The Auk, vol. XXvit (1910), p. 47.

3

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

those men who, on meeting, one would at once
say, ‘Bless you, dear man.’

“Tom Lincoln, quiet, reserved, sensible, prac-
tical and reliable. George C. Shattuck, a quiet
man, but if you had thought him a goose you
would soon have discovered your mistake. Joe
Coolidge, unselfish, with a lot of sea and other
practical knowledge, and a right good fellow.
John W. Audubon, always good-natured, he and
his papa the best of (boyish) friends, cheering us
sometimes with his violin. I have spoken of the
Captain whom we all honored for his skill and
his evident desire to help the expedition, and
now let me repeat a truth which was uttered
by Mr. Audubon: ‘Brought together, strangers,
three months in a small ship, we can say there
was not a word or spirit of an unpleasant nature
in all that time.’”’

Mr. Ruthven Deane tells me that Captain
Emery died of yellow fever in 1840, and that the
schooner Ripley met her fate a few years later
when she was wrecked in the Bay of Chaleurs.

In a letter,! written to his son Victor on the
eve of his departure, Audubon says: ‘‘We are

1 This and the following quotations in this chapter are from
“The Labrador Journal” in Audubon and his Journals, re-
ferred to above. °

4

GEORGE C. SHATTUCK WILLIAM INGALLS

JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON JOSEPH A. COOLIDGE

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

well provided as to clothes, and strange figures,
indeed, do we cut in our dresses, I promise you:
fishermen’s boots, the soles of which are all
nailed to enable us to keep our footing on the
sea-weeds, trousers of fearnought so coarse that
our legs look like bears’ legs, oiled jackets and
over-trousers for rainy weather, and round,
white, wool hats with a piece of oil cloth dangling
on our shoulders to prevent the rain from run-
ning down our necks. A coarse bag is strapped
on the back to carry provisions on inland jour-
neys, with our guns and hunting-knives; you can
form an idea of us from this.”

At last they were off on June 6, 1833, amid the
cheers of the whole ‘‘male population” of East-
port, and the booming of cannon from the bat-
teries on shore and a revenue cutter in the har-
bor. Three days later they were ‘‘all shockingly
sea-sick, crossing that worst of all dreadful bays,
the Bay of Fundy.” They came to anchor amid
a fleet of fishermen in the harbor of Canso, and
had a brief run ashore, and later touched at Jes-
tico Island off the western coast of Cape Breton.
On July 13 they landed at the Magdalen Islands
and with the thermometer at 44° ‘‘we blew our
fingers and drank our coffee, feeling as if in the

5

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

very heart of winter.” As Audubon was follow-
ing a tortuous path, he suddenly ‘“‘came plump
upon one of God’s best finished jewels, a woman.
She saw us first, for women are always keenest
in sight and sympathy, in perseverance and pa-
tience, in fortitude, and love, and sorrow, and
faith, and, for aught I know, much more. At the
instant that my eyes espied her, she was in full
run towards her cottage, holding to her bosom a
fine babe, simply covered with a very short skirt,
the very appearance of which set me shivering.
The woman was dressed in coarse French home-
spun, a close white cotton cap, which entirely
surrounded her face, tied under her chin, and I
thought her the wildest-looking woman, both in
form and face, I had seen for many a day. Ata
venture, I addressed her in French, and it an-
swered well, for she responded in a wonderful
jargon, about one third of which I understood,
and abandoned the rest to a better linguist,
should one ever come to the island.”

The next day they set sail for what Mr. God-
win, their pilot, ‘‘ called ‘The Bird Rocks,’ where
he told us that Gannets (Sula bassana) bred in
great numbers.”’ At eleven o’clock Audubon saw
the rock plainly, “and thought it covered with

6

“AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

snow to the depth of several feet; this appear-
ance existed on every portion of the flat, project-
ing shelves. Godwin said, with the coolness of a
man who had visited this Rock for ten successive
seasons, that what we saw was not snow — but
Gannets! I rubbed my eyes, took my spy-glass,
and in an instant the strangest picture stood be-
fore me. They were birds we saw, — a mass of
birds of such a size as I never before cast my eyes
on... . No man who has not seen what we have
this day can form the least idea of the impression
the sight made on our minds.”’ It was too rough
to land, and they sailed on, all except Coolidge
“deadly sick,’ but Audubon looked forward
with eagerness to the landing on the coast of
Labrador. “My thoughts were filled, not with
airy castles, but with expectations of the new
knowledge of birds and quadrupeds which I
hoped to acquire.”

At five o’clock on June 17, 1833, ‘“‘the cry of
land rang in our ears, and my heart bounded
with joy; so much for anticipation. ... The
shores appeared to be margined with a broad
and handsome sand-beach; our imaginations
now saw Bears, Wolves, and Devils of all sorts
scampering away on the rugged shore.” They

q

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

came to anchor in what was then called Ameri-
can Harbor, now Natashquan, at the mouth of
the Little Natashquan River some five miles to
the westward of the mouth of the Great Natash-
quan River. “And now we are positively on the
Labrador coast, latitude 50° and a little more, —
farther north than I ever was before. But what
a country! When we landed and passed the
beach, we sank nearly up to our knees in mosses
of various sorts, producing as we moved through
them a curious sensation. These mosses, which
at a distance look like hard rocks, are, under
foot, like a velvet cushion. We scrambled about,
and with anxiety stretched our necks and
looked over the country far and near, but not
a square foot of earth could we see. A poor,
rugged, miserable country; the trees like so
many mops of wiry composition, and where the
soil is not sia it is boggy up to a man’s
waist.’

They remained at American Harbor until
June 28, and employed the time well in study-
ing the land- and sea-birds of the vicinity; for
the last five days storm and head winds pre-
vented their attempts to depart. Audubon
speaks of “millions” of velvet ducks — white-

8

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

winged scoters — flying from the northwest
to the southeast, and of the immense numbers
of eiders, murres, and razor-billed auks. He
is impressed with the extremely shy and wary
character of the waterfowl, ‘“‘which to me in
this wonderfully wild country is surprising.”
On one occasion he walked four miles up the
shore of the Little Natashquan River as far
as the falls, but most of the time he spent at
his drawing-table, leaving the work of procur-
ing specimens to the younger members of his
party. He begins his day at two o’clock, “for
we have scarcely any darkness now,” and at
his work he is able to hear some bird songs.
He says ‘‘so sonorous is the song of the Fox-
colored Sparrow that I can hear it for hours,
most distinctly, from the cabin where I am
drawing, and yet it is distant more than a
quarter of a mile.”” In another place he says:
“The Turdus migratorius [Robin] must be the
hardiest of the whole genus. I hear it at this
moment, eight o’clock at night, singing most
joyously its ‘Good-night’ and ‘AIl’s well!’ to
the equally hardy Labradorians.”’

Audubon was astonished at the rapidity
of development of the arctic spring on these

9

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

shores. He notes on June 21: “I found many
small flowers open this day, where none ap-
peared last evening. All vegetable life here is
of the pygmy order, and so ephemeral that it
shoots out of the tangled mass of ages, blooms,
fructifies, and dies, in a few weeks.”

He came in contact with the nefarious trade
of the ‘“‘egger.”” “‘We ascertained to-day that
a party of four men from Halifax took last
spring nearly forty thousand eggs, which they
sold at Halifax and other towns at twenty-
five cents per dozen, making over $800;
this was done in about two months. Last
year upward of twenty sail were engaged in
‘egging’; so some idea may be formed of the
birds that are destroyed in this rascally way.”

On June 22, Audubon visited the little set-
tlement at the mouth of the Great Natash-
quan River, the establishment of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, and described the Montagnais
Indians there. He says: “‘So shy of strangers
are the agents of the Fur and Fish Company
that they will evade all questions respecting
the interior of the country, and indeed will
willingly tell you such untruths as at once
disgust and shock you. All this through the

10

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

fear that strangers should attempt to settle
here, and divide with them the profits which
they enjoy.”’

On the same day the vessel Gulnare, Cap-
tain Bayfield, entered the harbor on a survey-
ing cruise. He found the ship’s doctor to be
a student of botany and conchology. ‘Thus
men of the same tastes meet everywhere, yet
surely I did not expect to meet a naturalist
on the Labrador coast.’’ Later he dined on the
Gulnare at five o’clock, ‘‘and was obliged to
shave and dress — quite a bore on the coast
of Labrador, believe me.’”’ The party con-
sisted of the captain, the surgeon, and three
officers, and ‘‘the conversation ranged from
botany to politics, from the Established Church
of England to the hatching of eggs by steam.
I saw the maps being made of this coast, and
was struck with the great accuracy of the shape
of our present harbor, which I now know full
well.’”’

On June 27 he records the discovery of a
new species of bird, the Lincoln’s sparrow:
“We shot a new species of Finch, which I have
named Fringilla lincolnit.” On July 4 he says:
“T have drawn all day, and have finished the

11

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

plate of the Fringilla lincolnit, 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.” These plants are the pale
laurel, the northern. dwarf cornel, and the
cloudberry, or bake-apple as it is called by
the English-speaking people of Labrador,
Newfoundland, and Cape Breton. Chicoutat
is its Indian name and it is so called by the
Acadians along the southern coast of the
Labrador Peninsula. It is circumpolar in its
distribution and is found in the northern parts
of the Old World as well as in the New. It
belongs to the raspberry family and resembles
a large berry of that group; it is red when
nearly ripe, but turns yellow when it is ready
to eat. It is much esteemed by the natives,
but its flavor, to one unaccustomed to it, is
not attractive. It makes, however, an excel-
lent preserve, although somewhat seedy withal.
In the spring its two or three large leaves and
single white flower are conspicuous in the moss,
and in the summer its handsome fruit is very
prominent.

On the afternoon of June 28, following a

12

aye(q uoqnpny
MOUAVdS S,NTOONIT NIOONIT SVNOHL

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

week’s delay due to easterly winds with rain
and fog, a favorable westerly breeze sprang
up, the explorers set sail, and the next morn-
ing found themselves near islands on which
murres, puffins, razor-billed auks, and cormo-
rants were breeding by thousands. These is-
lands are stated to be about fifty miles from
Natashquan and were probably in the neigh-
borhood of Old Romaine. From there the
Ripley continued down the coast, and toward
the end of the day came to anchor in the har-
bor of Wapitagun. Audubon says, “but as
before our would-be pilot could not recognize
the land,” and they found difficulty in enter-
ing the harbor “‘on account of our pilot being
an ignorant ass; twice did we see rocks under
our vessel. The appearance of the country
around is quite different from that near Ameri-
can Harbor; nothing in view here, as far as the
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 com-
pact, 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,
13

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

and yet I have found the Shore Lark (Alauda
alpestris) in beautiful summer plumage.’ He
is continually complaining of the cold — ‘‘The
weather was so cold that it was painful for me
to draw almost the whole day’’ — and of the
wet and storm and of the desolate character of
the country, yet he thoroughly enjoyed it when
the sun came forth and warmed his Southern
blood. This is shown by the entry in his Jour-
nal for July 2. “A beautiful day for Labra-
dor.... 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 es-
sence of the magnolia is to those of favored
Louisiana.”

The next day, however, ‘‘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.”’ His hands were full
of work in this place, as water- and land- birds
abounded and he was delighted at procuring
some ptarmigan and young. On July 6 he
says: ‘‘By dint of hard work and rising at

14

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

three, I have drawn a Colymbus septentriona-
lis [red-throated loon] and a young one, and
nearly finished a Ptarmigan; this afternoon,
however, at half-past five, my fingers could
no longer hold my pencil, and I was forced to
abandon my work, and go ashore for exercise.
The fact is that I am growing old too fast;
alas! I feel it — and yet work I will, and may
God grant me life to see the last plate of my
mammoth work finished.’’ Later in the Jour-
nal, under date of August Io, he says: ‘‘I have
been drawing so constantly, often seventeen
hours a day, that the weariness of my body
at night has been unprecedented, by such work
at least. At times I felt as if my physical pow-
ers would abandon me; my neck, my shoulders,
and, more than all, my fingers, were almost
useless through actual fatigue at drawing. ...
The young men think my fatigue is added to
by the fact that I often work in wet clothes,
but I have done that all my life with no ill
effects. No! no! it is that I am no longer
young.”

Until the publication in 1917 of the impor-
tant work on ‘‘Audubon the Naturalist,’ by
Francis Hobart Herrick, there was a mystery

15 ;

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

about the date of Audubon’s birth, which was
generally recorded as occurring on May 5,
1780, with the extreme limits 1772 and 1783.
Herrick, however, has shown by indisputable
documentary evidence that the great naturalist
was born at Les Cayes, Santo Domingo, on
April 26, 1785. He was, therefore, only forty-
eight years of age at the time of the Labrador
expedition. The cause of his exhaustion, how-
ever, was plainly his excessively long hours of
sedentary work under difficult and depressing
circumstances of cold, wet, and sea-sickness.

The mosquitoes also added to his difficul-
ties, for no means were used to keep them out
of the cabin. He says: ‘‘'The mosquitoes trou-
ble me so much that in driving them away
I bespatter my paper with ink, as thou seest,
God bless thee. Good-night.’’ Again: ‘‘The
mosquitoes so annoyed me last night that I
did not even close my eyes.”’ And in another
place he says: “‘The Caribou flies have driven
the hunters on board; Tom Lincoln, who is
especially attacked by them, was actually
covered with blood, and looked as if he had
had a gouging fight with some rough Ken-
tuckians.”’

16

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

Although stormy weather is common on this
coast, Audubon was certainly. unfortunate in
experiencing an unusually stormy season. Of
the fifty-four days between June 17 and August
11 that were spent on the Labrador coast, he
speaks of rain and fog and storm on at least
twenty-five, and he had apparently only fif-
teen days of fine weather. His Southern blood
rebelled against the Northern cold and storm.

Still another handicap was his “ignorant
ass”’ of a pilot, who, not knowing the region,
exposed them to no inconsiderable danger of
shipwreck, on entering and leaving harbors,
and who was obliged to sail for safety on the
rough waters of the Gulf rather than in the
calm and narrow waterways among the islands.
It is probable that homesickness added to Au-
dubon’s troubles, as is shown by such records
as, ‘John’s violin notes carry my thoughts
far, far from Labrador, I assure thee.”

It is a curious fact that in the Journal Au-
dubon never once mentions his food,! an item
that is often dwelt upon with a great deal
of either favorable or unfavorable feeling by

1 In one of the ‘‘Episodes,’’ however, he says they “were
fortunate in having a capital cook, although he was a little too
fond of the bottle.”

17

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

most travelers. He says, however, that his
young companions “have yet energy to eat
tremendously.” In a letter? written to Mr.
Ruthven Deane by Dr. William Ingalls in his
ninetieth year occurs the following: “And
permit me to say cornmeal bread made by a
good cook with sea-birds’ eggs is fit for
Yum-Yum!! Excuse me, I am nothing
but a boy.” This bears out my contention
that the usual idea of the meaning of the
phrase, ‘‘Whom the gods love die young,” is
incorrect. It really means that those whom
the gods love die young even if they live to be
a hundred.

On July 13, taking advantage of a favorable
wind, the Ripley sailed again easterly on the
open sea, and on the next day in rough water
managed by good luck to enter the harbor of
“Little Macatine,” and all were soon ashore
climbing the hills. This is Hare Harbor in
the island of Little Mecattina. ‘‘ Nothing but
rocks — barren rocks — wild as the wildest of
the Apennines everywhere.” True naturalist
that he was, everything interested him. The
raised beaches of pebbles he attributed to the

1 The Auk, vol. Xxvu (1910), p. 48.
18

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

tremendous gales of the coast and to icebergs.
“Plants blooming by millions, and at every
step you tread on such as would be looked
upon with pleasure in more temperate climes.
I wish I were a better botanist that I might
describe them as I do the birds.’”’ Again:
“The captain brought me what he called an
Esquimau codfish, which perhaps has never
been described, and we have spirited him.”
His keenness of observation is well shown by
the following: ‘‘This bird [a spruce partridge]
was so very gray that she might almost have
been pronounced a different species from those
at Dennysville, Me., last autumn; but this
difference is occasioned by its being born so
much farther north; the difference is no greater
than in Tetrao umbellus [ruffed grouse] in
Maine, and the same bird in western Pennsyl-
vania.’”’ Both of these observations have since
been confirmed and two separate races of each
bird have been recognized by ornithologists.
The country about this harbor was thor-
oughly searched for bird life. On July 18 he
says: ‘‘From the top of a high rock I had fine
view of the most extensive and the dreariest
wilderness I have ever beheld. It chilled the
19

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

heart to gaze on these barren lands of Lab-
rador.... The mosquitoes, many species of
horse-fly, small bees, and black gnats filled the
air; the frogs croaked; and yet the thermom-
eter was not high, not above 55°. This is
one of the wonders of this extraordinary coun-
try.” They found the deserted cabin of a
sealer, and Audubon discovered that it ‘‘had
been the abode of two French Canadians; first,
because their almanac, written with chalk on
one of the logs, was in French; and next, the
writing was in two very different styles.”
i. On July 21 they left Little Mecattina Island
and in five hours reached ‘‘a harbor which
has no name, for we have mistaken it for the
right one, which lies two miles east of this;
but it matters little, for the coast of Labra-
dor is all alike comfortless, cold and foggy
yet grand.” This harbor, which he elsewhere
speaks of as Baie de Portage, is now called Mut-
ton Bay. Here he found Captain Bayfield, of
the Gulnare, encamped on shore and enjoyed
the treat of talking with men of education and
refinement.

The next day Audubon’s party embarked
in three boats and visited a harbor — Mecat-

20

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

tina Harbor — a mile to the eastward where
the crew of a whaling schooner were engaged
in trying out blubber, and they called on a
French-Canadian seal-catcher who gave them
much information about various fur-bearing
animals. In his ‘‘Episode” on ‘‘The Squat-
ters of Labrador’’ he refers to this man as
Pierre Jean-Baptiste Michaux. The latter’s
cabin was in a sheltered nook where, to his
surprise, Audubon found the atmosphere quite
warm, vegetation luxuriant, and the winter
wren, white-crowned, fox, and Lincoln’s spar-
rows, the Wilson’s warbler, and horned lark in
full song.

On July 23 the party visited the seal estab-
lishment at Sparr Point of Samuel Robertson,
a Scotchman, who had lived there for twenty
years. He was lord of the region, and well
contented with his lot; his profits from seal
oil and furs amounted the previous year to
£600.

On July 23 they set sail from Baie de Por-
tage, intending to call on Chevalier at St.
Paul’s River, but, on account of unfavorable
weather, were unable to do so. They found
themselves that evening off Bonne Espérance;

Q1

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

“but as our pilot knew as much of this harbor
as he did of the others, which means nothing
at all, our captain thought prudent to stand
off and proceed to Bras d’Or,” which they
reached the following morning. Here the seal-
fishing establishment of Mr. Jones was visited
afterwards so interestingly described in the
“Episode” already referred to, and much in-
formation on the birds and beasts and people
gathered. Here it was that Audubon at last
‘succeeded in finding the nest of the horned lark,
long sought in vain, and he makes a tantaliz-
ing record of the now extinct pied or Labrador
duck as follows: ‘‘The Pied Duck breeds here
on the top of the low bushes, but the season is
so far advanced we have not found its nest.”
At noon on August 1 they ‘were visited
by an iceberg, which has been drifting within
three miles of us, and is now grounded at the
entrance of the bay; it looks like a large man-
of-war dressed in light green muslin, instead
of canvas, and when the sun strikes it, it glit-
ters with intense brilliancy.’”’ Two days later
the Wizard, commanded by Captain Wilcomb,
of Ipswich, which had anchored near, broke
her stern chain in a gale, collided with the
22

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

Ripley, and stove in their “‘ beautiful and most
comfortable gig.”” However, the vessels were
soon parted without further damage. On this
day, August 3, the Eskimo curlew, now al-
most extinct, appeared from the north. ‘This
species here takes the place of the Migratory
Pigeon [alas, now entirely extinct]; it has now
arrived; I have seen many hundreds this after-
noon, and shot seven. They fly in compact
bodies, with beautiful evolutions, covering a
great extent of country ere they make choice
of a spot on which to alight; this is done where-
ever a certain berry called the ‘Curlew berry’
proves to be abundant. Here they balance
themselves, call, whistle, and of common ac-
cord come to the ground, as the top of the
country here must be called. They devour
every berry, and if pursued squat in the man-
ner of Partridges. A single shot starts the
whole flock; off they fly, ramble overhead for
a great distance ere they again alight. This
rambling is caused by the scarcity of berries.
This is the same bird of which three specimens
were sent to me by William Oakes, of Ipswich,
Mass.”

On August Io the party visited Perroquet

23

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Island, near Blanc Sablon, the breeding-place
then as now of puffins or perroquets.

In great spirits he enters in his Journal on
the same date the following: ‘‘Who, now, will
deny the existence of the Labrador Falcon?
[Black or Labrador gyrfalcon.]! Yes, my Lucy,
one more new species is on the list of the ‘ Birds
of. America,’ and may we have the comfort of
seeing its beautiful figure multiplied by Hav-
ell’s engraver. This bird (both male and fe-
male) was shot by John whilst on an excur-
sion with all our party, and on the 6th inst.,
when I sat till after twelve o’clock that night
to outline one of them to save daylight the
next day to color it, as I have done hundreds
of times before.’’ While at Bradore, the party
visited Blanc Sablon, and some of the young
men walked as far east as Forteau, which he
enters in his Journal as Port Eau.

On August 11 they put to sea,—‘‘Seldom
in my life have I left a country with as little
regret as I do this’’; and two days later they

1 In the original plates the black gyrfalcon, called obsoletus
by Gmelin in 1788, is figured, while in The Birds of America,
although the details of the capture of the birds in Labrador
are given, the bird, is described and figured as the Iceland
gyrfalcon.

24

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR TRIP

anchored at St. George’s Bay, Newfoundland.
Here ‘‘the temperature changed quite sud-
denly, and this afternoon the weather was so
mild that it was agreeable on deck, and con-
genial even to a Southerner like myself.”
Here they explored and collected and disported
themselves at a ball, where John Woodhouse
Audubon played the violin till half-past two
in the morning. After four days of sea-sick-
ness they reached Nova Scotia and rejoiced
mightily as they smelt the odor of new-mown
hay and heard the music of the crickets. Leav-
ing the schooner, they walked full of joy among
familiar surroundings to Pictou and put up at
the “ Royal Oak.”’ In Pictou they saw much
of Professor McCullough. Thence they went
by coach to Halifax where, from walking about
to see the town, ‘‘all have aching feet and
leg-bones in consequence of walking on hard
ground after tramping only on the softest,
deepest mosses for two months.”’ Leaving Hali-
fax, they journeyed by coach to Windsor, saw
the wonderful Bay of Fundy tide, and took the
Maid of the Mist to Eastport. ‘Here we were
kindly received by all our acquaintance; our
trunks were not opened, and the new clothes
25

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

‘paid no duties; this ought to be the case with
poor students of nature all over the world.” A
week later, on September 7, 1833, Audubon
reached New York, ‘‘and, thank God, found all
well.”

This arduous trip was well worth all its
hardships. Audubon brought back seventy-
three bird-skins, as well as a large collection
of plants and of other natural-history objects.
He observed in all some ninety-three different
species of birds, and recorded much that was
hitherto unknown. A new species, Lincoln’s
sparrow, was discovered and described, and
twenty-three drawings of the birds were com-
pleted or nearly completed. He worked hard
and has been well rewarded.

CHAPTER II
TO, THE STARTING-POINT

NSTEAD of going by way of Eastport,

Maine, as did Audubon, my companion and
I took the night train to Montreal. We—
Mr. Harold St. John, botanist, and myself, or-
nithologist — became for the time being mem-
bers of the staff of the Canadian Geological
Survey, each in his own line to make studies
and reports. With my friend botany was a
profession; he had taught the subject at Har-
vard College, and he was to become a per-
manent worker in the Canadian Survey. In
my own case the study of natural history in
general and of ornithology in particular was
merely a lifelong hobby.

The steamship Cascapedia took us down the
great river St. Lawrence the afternoon of
June 24, 1915, under the care of Captain
Hearn. He was an old friend of another trip
and, as I sat next to him at table, I had’ the
full benefit of his wise and witty sayings and
sea-tales. We were speaking of Sable Island,

Q7

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

and the botanist was enthusiastic about a trip
he had taken to that out-of-the-way spot,
when the captain said, with much emphasis,
‘“‘Any one who would go to Sable Island for
pleasure would go to hell for pastime’’; and
added, ‘‘You fellows are all tarred with the
same brush — you’re never happy unless you
’re in some d——d wilderness.”

The next morning early we had a couple of
hours ashore at Quebec, and, besides wander-
ing about the old town and reveling in the
wonderful view from the Terrace, we enjoyed
an impressive service in the dimly lighted ca-
thedral. Regular life on board the boat now
began, and we found an interesting company,
as is apt to be the case on out-of-the-way
journeys. I particularly enjoyed long talks
with Napoleon A. Comeau, the veteran nat-
uralist of Godbout, an authority on the life-
history of our salmon, and an ornithologist of
no mean attainments. He gave me an account
of his trip the previous summer to Hudson
Bay, and of the birds he had found on the
western side of the Labrador Peninsula. An-
other of our passengers, who left us at Trinity,
was a Scotchman who, morning, noon, and

28

COMEAU

NAPOLEON A.

CAPTAIN J. HEARN

TO THE STARTING-POINT

night, paraded the deck playing the bagpipes.
At first disposed to laugh at the performance
and to regard it as of a low order, I finally be-
came much impressed with the variety and
interesting character of the music, which he
played with much artistic feeling and appro-
priate steps. His pieces ranged from light to
mournful, from jigs to pibrochs. Dr. Mc-
Duff, the successor of the late Dr. Tremblay,
of Esquimaux Point, was of our company, as
was also Dr. West, who was to take Dr. Hare’s
place at the westernmost Grenfell mission at
Harrington.

The captain introduced a term new to me
when I asked him what the men did at one of
the small stopping-places. ‘‘They are mostly
hot-rockers here,’’ said he; and when pressed
for an explanation, replied, ‘‘Oh, the men are
too infernally lazy to fish, so they lie down on
the hot rocks.’’ I also heard him tell again the
tale of the first captain under whom he served
as mate. This man navigated by a demijohn
of rum, whose depth he plumbed from time to
time with a stick. At last a point was reached
where the captain judged it would be well to
take an observation by the sun. .

29

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

It was a beautiful afternoon when we en-
tered the wonderful Bay of Seven Islands,
They were having a good season at the whale
factory, but no whales were to be seen and
we were too far to windward to perceive the
usual evidence of them. At Clark City Wharf
—the port of the wood-pulp factory eleven
miles distant in the forest — we landed one
of the Clark brothers and listened to talk
about the management of the men and pulp
production. I also had the pleasure of hear-
ing the songs of a Tennessee warbler, a white-
throated sparrow, and a hermit thrush, while
my companion filled his box with flowers.

This bay is of great interest to the orni-
thologist, as here brant collect in immense
numbers in the spring preparatory to their long
flight across the base of the Labrador Peninsula
to James Bay. Unlike most water-birds, which
skirt the coast in the migrations, they make
this short cut across the land. While resting in
the bay they feed on the eel-grass, which grows
here in great profusion. Eel-grass also is a fa-
vorite diet of the Canada goose, and it is called
on the coast herbe outard, for the Canada goose
is known here as /'outard, a name used by

30

TO THE STARTING-POINT

Champlain and other early explorers. The
name outard signifies bustard, a very different
bird, but, in the old French of Champlain and
the modern Acadian it is applied to the wild
goose.

The Bay of Seven Islands is close to the
western limit of the Labrador Peninsula. On
modern maps one finds the name Labrador
printed on a narrow strip along the eastern
coast and the Straits of Belle Isle as far as
Blanc Sablon. This is the part of the peninsula
that belongs to Newfoundland. The northern
part of the great peninsula is labeled Un-
gava, and the southern part Saguenay County,
Quebec, but these are political divisions whose
boundaries are artificial and are even now
uncertain and under dispute. The great nat-
ural feature to which the term Labrador Pen-
insula belongs — an area according to Low of
some 511,000 square miles — has certain boun-
daries that are easily comprehended. On the
north lie Hudson Straits, on the east the At-
lantic Ocean, on the south the Straits of Belle
Isle and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and on the
west James Bay and Hudson Bay. At various
times the line marking off the neck of the pen-

$1

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

insula has been drawn from the foot of James
Bay to the mouth of the Saguenay, to Pointe
du Mont near Godbout and to a point where
the fiftieth parallel of latitude strikes the coast
a short distance to the west of the Bay of
Seven Islands. The latter boundary, nearly
six hundred miles long, is the one now ac-
cepted. Aside from this one comparatively un-
important artificial boundary, the Labrador
Peninsula is a definite and striking natural
feature on the earth’s surface.

The term ‘Labrador,’”’ one would think,
might therefore be used for any part of the
peninsula, but strictly speaking, it is often re-
stricted to that part belonging to Newfound-
land. This is often called ‘‘The Labrador.”
The inhabitants of the southern coast, how-
ever, commonly speak of. Canadian Labrador
as well as of Newfoundland Labrador and these
terms seem to be convenient and easily under-
stood. They are used by the Canadian Geolog-
ical Survey. The northern part of the penin-
sula north of Hamilton Inlet, to the west of
the coastal strip, should be known as Ungava
Labrador. From a biological point of view it
is a great convenience to use the term Labra-

32

TO THE STARTING-POINT

dor for the whole peninsula, and it can be done
without fear of confusion if the qualifying
terms Ungava, Newfoundland, and Canadian
are used. The population of this huge penin-
sula has been estimated to be fifteen thousand.
This includes thirty-five hundred Indians and
two thousand Eskimos. The interior is in-
habited by the Indians alone; the whites and
Eskimos live only on the coast. The population
in summer is increased by about twenty-five
thousand Newfoundland fishermen who visit
the eastern and southern coasts.

At the town of Seven Islands, which con-
tains a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, an
Indian village, and the seat of the Bishop of
the Catholic missions of the coast, we ran
aground attempting to reach the newly built
wharf. We backed out, anchored, and waited
a couple of hours for a higher tide. One would
have thought it was a band of emigrants that
huddled together for shelter on the wharf at
ten that night, but it was only a party of ladies
and gentlemen and a charming baby going to
a salmon-fishing camp on Trout River. Mr.
William Kakas, well known on this coast as a
fur-trader, also disembarked here.

33

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

At Ellis Bay, Anticosti, on the fourth morn-
ing of the voyage from Montreal, we landed
the enterprising manager of lumbering inter-
ests for M. Menier, the feudal lord of this
great island. Some ten years before, this young
man, a New Yorker, heard that the island of
Anticosti, one hundred and forty miles long
by thirty broad, was for sale, and tried to in-
terest an American millionaire in it, but failed.
Henri Menier, the chocolate king of France,
heard of it and cabled the young man to meet
him in Paris. The interview resulted in the
purchase of the island and the establishment
of the New Yorker as manager of lumbering
interests, a position he has since held. With
his family he spends his summers at Anticosti,
his winters in New York. Henri Menier died
and the younger brother, Gaston, was at the
island in 1914 when the war broke out. He
hurried back to France to find his chAteau in
the possession of the Germans. From our point
at anchor we could see the storehouses, the
manager’s house, and the Menier mansion;
this from a distance did not look particularly
impressive until we were told it contained
eighteen bathrooms. The manager, with his

34

TO THE STARTING-POINT

wife, four children, assistants, servants, and
baggage, made up a picturesque company as
they went ashore in a large ship’s boat under
sail.

We were soon back on the Céte Nord and
dropped anchor from time to time off familiar
places, to be met by fishing-boats for the ex-
change of passengers and commodities. Splen-
did twenty-pound salmon were to be bought
for fifty cents. Our conversation was of the
coast and its interests and life. We rarely re-
ferred to the war — it seemed to be only a
memory and a bad dream, a thing of the past
or of some other world from which we had
severed our connection, as indeed we had. It
was a refreshing relief. Mount St. John stood
up dark blue and sharply cut in its long and
irregular outline against a cloudless sky as we
anchored that evening off the mouth of the
St. John River. Near at hand lay the Wacouta,
James J. Hill’s white steam yacht, awaiting
her owner at the salmon club.

We arrived at Esquimaux Point late on the
evening of June 27, and found our pilot of

1 See A Labrador Spring for description of this part of the
coast. -

35

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the trip, Captain A. Edmond Joncas, and his
schooner the Sea Star. M. Johan Beetz, who
had courteously invited me to pay him a visit
at Piashte Bay, — now officially known as
Bay Johan Beetz, — also came to meet us on
the wharf. Although the botanist was hos-
pitably included in the invitation, he decided
to stay a day at Esquimaux Point to investi-
gate the flora of that limestone region, and
come on later in the Sea Star.

The next morning found me embarked in
the little mail schooner with M. Beetz en route
for his house, of which I had such pleasant
memories of six years before, when Mr. A. C.
Bent and I passed a day there and were roy-
ally entertained. M. Johan Beetz, a native of
Brussels and a man of education, came to this
coast twenty years ago for a summer’s sport,
was charmed by the place, spent the winter
at Piashte Bay, married the young telegraph-
operator of that tiny village, and, with the
exception of trips with his family to Europe,
has stayed there ever since. He is a pioneer
in the black fox industry, and, when I was
there six years ago, he had seven parks of these
animals; now he has twenty-one. On the mail

36

ZLaGG NVHOL ‘W NVAOHSVLVN JO SISHIYd FHL

&

TO THE STARTING-POINT

schooner the flag of France flew at the fore-
mast, that of England at the mainmast. Here,
at our host’s house, the flags of England and of
Belgium were on the flagstaff. Hard, indeed,
is it on those whose heartstrings are tied to
Belgium!

The family is a charming one. Of the master
and his versatile nature I have already writ-
ten in ‘‘A Labrador Spring.” He is a delight-
ful companion, full of fun, agile in mind, spirits,
and body. His wife presided with great dig-
nity, sweetness, and charm of manner over an in-
teresting family of six, from Johan le jeune, aged
sixteen, to Henri, aged eighteen months. Their
pleasant voices, great politeness, and affection-
ate regard for each other will always make this
visit one of the pleasantest memories of my life.
¥ The house, one of the largest and most com-_
fortable along the whole length of coast, is
built on the rocks beside a rushing salmon
river whose music was always in our ears. In
front is the bay with its rocky islands, behind,
the lakelike expansion of the river backed by
the hills and the spruce forest, while near at
hand is the little village with its half-dozen
houses and small chapel.

37

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

We were not entirely cut off from the world
here, for every day there arrived a carefully
worded telegram about the war sent by the
Government to all the stations on the coast.
This message is in French as far as Harring-
ton; and beyond this station it is translated
—with some loss of sense— into English.
The telegraph-line, a single wire built and
maintained by the Government, struggles
along this rocky coast as far as Chateau. Be-
yond that to Battle Harbor and along the
eastern coast communication is had by wire-
less stations. The character of the war news
was generally delphic and non-committal, but
it occasionally was most encouraging, and we
were all greatly cheered. .

The table was of the best, — delicious sal-
mon, — and he who has not eaten salmon fresh
from the Northern rivers knows it not, — trout,
capelin, lobster, seal-meat, canned rabbit, and,
from the garden, cress, radishes, turnip-tops,
chives, and dandelions. Seal-meat is a dark,
almost black meat, but surprisingly tender and
well flavored. There is no suspicion of a fishy
flavor, but rather a suggestion of mutton or
venison. It is certainly an excellent meat, but

38

TO THE STARTING-POINT

like many other foods on the coast is not ap-
preciated, for it is rarely eaten by man, but,
after the skin and blubber are removed, it is
thrown away or fed to the dogs.

Capelin is a small fish about the size of a
smelt and is delicious eating when fresh. It is
also good when slightly salted and dried. In
the latter state it is heated in the oven or on
top of the stove and eaten whole. Canned
rabbit is also to be mentioned with respect, for
M. Beetz employed a most expert canner and
thus enjoyed many foods out of season. His
snow cave or cold-storage plant was also well
stocked with game.

Turnip-tops make excellent greens and are
used when the young turnips are thinned.
Later, at Natashquan, I was amused to find
that the beet-tops were thrown away from
ignorance of their value, although the turnip-
tops were used. Here at Piashte Bay the veg-
etables already mentioned grew, as well as
rhubarb, carrots, onions, and green peas. M.
Beetz’s garden was neatly laid out in small
plots of rich black, peaty loam brought from
an island where sea-birds nested. It looked
like the garden of an experiment station, as

39

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the plots were so small, so regularly arranged,
and so free from weeds.

A white-crowned sparrow was nearly always
to be seen in the garden gathering insects and
grubs. Its family was securely hidden in a
nest under some fir trees close to the house.
His, or her, —for the sexes are alike, — white
crown with black stripes and neat slate-col-
ored breast contrasted well with the black
loam and green plants. This sparrow is cer-
tainly a dooryard bird. On the eastern coast
I always found it more plentiful about fishing-
villages. It often sang from the sod-covered
roofs of the houses and occasionally from
the spars of the schooners in the rocky har-
bors.

On the spring migration I have seen it within
a few feet of the doorsteps of my house at
Ipswich. Its song was frequently ringing out
—a sad and beautful one. The syllables my
friend Dr. Allen and I invented on the eastern
coast some years before to memorize it, seemed
still to fit, although they give no idea of its
wild beauty. These syllables are, more wet,
wetter wet chezee. It is probable that Piashte
Bay is about the extreme western breeding

40

TO THE STARTING-POINT

limit on the southern coast of this bird of the
Hudsonian and sub-Arctic zones.

Fortunately for me the Sea Star was de-
layed by calms and easterly winds, so I spent
five delightful days at Bay Johan Beetz. Many
hours were taken up with the study of the
splendid collection of the birds of the neigh-
borhood which M. Beetz had prepared, and I
found in it no less than six species new to the
list of birds previously recorded from the Lab-
rador Peninsula. These were Kumlien’s gull,
European widgeon, lesser scaup duck, kildeer
plover, red-winged blackbird, and eave swal-
low. All were stragglers to this remote region,
although Kumlien’s gull must be of common
occurrence on the eastern coast.

One day we went in canoes up the river sal-
mon-fishing, but although I succeeded in hook-
ing a large fish, the temptation to follow up
the bird-voices I could hear in the distance was
too much for me.

“Herkneth these blisful briddes how they singe
‘Ful is mine herte of revel and solas.”’

I left my host in his canoe to catch four twen-

ty-pounders, while I was paddled up the beau-

tiful stream to the old Indian portage at the
41

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

falls. It was not that I loved fishing less, but
birds more, and there have been so few who
have studied the birds of this region. Warblers
were common: black and white, Tennessee, yel-
low, magnolia, black-poll, and yellow palm, a
water-thrush, and a few redstarts.. A yellow-
bellied flycatcher gave his soft double whistle
and an olive-sided flycatcher repeated vocif-
erously, what-cheer. By the optimistic hunter
this is rendered, three deer. Three years ago I
had found the olive-sided flycatcher some fifty
miles in the interior in the valley of the Nat-
ashquan River. With this exception the only
previous record for the Labrador Peninsula is
that of Audubon, who found it there in 1833.
The absence of the black-throated green war-
bler interested me. This is a common bird with
us in New England whose song, Hear me, St.
Theresa, coming from the tops of pines is a
familiar one to bird-lovers. In the spring mi-
gration of 1906 I found this bird abundant
along the southern Labrador coast, and in the
summer of 1909 it was the most common war-
bler in the spruce forests of the interior in the
lower valley of the Natashquan River. Now
on this trip in the height of the breeding-
42

NEST OF RED-BREASTED MERGANSER: LABRADOR-TEA

TO THE STARTING-POINT

season no black-throated green warblers were
to be found at Piashte Bay or Natashquan,
and it is evident that they pass through the
coastal strip and breed only in the interior,
which, although farther north, is warmer. The
reverse is the case with the black-poll warbler,
which breeds abundantly along the still colder,
more Arctic coast to the eastward and is rare
on the forested coast and in river valleys.
Here at Piashte Bay it is not so common as on
the coast to the eastward of Natashquan. The
redstart, that bird with Belgian colors, black,
red, and yellow, is more enterprising than the
black-throated green warbler and nests on the
coast. I have not, however, found it to the east-
ward of this point, but here it was in full song.

On the shore of a lakelike expansion of the
river I startled a female red-breasted mergan-
ser or sheldrake — the bec-scie of the habitants
— from a tangle of spruce and Labrador-tea.
Here, about a dozen feet from the water and
the same distance above it, was the nest, con-
taining eight eggs, warm and well protected in
a bed of grayish-black down. Near at hand
swam a female black duck with her brood of

downy young.
43

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

The Indian portage path led up through the
‘thick spruce forest, which reverberated with
the roar of the unseen falls, to the rocky ledges
above. Over these the water dashed down
for more than a hundred feet into a dark for-
est-girt pool, where the trees waved in the
blasts and the smokelike spray rose in clouds.
The great bounding waves seemed to poise in
the air before the final plunge, and the roar
was deafening. From a distance these foaming
falls looked like a great patch of snow on the
hillside.

On another occasion we sailed to some rocky
islands and found the nests of great black-
backed gulls with their large spotted eggs, the
nests of herring gulls, of common terns, and of
eiders. In one of the latter, containing six
olive-green eider eggs, there were four addi-
tional eggs laid by a black duck, smaller and
of a drab color. All were smothered in the
warm gray down plucked from the breast of
the female eider whom we scared from the
nest. As we rounded a point we came on sev-
eral broods of eider ducklings with their moth-
ers. One group of five dived repeatedly and
scattered in all directions, while the mother

44

TO THE STARTING-POINT

uttered an alarmed rasping croak and flopped
about on the surface like a wounded bird.
Later she flew ahead of the boat to entice us
away from her dusky, downy youngsters.

Another time we were rowed to Grand Bay
of Piashte Bay. It is a beautiful spot with
rocky and wooded shores. A salmon-fisher had
set his nets at the mouth of the river, and was
living on his little schooner in a lovely cove
well protected from the sea. The river flows
around an island and forms two splendid falls,
each about forty feet high, grand and impres-
sive in the forest.

The Sea Star arrived on July 2, and early
the next morning we were off, taking our host
with us as far as Natashquan, which we reached
that evening. On the way we passed Queta-
choo, Watcheeshoo, Pashashiboo, and more of
the same kind. Natashquan, formerly called
American Harbor, is at the mouth of the Little
Natashquan River. It was the starting-point
of Audubon’s Labrador trip.

CHAPTER III
AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

T Natashquan we went at once to the

house of the captain’s brother, Richard
Joncas, the head and whole of the “‘ Labrador
Fur Company,’ whose delightful hospitality
and that of his wife I had enjoyed on my pre-
vious trips. Here, like Audubon, we were de-
layed by easterly winds and did not get away
until July 7, but we both were well content,
and explored the neighborhood as fully as
possible for flowers and birds. The day after
our arrival, July 4, we celebrated appro-
priately by some firecrackers produced from
the store, which, like those of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, contained everything that an
Indian’s heart might desire. The botanist and
I, fully equipped for our work, then started
for the “post,” five miles away. This was for-
merly the Hudson’s Bay post, but it is now
abandoned by the Company. Here, near the
mouth of the Great Natashquan River, is situ-
ated the annual summer encampment of the

46

EIDER DUCKS
Audubon Plate

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

Montagnais Indians. In Audubon’s time the
post was situated on the eastern side of the
river and Audubon went there by boat. Car-
tier found Indians here in 1534.

We crossed the bridge recently completed
over the mouth of the Little Natashquan River,
and separated in the woods beyond, agreeing
to meet for dinner on the beach about a mile
from the post. Mosquitoes and flies, which at

, Piashte Bay were just beginning to come into
their own, were now out in force and fully
‘up to concert pitch. I am inclined to think
that one is fortunate in entering a black-fly
country in this manner before the vicious crea-
tures reach their full powers, for the feeble
bites early in the season are sufficient to pro-
duce enough resistance to the poison so that
later the swelling that ensues is not severe. It
is a sort of prophylactic inoculation.

For both of us this was an interesting walk.
The wonderful flutelike song of the fox spar-
row was ringing in our ears. It is a splendid
song, that of a well-trained performer who is
contented with his powers and does not try
to vary his theme. It lacks, however, the feel-
ing of the simple song of the white-throated

47

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

sparrow and does not, of course, compare with
the hymn of that serene and heavenly singer,
the hermit thrush. Nor is the song as inter-
esting as that of the Lincoln’s sparrow. I have
already quoted Audubon’s record in his Jour-
nal of his discovery of the Lincoln’s sparrow
at Natashquan. He named it after one of his
young companions, Tom Lincoln. It is fairly
common all along this coast and takes the
place here of the song sparrow, which it closely
resembles and of which it is a near relative.
When one has thoroughly grasped the slight
differences in the shade of color and in the
markings, one can readily distinguish the
two birds. The markings both on the breast
and back are finer in Lincoln’s sparrow, the
color of the back is more olive and the front
of the breast is washed with buff. Unlike the
song sparrow, he is not social in his disposi-
tion, but very shy, and easily eludes the sight
even when he is singing. The song is one of
considerable beauty and great range of theme.
At times I have recognized the general char-
acter of the melody of the song sparrow, at
times the jingling notes of the song of the win-
ter wren, at times the impassioned warble of
48

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN’

the purple finch. It generally has a loud ring-
ing character like the music of silver sleigh-
bells with the interpolation of fine trills and
deep flutelike notes. One bird I especially
loved at Piashte Bay often ended his song with
Oh mieux, and occasionally followed it with an
almost inaudible trill which sounded as if he
were drawing in his breath after the supreme
effort. It is an interesting and cheerful song,
one which I always listened to with great
pleasure.

Audubon says in his Journal, ‘“‘The note of
this bird attracted me at once; it was loud and
sonorous.”’ In his ‘‘ Birds of America’’ he de-
scribes his first encounter with this new spe-
cies in a valley of beautiful verdure at Natash-
quan: ‘‘ But if the view of this favoured spot
was pleasing to my eye, how much more to
my ear were the sweet notes of this bird as
they came thrilling on the sense, surpassing
in vigour those of any American Finch with
which I was acquainted, and forming a song
which seemed a compound of those of the Ca-
nary and Wood-lark of Europe. I immedi-
ately shouted to my companions, who were not
far distant. They came, and we all followed the

49

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

songster as it flitted from one bush to another
to evade our pursuit. No sooner would it
alight than it renewed its song, but we found
more wildness in this species than in any other
inhabiting the same country, and it was with
difficulty that we at last procured it. Chance
placed my young companion, THomas Lin-
COLN, in a situation where he saw it alight
within shot, and with his usually unerring
aim, he cut short its career. On seizing it, I
found it to be a species which I had not pre-
viously seen; and, supposing it to be new, I
named it Tom’s Finch, in honour of our friend
LINCOLN, who was a great favourite among us.
Three cheers were given him, when, proud of
the prize, I returned to the vessel to draw it,
while my son and his companions continued
to search for other specimens. Many were
procured during our stay in that country.”
Another bird, whose song, far from beautiful,
may be represented by the syllables je-let ren-
dered in a harsh and jerky manner, was not
uncommon. It has also a pleasing call-note,
a double whistle so much like the common
note of the wood pewee that I am convinced
that when Audubon said in his Journal at
50

‘ AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

Natashquan, ‘‘I heard a Wood Pewee,” he had
in reality heard this bird. In fact, the yellow-
bellied flycatcher, a bird of about the same
size and appearance as the wood pewee, but
with a faint tinge of yellow below, was not
recognized till some years later by Baird, and
the wood pewee is not known to extend so far
north as Labrador. It is interesting to note
that seven years after Audubon’s visit to
Labrador he received a modest letter from
Baird, then a young man, describing this fly-
catcher, and venturing to think it was a new
species. With this thought Audubon at once
acquiesced.

I could delay for hours on the ornithologi-
cal interest of this walk, and the reader may
wish that the mosquitoes had got the better
of me; I cannot, however, refrain from speak-
ing of the Tennessee warbler, a bird appar-
ently overlooked by Audubon in these regions.
In his “Birds of America”? he says of this
species, ‘‘Of its migrations or place of breed-
ing I know nothing.” Its song was sufficiently
common along the coast, but in former trips
I had caught but fleeting visions of the bird,
which, like Lincoln’s sparrow, was more often

51

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

heard than seen. One exception should be
made to this statement, for two Tennessee
warblers came on board the steamer in a fog
when I was returning from one of my trips and
here they could be watched from a few feet. I
find from my notes that in the five days spent
at Piashte Bay I did not once succeed in see-
ing the bird. On one occasion I followed one
about for over half an hour in a low spruce
thicket, where it sang frequently and occa-
sionally chipped within what seemed to be a
few feet of me, but try as I would, I could not
get even a momentary glimpse of it. Here at
Natashquan the bird was really abundant, and
several times it appeared in full sight when it
sang.

Its song is loud and clear, businesslike and
unattractive. In its entirety it may be divided
into three parts, each part a repetition of
similar notes, and it may be expressed as fol-
lows: sst, sst, sst,— twa, twa, twa, — tsweet,
tsweet, tsweet. The third part is sometimes
omitted and the first part is rather faint and
cannot be heard at a distance; the middle part
is at times almost pleasing in its quality and
is loud and clear.

52

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

This was the warmest day we had experi-
enced, and although it was only 54° F. in the
morning and 62° at noon, yet in that part of
the world it was considered sultry. After a
bath in the sea, the remembrance of the flies
and mosquitoes was happily washed away,
and erbswurst, dried capelin, bread and cheese,
and chocolate made us contented with the
world: From time to time Indians, who had
been to church at Natashquan and had after-
wards traded at the store, came along the
beach and passed us as we sat cross-legged
around the fire. Usually they scudded shyly
by like sandpipers, but occasionally they
stopped to gaze on us, say bon jour, and vari-
ous incomprehensible words. I felt that the
usual state of affairs was reversed and that I
and not the Indian was on exhibition. Later
I suddenly came across a picturesque group
of Indian girls picking last year’s mountain
cranberries. This berry is called in Newfound-
land partridge-berry, but here is known as
graine rouge or pomme de terre. The latter sin-
gular name is rendered possible by the fact
that potatoes are called potates in the Acadian
dialect of this coast. The berry after the win-

53

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

ter’s cold is delicious eating, as it has lost
much of its sharp acidity and it has a very
pleasant taste. It is gathered in the fall in
large quantities, keeps a long time in water,
and can be bought in Quebec for twenty-five
cents a gallon. In Newfoundland it has be-
come such a valuable asset that a botanist
was brought from Harvard a few years ago to
study the possibilities of the berry. Besides
its use for native consumption, it is sent largely
to the Norwegians in the northwestern part
of the United States.

After dinner we visited the Indian encamp-
ment at the mouth of the Great Natashquan
River and were received by a rush and chorus
of Indian dogs. These dogs are very different
from the Eskimo dogs and are much smaller.
They are long-haired with pointed noses and
ears and curled-up tails, and are generally black
and tan in color with white bellies and white
tips to their tails. While the Eskimo dog is
quite close to the timber wolf in origin, this In-
dian dog is probably of smaller, Asiatic stock.
I was on the lookout for a skull of this animal
for a friend who wished to make a comparison
with certain Asiatic specimens as well as with

54

INDIAN COUPLE AT ROMAINE

MONTAGNAIS INDIAN GIRLS PICKING

MOUNTAIN CRANBERRIES (Graines _

Rouges) AT NATASHQUAN

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

specimens found in Indian shell-heaps in New
England, but was unsuccessful. There were
thirty-three families of Indians here, domiciled
for the most part in ‘‘A” tents. The old wig-
wam and the oval tent formed of a framework
of willow and spruce, both of which I found
so common six years ago, seemed to be given
up for this more practical but less picturesque
white man’s tent.

These Indians are of the Montagnais or
Mountaineer tribe of the great Algonquin fam-
ily. All, as in Audubon’s time, wore for the
most part white man’s clothing, but there was
nevertheless a charm and _ picturesqueness
about the dress and general bearing of these
people. The women wore short, variously
colored skirts, brilliant handkerchiefs about
their necks, and caps of alternate stripes of
black and red broadcloth with embroidered
bands. These caps—their Indian name is
acunishuan — were shaped like a French lib-
erty-cap, and their peaks were drooped jaun-
tily in front or over one ear. The women’s black
hair was tied in knots the size of hens’ eggs
in front of each ear. Hind, who was in these
parts in 1861, pictures, in his “Explorations

5S

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

in the Interior of the Labrador Peninsula,”
the same fashion of cap and hair. When one
considers the expense, trouble, and _heart-
breaks that the white sisters of these Indian
squaws have experienced since this date in
following the innumerable changes of fashion
as regards hair-dressing and head-gear, one
cannot but admire the Indian’s wisdom in
retaining without change a fashion at once
attractive and sensible.

All the women wore on their breasts crosses
or crucifixes, many of them of polished silver
of considerable beauty and value. Both men
and women wore rainbow-colored woolen
stockings, knit by the white women of the
coast, and low moccasins or tall sealskin boots.
White canvas jackets were generally adopted
by the men, who often wore their straight
black hair cropped below their ears. The young
of both sexes were fine-looking, with dark olive-
brown skins and ruddy cheeks; their eyes were
black and sparkling. Their features were
finely cut, their hands and feet small, their
frames lithe and active. Some of the girls
possessed considerable beauty. The older peo-
ple, from whom the glow of youth had passed,

56

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

were dark and wrinkled and not so attrac-
tive.

The Indians usually spend the whole win-
ter, from the latter part of August till May,
hunting in the interior. They migrate up and
down the great rivers and by well-trodden por-
tage paths. Thewinter before many had to come
out early on account of the scarcity of game.
In the summer months they trade their furs
for necessaries and luxuries, attend to their
religious duties at the Catholic missions, and
spread along the coast feasting on sea-birds and
their eggs.

On our way back we noticed near the beach
the pale blue-green leaves of the lungwort
just appearing. This plant makes mats of foli-
age close to the sand and bears pink, chang-
ing to sky-blue, flower-bells. It is called on
this coast vie toujours, and with it is connected
a pleasing bit of folk-lore. It appears that it is
a common habit for a young girl to take two
branches of this plant and pin them by the
middle perpendicularly against the wall. As
they wilt, they bend either towards or away
from each other. If the former, the young man
will marry her; otherwise not. The captain,

57

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

who gave us this information, admitted that
in passing through a room he had often given
the boughs a slight twist to aid fate.

That evening, while I was skinning a bird
surrounded by all the party at Richard Jon-
cas’s house, there came a sharp knock at the
door. The captain’s son Paul cried, ‘‘ Entrez,”
and went out to the kitchen to return with a
telegram — the daily news of the war. M.
Beetz opened the envelope and his face fell.
He then read it aloud. It began, ‘‘ Nouvelles
tres sérieuses aujourd'hui. Les Etats Unis ont
déclaré la guerre a l’Allemagne,”’ and went on
to say that the harbor of New York was block-
aded by German submarines that had already
sunk eight steamers; that an uprising of Ger-
mans in Chicago and other cities was immi-
nent, and so on. I kept on skinning the bird,
but did a good deal of thinking, and finally
said, ‘‘I suppose I had better go back by the
next steamer.” At this they all burst out
laughing and said it was a fake. The relief
was great, and I gave vent to my feelings by
pursuing the prime conspirator with an up-
lifted chair. M. Beetz was in his element; he
is famous for his practical jokes, and this one

58

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

will undoubtedly be told with much gusto
along the coast for years. One of his jokes is
to unscrew the top of the salt-cellar at his
table and the unsuspecting guest gets a large
supply of salt. It is said that shy individuals
have eaten their briny soup rather than call
attention to their unexpected awkwardness.
A fisherman, dining with him one day, was
passed a plate containing pieces of cheese; he
took the plate. His host then had cream and
then some jelly passed him, all of which he
spread on the cheese, thinking it was au fait,
and, with a fisherman’s appetite, he ate it all.

The next day we all went to a beautiful
rocky, spruce-covered island at Watchechu,
some twelve miles distant. This Richard Jon-
cas wished to buy through his brother, the
captain, who, besides being game warden for
the entire southern coast as far as Blanc Sa-
blon, is also Crown lands agent. These islands
can generally be bought for five dollars an
acre. M. Beetz showed his proclivity for prac-
tical jokes by putting a fish in one of Richard’s
rubber boots, and he led me to think we were
striking rocks when we were going through
a narrow place between islands by suddenly

59

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

jumping up and down in the stern of the boat.
It was an interesting island, and we found
eiders and great black-backed gulls breeding
there. Paul, out of kindness to the botan-
ist, brought him a branch of Labrador-tea, a
plant which grows in profusion everywhere.
Paul had never really looked at it before, and
was struck with the beauty of its flower-clus-
ters and its long narrow leaves with rusty
woolly lower surfaces. He assured me— in-
credible as it may seem — that he had never
seen this flower before and thought, as he
picked it, that it was something unusual. It
was a marked illustration of a common and
well-known fact that most of us have eyes and
do not see. A still more striking instance is
worth narrating here. A college friend of mine
who had lived since graduation on Cape Cod,
wrote me that a book I had sent him “‘ recalled
an odd illustration of observation and its lack.
I was asked to secure for an Amherst Agricul-
tural Professor some beach peas. I had never
heard the name, but I remembered that when
a boy I had seen something at a certain place
in Woods Hole, which must have been the
desired plant. The next day I ran across the
60

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

same plant at Truro, and later found it in
profusion on my own beach. Now I must
have been walking all over it every year, and
the only time I had really seen it was over
forty years ago.”’ My friend devoted himself
to the classics in college.

That afternoon I followed Audubon’s steps
up the bank of the Little Natashquan River
to the falls. In the lower part of its course
there are brackish marshes of small extent.
I cannot call them salt marshes, for they lack
the characteristics of these common features
of the New England coast. Although a num-
ber of salt-marsh grasses grew there, — no-
ticeably a form related to our black-grass, —
silver-weed and even the blue iris and other
plants of brackish regions pushed their way
almost to the water’s edge. In fact I have never
found any true salt marshes on the Labrador
coast, and do not believe that salt marshes of
any size can exist, except on a slowly sinking
coastline. In Massachusetts, where there are
good reasons to believe the coast has been
sinking at the rate of one or two feet a cen-
tury, extensive salt marshes abound. These
build up at the same rate so that their rela-

61

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

tion to the sea-level remains always the same.
Where the land is rising, as it is in Labrador,
the formation of salt marshes is impossible,
because the plants of the various zones of the
salt marshes are very sensitive to conditions,
and cannot maintain them as they do where
the land is sinking at the same rate that the
marsh is building up. In other words, the
relation of the salt marsh to sea-level is al-
ways the same on a slowly sinking coast, but
changes on a rising coast to such an extent
that continued salt-marsh growth is impossi-
ble. If the position of the lands were stable,
—neither rising nor sinking, — the building-
up of the salt marsh would gradually lead to
a stealing-down of land vegetation and its
own almost complete obliteration. In a word,
then, the presence of extensive salt marshes
would always indicate a coast of slow subsid-
ence.!

The evidence of the rising of the land above
the water is very marked here on the Labrador
Peninsula. In places, as we shall see later in
this narrative, one may find two or more sea

' For a discussion of this subject, see my Sand Dunes and
Salt Marshes, pp. 206-28.

62

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

beaches of rounded pebbles elevated from
fifty to two hundred feet above the sea and
looking almost as fresh as if just left by the
tide. Fish-stages built fifty years ago on the
eastern coast are in places now barely acces-
sible from the water in boats. Mr. Comeau told
me of finding the remains of an old whale or
seal establishment on an inlet so far from the
salt water that he could not approach it even
in a canoe. On the southern coast in sandy
regions there are banks of marine sands cut
by rivers many miles inland. At the mouth
of the Great Natashquan River are low sand-
cliffs eight or ten feet high. Some seventy-
five miles inland I found cliffs of the same
marine sand over one hundred and fifty feet
high — the cliffs known by the Indians as
Tishkatawaka, or ‘‘cut up straight.’’ Back of
the beach at Natashquan are parallel ridges
which represent ancient shore-lines. Similar
sand-ridges occur miles inland and are elevated
high above the sea.

The harbor of Natashquan in Audubon’s
day, although shallow in places, was doubtless
deeper than it is now. Captain Joncas’s father,
who came to the coast as a trader with the

63

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Indians in 1852, used to sail close to the shore
in a schooner where now are rocks and sand-
bars, and but a few feet of water except at
the highest tides. Shifting sandbars of course
explain part but not all of this change of level.
The bones of a large whale were found near
where the church stands, in marine sand
twenty or thirty feet above the highest tides.
M. Beetz showed me the tooth of a sperm
whale that he had found as he stooped down
to drink on the shore of a small lake fifty miles
back in the bog.

So much for this subject of land-levels and
salt marshes. It is a long digression but an
interesting subject, and it occupied much of
my thoughts as I walked along the shores
of the Little Natashquan. My ears and eyes
were open for the birds, however, and I heard
and saw many, but none new or of special
interest. The toads were still trilling their
spring song this fifth day of July.

Arrived at the falls, I climbed to a high rock
and sat down in the refreshing breeze relieved
of the flies and mosquitoes. It is indeed a wild
country. To the east stretched a flat coastal

plain, as far as the eye could see clothed with
64

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

dark spruces and firs and terminated by a
horizon of fog. To the north were bogs, rocky
hummocks, small lakes and pools and patches
of stunted forest, relieved here and there by
ridges covered with white reindeer moss. Be-
yond lay the long low range of mountains
which stretches all along the coast, the ancient
Laurentian Mountains, the true ‘Everlasting
Hills.” The roar of the falls borne to my ears
with varying intensity by the blasts of wind,
the complaining notes of great black-backed
gulls soaring overhead, served but to intensify
the wildness of the scene. At my feet the red
granitic rock was almost concealed by lichens,
black, white, green, yellow, and gray, that are
slowly disintegrating the hard surface and ren-
dering it fit for more highly organized plant-
life that is to follow. Around me were tufts of
cotton-grass, mats of curlew-berry, mountain
cranberry, low spreading pale laurel, firs,
spruces, birches, and larches, all prostrate.
Where the trees had tried to rise a few inches,
they were blasted by the storms and their
twisted and distorted branches stood naked to
the air.

To the south, smiling in the sunlight, lay

65

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the little town of Natashquan. The church and
presbytery, in the thicket of white spruces,
with the long straight walk through the trees
on a raised sand-beach, the bridge newly built
over the river, the few scattered houses of the
inhabitants, the low, rocky islands, the blue
water, the fleet of little fishing-vessels — all
of these formed for me a familiar picture.

We expected to be off early on the 6th, but
were delayed by an easterly storm. The steam-
ship Laurentian, Captain Boucher, — my old
friend of the steamship Natashquan, — had
come in with difficulty the night previous and
had remained most of the day before ven-
turing forth. The old steamer Natashquan, of
La Ligne Internationale, that used to ply along
this coast has gone to her last berth. Three
times I risked my life by taking passage on
her, yet I look upon her demise with fond re-
grets. She reminded me of the Bridget, in
Van Dyke’s poem ‘Gran’ Boule,” that ran
“clear down to the Esquimault Point and
back,’’ —

“* Dose engine one leetl’ bit cranky, — too ole, you see, —
She roll and peetch in de wave. But I lak 'er pretty
well;’”” —

66

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

and I suspect that he wrote the poem after a
trip in the Natashquan. It was an open secret
that parts of her engine were wired together,
that her iron shell was so old and weak that
cement had been poured in to strengthen her
feeble frame, and that insurance companies
had long refused to carry her on their books.
On the latter account, if for no other reason,
Captain Boucher navigated with great cau-
tion, avoided the paths of other steamers, and,
in thick weather, anchored at night. In low-
lying fogs by day he himself climbed to the
masthead and eagerly peered over the mists.
I retain a vivid picture of the little captain
in carpet-slippers holding to the rigging with
one hand, a chart in the other, while he de-
livered from time to time his clear-cut orders
in French.

On the Natashquan one could forage in the
pantry and always find hot café-au-lait ; but I
especially enjoyed a luxury which was shared
by only one other passenger, a pet beaver.
This was a bathtub from whose tap flowed
only the cold salt water of the Gulf. Each of
us took a plunge in it daily and we never had
to wait for any one else.

67

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

There was still plenty to see at Natashquan,
however, and I took a long walk, chiefly in
stunted spruces and in the bog — the barrens
or tundras of Labrador — which occupies so
much of the country in the sub-Arctic and Arc-
tic zones. Audubon says in his Journal: ‘To
tread over the spongy moss of Labrador is a
task beyond conception until tried; at every
step the foot sinks in a deep, soft cushion which
closes over it, and it requires a good deal of
exertion to pull it up again. Where this moss
happens to be over a marsh, then you sink
a couple of feet deep every step you take; to
reach bare rock is delightful, and quite a re-
lief.”” . In another place he says: ‘‘ We crossed a
savannah of many miles in extent; in many
places the soil seemed to wave under us, and
we expected at each step to go through the
superficial moss carpet up to our middles in
the mire; so wet and so spongy was it that
I think I never labored so hard in a walk of
the same extent.” These descriptions are very
accurate. I should compare the labor to that
of walking in deep wet snow. I took the tem-
perature in the shade of an island of scrubby
spruce in one of these extensive tundras, and

68

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

although my own feelings and amount of per-
spiration suggested at least 80°, I found it to
be only 58°. In walking over the wetter part
of these plains one chooses with care the more
solid-looking places. I have often been re-
minded of the juvenile sport of ‘running
tittledies’’ over weak ice. One of Audubon’s
young men was once mired to his armpits and
had to be pulled out, but he must have been
careless or perhaps over-venturesome in re-
trieving a bird. Using due care and sufficient
agility one need have no fear of trouble in
these bogs.
“Heavy the way over Gangle bogs,
God keep him who has to tread it!”

The vegetation of the bogs consists in large
part of sphagnum and other mosses, of rein-
deer lichen, cotton-grass, sundew, pitcher-plant,
bake-apple, pale laurel, Labrador-tea, sweet-
gale, leatherleaf, and dwarf black spruces, firs,
and larches.

As I had promised to collect spiders for my
friend Mr. J. H. Emerton, an authority in
that branch of natural history, I always went
provided with bottles of alcohol. Spider-hunt-
ing in this region is rather trying work, for

69

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

near the ground one is simply overwhelmed
with black flies. My gun is laid down, my
glasses adjusted; then, at the critical moment
when both hands are occupied with the bottle
and the pursuit of the agile spider, my glasses
fall from my nose, slippery with ‘‘fly-dope”’ and
perspiration, and the flies become unendurable.
Sometimes I spread a large bundle handker-
chief on the ground and beat the spruce bushes
so that the spiders fell on the handkerchief.
A knowledge of the distribution of spiders
helps to solve some unexpected problems, and
the work was well worth while.

That afternoon I visited my friends Pére
Garnier and Pére Gallix, and found them
standing outside the church looking like a
picture from Parkman. Dressed in their long
black robes, each carrying a canoe-paddle and
an axe, they looked as if they were about to
plunge into the wilderness to convert the In-
dians. One of their axes was shaped like an
Indian tomahawk, — a model that the Hud-
son’s Bay Company has made for many years.
Their mission, however, was merely a short trip
up the Little Natashquan River in order to cut
birch branches for the petits pois in their garden.

70

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN.

I gladly accepted their invitation to go with
them, and we three, with a great Dane dog,
their faithful companion and beast of burden,
were soon sailing and paddling up the river
in a canoe. While they tied up their heads
with great handkerchiefs to keep off the flies,
and triced up their gowns to enter the scrubby
forest to cut birch boughs, I took a bath at
their favorite bathing-place of smooth rocks.
On the way back we inspected a small potato-
field they had made with infinite care on the
other side of the river, as well as an area they
had fertilized and seeded to grass, which they
afterwards intended to cut for their cow.

Their garden near the church was sur-
rounded by a neat fence of small spruce sticks,
and contained spinach, peas, cress, beets, tur-
nips, parsnips, dock, chives, rhubarb, and
potatoes, the last-named just peeping above
the ground, but favored in these regions by a
freedom from potato-beetles. Their henhouse
was planned and built by themselves with the
utmost neatness and care. They formerly
owned a horse, the first and last ever seen in
Natashquan. It was old when it came here
thirteen or fourteen years ago, and was care-

71

IN: AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

fully tended by the priests, who respected its
infirmities, used it occasionally in farming
operations, and, in a springless wagon, on rare
occasions made the journey with it of five
miles to the post at the mouth of the Great
Natashquan River. At last it became too in-
firm to work, and for several years it was
maintained in idleness by the bounty of the
Church until its demise, when its body served
as food for M. Beetz’s foxes.

Supper at the Presbytery was a very pleas-
ant affair from all points of view. I learned
much of the history of the little hamlet. There
was a trading-post on the farther side of the
big river for many years, but it was moved to
the right bank of the river in 1858. The first
settler at American Harbor was Paul Vignot,
an Acadian who came here from the Magda-
lens in 1855. His two sons, Alfred and Charles,
still live here. I have met them both. The
church was built in 1860. About forty years
ago the name American Harbor was dropped
and the term Natashquan, or Nataskouan as
it used to be spelled, was retained. Our con-
versation ranged from the history of the place
and the prospects of the people to Kant, evo-

72

AMERICAN HARBOR, OR NATASHQUAN

lution, and the war. My friends felt that as
a result of this horrible war there would be a
great spiritual awakening and that they could
freely return to France.

They are fine men, these priests. They be-
long to the Eudist Brotherhood, founded by
Jean Eudes, and, with the expulsion of religious
orders from France in 1903, they came to this
country and took charge of the missions along
the Canadian Labrador coast. Their bishop,
Monseigneur Blanche, whom I had the great
pleasure of meeting in 1912, bears the title of
“Evéque titulaire de Sicca, Vicaire apostolique
du Golf Saint-Laurent.”

CHAPTER IV
GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

N July 7 we were at last favored with a
fair wind, and at 3 A.M. set sail in the
Sea Star to explore the coast before us.

“Embark with me, while I new tracts explore,
With flying sails and breezes from the shore.
But wieee me — with a steady hand, :

And coast along the shore in sight of Jand.”!

The Sea Star was much smaller than its
distinguished predecessor, the Ripley, for she
was but seventeen tons burden and forty feet
long, while Audubon’s vessel was one hundred
and six tons burden and probably over a hun-
dred feet long. The Ripley was what is called
a topsail schooner with yards and square top-
sails. The Sea Star, when carrying full sail,
had, besides her main and fore sails, a jib and
flying jib, gaff topsail and main staysail. She
was painted green with white trimmings. The
cabin was six by eight feet, and high enough
to permit a man to stand erect. It contained
two bunks so closed in that the apertures

74

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

through which the occupant had to struggle
in and out were only forty-one by sixteen
inches, — a state of affairs which suggested
partial asphyxiation and a coffin. A sea-chest
and a small iron stove occupied much of the
floor space, while shelves, cupboards, hanging
lamps, clothes, guns, and other paraphernalia
filled in all available spaces. Forward two
men slept in the galley, where the cooking
was done and where we ate our meals. A large
shelf near the stove was given up to me for
my boxes of bird-skins, which here dried well.
Many of Audubon’s were ruined by the damp.
The hold behind the galley contained things
innumerable, and here, out of the wind, often
with the hatch down, the botanist arranged
his specimens and kept his presses and trunks.
The deck, not taken up by galley and cabin-
‘house, was fairly filled with water-tanks, spare
rigging, driftwood to be cut up for the stove,
and, during pleasant weather, by the bulky
drying-cases of the botanist. On the starboard
side of the deck forward, balsam boughs were
spread, and here we arranged sleeping-bags
at night. My home-made sleeping-bag proved
very satisfactory. The outer bag was made of
%5

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

balloon silk, its waterproof qualities improved
by a filler, with the addition of a little oil
paint; a flap extended over my head in the
baker-tent fashion, held in place by small guy-
ropes; cheese-cloth hung from the borders to
keep out insects. It is true that I found one
morning a dozen aldermanic-looking mosqui-
toes inside the canopy, but as a rule they were
kept outside. The inner bag was made of
lamb’s-wool wadding with a covering of gray
flannel and a lining of sateen. The outer bag
weighed two and a half pounds, the inner,
three and a half pounds, and both could be
compressed into so small a space as to occupy
less than half of a rucksack. As compared with
the ordinary bulky and heavy sleeping-bag
it was certainly preferable, but in heavy rain-
storms we were driven to the shelter of the
cabin.

There was no bathtub on board, but what
could be finer than a plunge overboard or a
pail of sea-water poured on head and shoulders
by one of the men, who shuddered with hor-
ror at our extraordinary temerity. These two
men were fine fellows. Guillaume (pronounced
Eel-yam), with buff-colored shirt with green

16

CAPTAIN A. EDMOND JONCAS

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

trimmings, a cocked hat, and drooping mus-
taches, was familiarly known by us as the
Pirate. He was always longing to shoot some-
thing and had to be restrained; yet he had a
pleasant voice and a habit .of singing softly
to himself old French songs. The cook, Ernest
by name, wore a pale pea-green shirt and had
most obliging ways. He was a man-of-all-
work, ready at any moment, day or night, and
above all an excellent cook. His bread was of
the best, his pancakes — crépes — of the light-
est, and the very thought of his patties and
confitures makes my mouth water. The cap-
tain remarked that whenever Ernest was up
to his elbows in bread-making he was sure to
be needed on deck to shift sail. It was hard
luck for Ernest, but he always took it as a joke,
and J never noticed any ill results in the bread.

Of the captain, A. Edmond Joncas, I speak in
terms of the highest respect. It grieves me to
think that Audubon, that great and good man,
should have had his Labrador trip so nearly
spoiled by the ‘‘ass of a pilot’’ when he should
have had a man like our captain. The Joncas
family came from La Gascogne, France, to
the New World in 1699, and settled at St.

V7

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Thomas near Quebec, but the men have al-
ways followed the sea. One of the captain’s
earliest recollections is of a trip at the age of
five along the Labrador coast in his father’s
trading-schooner. At Natashquan dogs were
hitched to a komatic for his benefit, and he en-
joyed dog-sledging over the moss in summer.
At the age of twenty-one he sailed before the
mast to India, and since he was twenty-three
he has commanded a schooner on the Canadian
Labrador coast. He therefore knows this coast
most intimately,— every nook and corner,
every island and reef, in a way that no chart
reveals. The best chart is misleading, for is-
lands half a mile long, not to speak of rocks
and reefs, are often entirely omitted. In fact all
modern charts are based on the survey made
by Captain Bayfield, of the Gulnare, who was
at work on the coast in Audubon’s day. Al-
though fairly accurate, these charts give but an
imperfect idea of the number and size of the
islands and of the intricacies of the coast. The
maps recently published by the Department
of Lands and Forests of Quebec, which, how-
ever, do not attempt to give the depths of the
water as do charts for navigators, are a lit-
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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

tle more satisfactory. The captain, however,
never used a chart in navigating these waters,
as his knowledge, supplemented occasionally
by the use of the lead, was so much more
valuable. I once measured the first fathom
of the captain’s plumb-line, and found it to
be ten instead of six feet long, and I noticed
that the cautious William would sing out
“Trois bras’? whenever this line indicated
three and a half and even four fathoms. When
one considers that there are probably two
thousand islands on this strip of Audubon’s
Labrador, it is evident that a pilot with a con-
genital and instinctive knowledge of the coast
is highly desirable.

Not only was our captain familiar with the
topography, but he was also familiar with the
human population of the coast, —he knew
every one by name and their fathers and
mothers before them. He said it was not
uncommon for a man to come out to his
schooner in order to learn from the captain
his own age. All the names of Labradorians
mentioned by Audubon in his Journal were
familiar to the captain. The descendants of
most of them were still living on the coast. He

19

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

read the Journal, which I had brought with
me, with the greatest of interest, and was able
from the descriptions to identify the harbors
where the Ripley cast anchor.

The captain was also familiar with the sea-
bird population and was able to take me to
interesting ornithological regions. With all
this he had a pleasing personality, one which
at once inspired confidence and affection. I
was indeed fortunate in my pilot — far more
fortunate than Audubon.

We had a long course ahead of us, over
thirty miles unprotected by islands from the
sweep of the Gulf, the longest unprotected
strip along the whole Canadian Labrador
coast east of Mingan. Five miles brought us
to the Great Natashquan River, which has two
mouths separated by a large island; the eastern
mouth is much larger than the western, with
which I was well acquainted. Both pour great
volumes of dark-brown water far out into the
sea, whose color, deep green, forms with the
river water a great contrast. At English Point,
a short way beyond the western mouth, is a
lighthouse recently built. It is the only one
between St. Mary’s Island on the east and the

80

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

Perroquets on the west. We sailed by a long
stretch of sandy shore, backed here and there
with a strip of pale-green beachgrass on sandy
dunes. Back of that was the dark spruce for-
est. In places the sand-banks were cut away
in cliffs. The low range of mountains was so
distant at this point that we could see only
the highest peaks. It was a desolate shore,
harborless and unprotected, low and unin-
teresting. From the deck of our little schooner
it was every now and then entirely swallowed
up as we descended into the hollow of the waves.

Twenty-two miles from Natashquan we
passed Kegashka, a small hamlet of three or
four houses at the mouth of the river of that
name. Here is a good harbor ‘‘secure against
the thirty-two winds indicated on the com-
pass” according to the Abbé Huard,! but dif-
ficult to enter. It was to this place in 1854,
a year before the settlement of Natashquan,
that the first group of Acadians came from
the Magdalens. I do not admire their choice.
The principal man there now is Jim Forman,
salmon-fisher.

1 Labrador et Anticosti, par 1’Abbé V.-A. Huard, A.M.
(Montreal et Paris, 1897.)

81

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Rocky points now began to appear along
the shore, gray and red granitic rocks, ribs
from the backbone of the Labrador Peninsula.
Against these the waves sent up great masses
of white spray. Twelve miles farther west is
Musquarro: Here are a small Indian mission
church and one or two houses. In June this
is the great gathering-point of the Montagnais
Indians for their annual religious rites, and a
priest comes there to meet them; in 1909 I
had seen the Indians leaving Natashquan for
this purpose. Gradually the land behind be-
came higher and low islands appeared. At
Washsheecootai there is one house on the
point, that of a salmon-fisherman, the father-
in-law of our cook. Here is where Ernest had
come a-courting.

About fifty miles from Natashquan we
anchored in a protected cove of Triple Island,
but alas! only a few herring and great black-
backed gulls and fewer razor-billed auks were
to be seen. The gulls flew complainingly over-
head, and well they might, for their nests, scat-
tered over the island, had all been robbed. This
can easily be explained, for it is only nine
miles from here to the mouth of the Romaine

82

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

River, where there are white fishermen, an In-
dian village, and a Hudson’s Bay Company’s
post. The river is called the Grand Romaine
to distinguish it from the other Romaine River
to the westward of Esquimaux Point. It is
said that the derivation of Romaine is from the
Montagnais orumen, or olumenne, which means
red earth, and at both of the Romaine rivers
there is yellow and reddish clay which, when
boiled in oil, is used for paint. ZL’orumen or
l’eau Romane easily became Romaine, and this
seems a reasonable derivation for a word which
appears at first sight to be out of place in this
cold and barren region. The Post here is pre-
sided over by a son of my old friend Monsieur
Molony, the salmon-fisherman of Mingan.

We at once visited the Indian encampment.
Nearly all the people retreated to their tents,
but by a judicious presentation of plug to-
bacco, with which I had provided myself, I
induced a number to come out and be photo-
graphed. The innumerable Indian dogs seized
the occasion to indulge in a general fight, when
nothing could be seen but a confused mass of
feet and tails. All the tents of the interiors of
which I had glimpses were very neat; the floors

83

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

were of carefully thatched fresh balsam boughs;
guns and various household goods were neatly
arranged at the sides. Each tent contained a
small sheet-iron stove whose smoke-pipe was
conducted out through the top. In one tent
was a small sewing-machine. We had been
told by Richard Joncas, of Natashquan, of one
Indian who spent all his fortune on a parlor
organ and another one who indulged in a
safety razor.

One family group inside a tent struck me as
being particularly picturesque, but even the
tobacco did not bring them out. In despair I
seized each one in turn by the hand and led
them forth amidst much laughter and grouped
them about a pot on a fire for their photograph.
The girls, who were smoking their pipes, —
for both sexes and all ages smoke, — could not,
however, be induced to continue the process
during the picture-taking. One of the men,
— particularly well built, tall and lithe, with
a face indicative of much intelligence and
strength of character, — I learned through our
interpreter was Pierre Lolo, the best hunter
of the tribe.

Of late the Indians have been fishing for cod

84

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

for commercial purposes. On the morning that
we sailed for Romaine, we passed a half-dozen
small fishing-schooners or barges, manned en-
tirely by Indians, all engaged in fishing. We
heard that they were extremely expert in this,
but suffered greatly from the wet and cold, as
they possessed no oilskin clothing. A Labra-
dorian told us that one Indian could catch as
many fish as two whites.

* Fish spread to dry are not safe anywhere
in the neighborhood of Indian dogs, so the
smoothly rounded rocky islands that make
the harbor were utilized for this purpose.
Morning and evening a picturesque company
of white men and women could be seen spread-
ing or stacking the harvest. Like the Indians,
the people of the coast are fond of bright col-
ors, and one often sees purple or green or red
waists or sweaters. I was particularly at-
tracted by a pale salmon-colored waist worn
by a woman in a big apron, the “‘header’’ at
a splitting-table. The houses, too, are painted
in blues and yellows and pinks.

The next day we rowed and sailed to the
rapids at the mouth of the Romaine River.
Splendid salmon were jumping completely

85

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

out of the water, but no artificial flies were
cast for their delectation. The owner of the
river, Sir Charles Ross, was busy in Quebec
making rifles for his country.

The botanist always carried a large tin col-
lecting-box painted white so as not to absorb
the sun’s rays. Its color made it conspicuous
at a distance and its weight and bulkiness pre-
vented him from carrying the rucksack contain-
ing the frying-pan and provisions, which, natu-
rally, fell to my lot. We always separated early
in the day on our two different quests, with
the understanding that we should meet at
dinner-time on some designated rocky peak
where we hoped to get out of the flies. The
arrangement was a very good one for me; I
did not need to worry — it was the other man’s
interest to find me. He found me that day as
on all others.

I was particularly struck that day with the
unsuspicious nature of Wilson’s warbler —
that bright-yellow bird with a glossy black
cap. I sat down in a thicket where two anxious
parents, each with its bill full of insects, scolded
me with loud chips. They were often within
five or six feet of me, and one of them nearly

86

LOOKING NORTH OVER GRAND ROMAINE RIVER NEAR ITS MOUTH

INDIANS AT ROMAINE

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

alighted on my leg stretched on a log. It was
evident that a nest of young was concealed
near at hand. It is a common bird all along
this southern coast.

It might be objected that a bird could not
chip with “‘its bill full of insects.’”’ Birds are,
however, not only able to chip and scold in the
most lively manner, but even to sing with their
bills overflowing with insects. This is because
the bird’s voice is produced lower down, in the
syrinx, which corresponds to our larynx, and
the mouth and tongue are not needed for vocal
expression. In all but a few recent pictures
of a bird singing, the tongue is shown as if it
were used as is the human tongue in song.
As a matter of fact, the bird’s tongue during
song lies passive out of sight on the floor of
the mouth.

The view over the valley of the Romaine
River,-with its thickly crowded spruce forests,
to the barrens dotted with lakes and lakelets
beyond and to the distant range of low moun-
tains, was a characteristic one of this region.
In the bogs a hard surface of ice could be
found a foot to eighteen inches down, and on
a sand-ridge the ground was frozen solidly

87

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

thirteen inches from the surface. These sand-
ridges were exactly like the ridges paralleling
the beach at Natashquan, and, although now
several miles back from the coast and fifty or
a hundred feet above it, they were once at sea-
level and point to the elevation that is in prog-
ress on this coast.

In one of the small ponds, with steep, over-
hanging sides of matted sphagnum, laurel, and
spruce, I came upon a mother whistler or
golden-eye duck with a brood of ten young,
which, with their black caps and white cheeks,
looked for all the world like great chickadees
that had taken to the water. The mother held
her head erect as she swam back and forth,
and all her movements betokened anxiety in
the presence of man. The young swam dutifully
after her in a compact bunch and showed no
fear.

In a sheltered valley where the trees were
twenty feet or so in height a pigeon hawk
launched himself at me quivering his wings
and crying with anger. His assault was at
once followed up by the assault of a slightly
larger bird, the female, and as long as I re-
mained in the vicinity, they continued to scold

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

and attack me, coming sometimes within fif-
teen or twenty feet of my head. Search as
I would, however, I could not find the nest,
although I must have been as hot on the trail
as I felt.

The next day was dark and easterly with
occasional rains, but we put to sea, and passed
an island that abounded in razor-billed auks,
eiders, and gulls, with here and there a puffin
and a murre. Some of these murres — very
properly known in England as foolish guille-
mots — nearly hit our sails as they flew by the
boat. On another island lived a family of fish-
ermen, natives of Anticosti, who would not
obey Menier’s hunting-laws and had been de-
ported.

We took refuge from the coming storm in
the harbor of Old Romaine, where there was
formerly a Hudson’s Bay post, but now no
sign of human occupancy is to be discerned. It
is a well-protected basin perhaps a mile long
and a quarter of a mile broad, hemmed in by
numerous low rocky islands.

It may have been here that Audubon landed,
for the distance from Natashquan would in-
dicate this region: ‘June 29. At three this

89

!

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

morning we were off the land about fifteen
miles, and about fifty from American Harbor.
... We neared the shore, but as before our
would-be pilot could not recognize the land,
and our captain had to search for a 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.”” The Ripley apparently did not stay
there, but went on to Wapitagun. The distance
given by Audubon of that anchorage from Lit-
tle Mecattina, forty-three miles, and the de-
scription of the country, identify Wapitagun,
which indeed he mentions by name in his
account of the razor-billed auk.

When we were anchored we explored the land
and found it to be a wild, desolate country of
bog and pool. The forest had retired inland;
only patches of stunted spruce and fir and larch
were to be seen, yet in one of them a Mary-
land yellow-throat was singing his ‘‘witchery”’
song as much at home as if he were in New
England. It is my most arctic record for this
bird. The Arctic Zone begins as a narrow

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

strip at Natashquan; here it had developed
broader proportions and its character was un-
mistakable. It included, however, low thickets,
— Hudsonian islands, — and it was in one of
these that the yellow-throat was singing. With
it were tree sparrows, true residents of the
Hudsonian Zone. This is the little sparrow
with the chestnut-colored top-piece and the
one dark spot on its breast that is to be found
only in winter in New England.

The horned lark, a bird characteristic of the
Arctic fauna, was nesting close to the shore;
its golden speckled young of the first brood
were on the wing, and the old birds were in-
dulging in true ‘‘sky-larking”’ or singing up in
the sky. It was interesting to watch the deter-
mined manner in which the bird would push
its way upwards, sometimes nearly vertically,
sometimes in irregular circles. It was all done
so silently that one almost held one’s breath
in order to hear the outburst of song which
was sure to come as soon as the lark had
reached a‘height of six or seven hundred feet.
Here he appeared as but a minute speck in
the sky. The song during the first excitement
was often continuous for several moments, but

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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

later it came in regular beats while the bird
soared in circles or headed into the wind. It
was interrupted while he flapped his wings
and got his breath. It was a squeaky, jingly,
metallic song, abounding in high notes and
fine trills, not a very polished musical perform-
ance, but sufficiently pleasing and decidedly
interesting. Often it was impossible to find
the bird from whom came the tinkling shower
of melody, and one would catch sight of it
only as it came plunging headlong to earth as
silent as it rose. In fogs it was always a case
of ‘‘vox, et preterea nihil.”

In 1909 Mr. Bent and J had found a breed-
ing pair of horned larks at Natashquan, but
it is doubtful if they breed regularly to the
westward of this. The prairie horned lark
breeds about Quebec, but how far beyond the
Saguenay to the eastward it extends its range
I do not know. There is a long forested shore
between the Saguenay and Natashquan, and
it is unlikely that horned larks breed regu-
larly in this intervening space.

The botanist was in his element, but rather
low in his mind on account of the embarras des
richesses. He had not let the grass grow under

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

his feet, for he generally uprooted it with his
little pick and packed it away in his white tin
box, and later washed it and put it in his
presses. But his presses were all full, for dry-
ing plants in this damp climate is a difficult
matter, although he used corrugated boards
for ventilation and flaked naphthalin as a
preservative and dryer. Artificial desiccation
by means of a kerosene stove he found was out
of the question in our crowded quarters. We
did not wish to be burned or blown up.

We seemed to be having genuine Audubon-
ian Labrador weather, for in the afternoon it
came on to blow hard from the east and the air
was filled with driving rain. Our little harbor
was white with spindrift blown horizontally
by the wind and dashed up against the rocks,
which looked as if they were covered with
drifting snow. The great black-backed gulls
with wings partly closed sailed into the blasts
borne on the currents deflected from the rocks,
and, with superb mastery of the air, whirled
and pirouetted as if in sheer delight. This was
on July 9, 1915. On July 10, 1833, Audubon
experienced a similar gale and he describes it
vividly. ‘The rain,’’ he writes, “is driven in

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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

sheets which seem scarcely to fall on sea or
land; I can hardly call it rain, it is rather a mass
of water, so thick that all objects at any dis-
tance from us are lost to sight every three or
four minutes, and the waters come up and beat
about us in our rock-bound harbor as a newly
caged bird does against its imprisoning walls.
The Great Black-backed Gull alone’ is seen
floating through the storm, screaming loudly
and mournfully as it seeks its prey; not an-
other bird is to be seen abroad.”

It was a wild lullaby that night. The rain
dashed in sheets against our little craft, which
rolled and pitched and tugged desperately at
her rattling chains. The wind howled through
the rigging as gust after gust tore by. The
halyards slatted against the masts in a loud
rub-a-dub-dub, and the roar of the surf on the
rocks and the hissing of the rain on the waves
formed a continuous undertone. I turned into
my bunk in the cabin early, having perfect
confidence in the captain and in the fact that
we had two anchors out in five fathoms of
water on a sand and clay bottom. I slept
through it all, perhaps for the same reason
that the assistant of the Bishop of Newfound-

64 ‘

SURF ON HARBOR ISLAND, OLD ROMAINE

HAULING A COD-TRAP

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

land slept during a similar storm. The aged
bishop was on a tour of the outlying island
posts in the Church of England yacht, and was
unable to sleep when they were storm-tossed.
He watched the night out in the cabin, but the
assistant slept calmly. Finally, in the fiercest
of the blow, the bishop could stand it no longer,
and, rousing the vicar, said, ‘‘How can you
sleep in a storm like this?’’ To which the
younger man replied, ‘‘An easy conscience,
my lord.”

Captain Joncas was up several times in the
night to let out more chains and fasten them
to the masts with ropes, for the constant strain
had broken the windlass. I had rather scoffed
at Audubon’s gales and hurricanes and thought
they were merely a landsman’s description of
stiff breezes, but if he had anything like our
gale, he certainly employed the proper terms.
It is unusual even in Labrador to have such a
storm in July. On the following day we visited
the large harbor island, and watched the surf
which was dashing upon the rocks and filling
with foam the entrance through which we had
come.

The next day, and again the next, we en-

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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

deavored to sail out, but calms, head winds,
and heavy seas compelled a resort to sweeps
and to towing in the small boat to keep us off
the dangerous reefs and bring us back safely
to our haven. Our time was not wasted, as

both of us were adding to our knowledge of
the fauna and flora. (Mr. Dooley said that
he should think the wife of a certain explorer
would be jealous, as her husband was continu-
ally talking of Fauna and Flora.) If the delay
continued much longer we decided to change
the name of the harbor from Romaine to Re-
main. It was one of the occasions when a
gasoline motor would have been useful, but I
am very glad we were able to accomplish the
‘trip without this unpoetic adjunct.

The great black-backed gull, which is an
abundant breeder all along the coast, is my
ideal of a noble-looking bird. It is true that
it is a pirate of the worst sort, and takes every
opportunity to eat the eggs of terns, eiders,
and other water-birds and even to kill and eat
the young. On one occasion I saw a gull swoop
at a family of eider ducklings, which promptly
dived and escaped. On another occasion a gull
pounced on a young eider and seized it in its bill,

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

notwithstanding the protests of the mother,
who made a great turmoil on the water, flap-
ping about like a wounded bird. The pirate
bore the soft, downy thing to the rocks, and,
as we sailed by, we could see it pounding its
little life out and devouring it. M. Beetz has
seen this gull drop a young duck from a height
on the rocks to kill it, and quickly fly down to
pick up the tender morsel in the same way
that it drops clams and sea-urchins to break
their shells. The captain said that the people
here thought this habit of preying on eggs and
young of other birds was a recently acquired
trait because ‘‘bait,’’ small fish, were scarce,
but Audubon in his Journal says, “The L.
marinus is extremely abundant here; they are
forever harassing every other bird, sucking
their eggs and devouring their young”; and
again, ‘‘The Larus marinus was observed try-
ing to catch the young of the Eiders.”’

As with some other pirates and highwaymen,
the home life of this gull is, however, of the
best, and I watched with great pleasure two
pairs of these birds on different parts of the
island close to our anchorage, which were all
devotion. They learned that we did not intend

97

“IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

to harm their young after a trying experience
on the first day when I put aluminum bands
on the legs of these same youngsters. During
this process the parents launched themselves
at me, screaming violently, and forgot their
usual timidity by approaching within half a
gunshot. Morning and evening and at various
times through the day the slightly larger male
and the smaller female of each pair could be
seen standing side by side, looking affection-
ately at each other from time to time, and
glancing proudly about at their offspring, which
were crouching flat on the rocks or in the moss
waiting until their last meal should be so far
absorbed that nature demanded more. The
splendid snow-white heads, breasts, and tails
of the old birds contrasted strikingly with
their broad blue-black backs and wings. Pairs
of these birds in the same attitude were com-
mon sights all along this Labrador coast, and
they‘rose up with their threatening screams
whenever we landed. Their nests were often
on the highest points, sometimes great shallow
saucer-shaped depressions in the moss and
turf, sometimes built elaborately with grass
stalks, small sticks, feathers, and dry seaweed.
98

GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULLS
Photograph by Howard H. Cleaves

YOUNG GREAT BLACK-BACKED GULLS

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

The eggs, generally three in number, are splen-
did great brown-speckled things. The gray
and spotted downy chicks soon leave the nest,
and, spreading out flat and motionless, are
‘difficult to see on the granitic lichen-covered
rocks, with which they harmonize in a won-
derful manner. When they are as large as
fair-sized domestic fowls, they are considered
great delicacies by the people, and the tender
flesh is much sought. They take to the water
before they can fly, and are skillful swimmers
even at a very early age.

In walking alone over the bogs and hills
even some miles inland I have often been
startled by the very human quality of the calls
of this bird, which vary from a harsh scream,
or loud cow cow, to low conversational notes.
Car-cas-sonne and au-par-a-vant are the most
easily syllabized of their calls, and I have often
fancied I heard them cry out help help in the
most stilted manner of speech ever used by
Irving. This appeal would sometimes be fol-
lowed by the word ma-ma. Notwithstanding
its highwayman traits I am fond of the great
black-backed gull.

It might be well to relate here a sequel to

99

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the banding incident related above. I had
provided myself with a number of aluminum
bands, each stamped with a number and ‘‘ No-
tify Am. Museum. N.Y.,” furnished: by the
American Bird-Banding Association, whose
headquarters are at the American Museum of
Natural History in New York City. Birds
which are banded in the nest, and recorded on
cards that are sent to the Association, may af-
terwards fall into the hands of man, and if the
date and locality of their decease is forwarded
to the central bureau where the original rec-
ord is kept, many interesting and unexpected
things may in time be learned about migra-
tion and bird wandering. Already considerable
valuable information has been accumulated.
Now it so happened that a couple of weeks
after I had banded those downy black-backed
gulls, Ambroise Lalo, a Montagnais Indian,
was much surprised to find a little shining
ring on the leg of a plump young gull that he
was preparing for the pot, and he later pre-
sented this curious ring to Captain Joncas.
In this way I learned that number 36,340 met
his death only four miles from his birthplace.
I had an amusing experience here at Old
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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

Romaine, or rather an Indian had. I had shot
a double-crested cormorant, which fell into a
shallow passage between two islands. It was
too interesting a specimen to lose and, wading
nearly to my neck, I succeeded in recovering
him. While I was about it I decided to cross
the passage a short distance farther up and
pick up a horned lark, that, with the usual
hardihood and vigor of this species, had flown
some distance after I had shot it before it fell.
As I was creeping along a rock on my return,
clad only in my binoculars and shotgun, I
suddenly came upon an Indian in his canoe.
The man paddled by with an imperturbable
countenance, although he had probably never
seen a white man under such peculiar circum-
stances, for, as far as my observation goes,
neither white men nor Indians on this coast
ever think of bathing in the sea.

' Indians were frequently seen cruising about
and visiting the islands, shooting the nesting
birds and taking the eggs and young. ‘You
can’t blame them,” said our captain, the game-
warden; ‘‘they are starving.” The winter hunt
is growing poorer of late years and the fall in
the price of furs since the war began has fur-

101

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

ther impoverished them. The great increase
in the price of furs before the war induced
many whites to enter the business of trapping,
and thus help to exterminate the Indian’s
chief dependence. At Grand Romaine the
Indians had no flour.

Our captain was a broad-minded man, and
one who could rise above prejudices. No one
on the coast would think of eating cormorants,
although gulls, murres, and auks, which live
on the same fishy food, are eagerly eaten.
The uncanny, snakelike neck, the bare patch
of orange-colored skin at the throat, and the
curious web on the feet connecting all the toes,
as well as the filthy nesting-habits, easily
account for this prejudice. It is possible that
the old Mosaic law forbidding its use as food
may still have its influence. After preparing
the skin of my cormorant, I broiled the breast
and served it with a well-seasoned flour and
onion sauce. The men turned away from it
with horror, but the captain, much to his own
surprise, found it delicious, as indeed it was,
tender and agreeable, tasting not at all fishy.
I trust I have not introduced a taste which
will lead to the destruction of this interesting

102

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

bird, but few are as broad-minded as our cap-
tain, so there is no need to worry. Unfor-
tunately the bird has a very bad name, and is
accused of eating young salmon, and the hand
of every salmon-fisher is turned against it.
Cormorants are shot as pests and fed to the
dogs and to captive foxes. While we were de-
tained at Old Romaine, companies of five to
twenty or thirty of these weird-looking birds
were frequently to be seen flying back and
forth from the direction of Grand Romaine
River, and the birds’ case looked bad. The bird
I shot was flying towards the river, and his
stomach was filled with small fish, not salmon.
It would have been interesting to investigate
the stomach-contents of the returning birds,
but that I was unable to do.

In the spring of 1914 the attention of the
Canadian Geological Survey was called to
complaints of damage done by cormorants to
the salmon-fisheries of the Gaspé coast, and
the ornithologist, Mr. P. A. Taverner, was
sent there to investigate. The club anglers of
that coast were insistent that the cormorants
were doing much damage among the young
salmon. Mr. Taverner found, however, that

103

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the cormorants rarely ascended the rivers be-
yond the tidal influence. Of thirty-two stom-
achs examined, fifteen contained sculpins;
five, herrings; two, tom-cod; and one each,
capelin and eels; the others were empty or the
contents were unrecognizable. The birds with
empty stomachs had been fishing where there
were no sculpins. The number of salmon in the
rivers has been increasing of late years, and
with this there has been an increase in the num-
ber of cormorants. Mr. Taverner concludes,
therefore, that the birds are not harmful to
salmon, and that they may even be beneficial
by weeding out the weak and unfit fish. A
vigorous young salmon is so difficult to catch
that the sluggish bottom-feeding sculpins are
preferred. It is to be hoped that the clubs
will withdraw their offer of twenty-five cents
a head for cormorants.

To persuade the average man that any liv-
ing ‘species is worth preserving unless it has
some obvious value to mankind is a difficult
task. A friend of mine was watching the nest
and eggs of a Virginia rail, until a barbarian
in the form of a small boy found and deliber-
ately destroyed them. When remonstrated

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

with, the boy asked, with a finality not to be
gainsaid, ‘‘What use are they?”’ Some work-
men looking at a flock of beautiful gulls soar-
ing with exquisite grace over the water were
overheard to ask the same question: ‘‘What
use are they?” Ornithologists and nature-
lovers are often hard put to it to give so-called
practical value to certain birds, so that their
lives as individuals and even as species may
be safeguarded.

The esthetic value of birds — the joy which
their beauty and grace and their free and
happy lives can give to the workers in this
sordid world — does not appeal to the thought-
less. The naturalist’s interest in any rep-
resentative in the great evolutionary tree of
life, and his sorrow at its extinction and the
resulting disturbance of nature’s balance, are
entirely beyond the comprehension of the or-
dinary man. He is satisfied if any species can
be shown to be of economic use, but in the
absence of this dollars-and-cents value he cares
not whether the species lives or dies. The cor-
morant is an example of a bird that appears
to have no so-called use, and one against
which, therefore, bad marks are only too will-

105

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

ingly placed. To the nature-lover from either
the zsthetic or the scientific point of view no
argument is necessary. The sight of a large
flock of cormorants, swinging resistlessly by
in steady flight along the New England coast
some autumn day when the surf is pounding
hard on the reefs and ledges, brings joy to
‘many, and lifts them, for the time at least,
above the thoughts of mere money-getting.
That the cormorant was originally a land-bird
and related to the American vultures becomes
credible to the scientific nature-lover when he
finds that it sometimes builds its bulky nest
in a tree, that its young are slow in develop-
ing, and that it sits with its wings spread out.
There is much to be learned and much to be
enjoyed in the study and contemplation of
this bird, and one cannot help feeling dis-
turbed when wealthy salmon-anglers from the
cities on insufficient evidence selfishly con-
demn it to possible extinction.

I hoped to get a taste of another unusual vi-
and at Old Romaine, a viand which the captain
especially praised and was eager to obtain, —
I refer to the porpoises which from time to
time puffed and rolled through our harbor, —

106

GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

but the hunters were unsuccessful after several
attempts. The men called them pussies, or so
the word sounded to us, and it was adopted for
the rest of the voyage. The Acadian word for
porpoise I have since found to be poursille.

Small flocks of Hudsonian curlews occasion-
ally flew by us from west to east while we
were at this anchorage. They were on their
southern migration, and are always early
migrants. Their long, curved bills and loud
calls easily identified them. It is probable
that they cross the base of the peninsula from
James Bay, follow the coast as far as Chateau,
cross over to Newfoundland, and so on down
the eastern coast of the continent. They are
considerably larger than the Eskimo curlews
that formerly existed in countless multitudes,
but are now nearly extinct.

Another sea-bird worth mentioning is the
Caspian tern, of which I saw five or six at
Old Romaine. It is a fine bird, resembling in
plumage and habits the common tern, but
nearly as large as a herring gull. Its bright-
red bill, its large size combined with its habit
of flying with the bill pointed downwards, and
its method of capturing fish by a plunge from

107

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR '

a height in the air at once serve to identify
the bird here. Its voice is a harsh, unpleasant
scream entirely unlike any of the sounds made
by either common tern or herring gull. I was
sitting on the rocks of our harbor one after-
noon when I was startled by the scream of.
this bird and saw one chasing another. Later
one of them darted at a great black-backed
gull and then launched itself at the water for
a fish. Audubon saw several pairs of this re-
markable bird in Labrador, but he confused
it with the Cayenne or royal tern, a bird of
much more southern distribution. Frazar also
found it there in 1884, and Mr. Bent and I saw
one at the mouth of the Natashquan River
on May 31, 1909. Captain Joncas recognized
the bird as la grande estorlette, and hoped to
show us its breeding-ground, but in this, to
my regret, he was unsuccessful. It was a good
bird to see and record, however. Long may it
live and multiply in Labrador!

Another interesting ornithological experi-
ence at Old Romaine was with a family of
spotted sandpipers, the familiar teeter-peep of
the New England coast, —1’alouette 2 branle
queue the captain called it. At the mouth

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GRAND ROMAINE AND OLD ROMAINE

of a little stream an anxious parent nervously
flew about or walked and teetered on the rocks
where I landed. Soon her alarm increased and
she fluttered within a few feet of me, endeavor-
ing to lead me away from her little family of
three or four downy chicks that were crouched
concealed in the grass. Concealment proving
of no avail, they proceeded to run away, wag-
ging the posterior parts of their bodies — their
tailless tails — like adults. Coming to a pool
of water, they swam with ease and grace, sit-
ting erect like little ducks. Later in the trip,
at Blanc Sablon, I came on another family of
young of this species, nearly all full-grown,
but still unable to fly. I caught one and put it
in the river, where it at once dived and swam
under water, using its wings and feet for pro-
pulsion. After a short subaqueous flight it rose
to the surface, quickly swam to the other
side, and walked out on the sand where its
anxious mother was awaiting it. It is evi-
dent that shorebirds are of water ancestry,
and, like the auks with which they are related,
they swim and dive before they can fly. The
partially webbed feet of some species also show
this water ancestry.

CHAPTER V
WAPITAGUN

T last the wind changed to the southwest,

the sea fell noticeably, — ‘‘ As winds for-
saking seas more softly blow,” — and after
a brief and mosquito-filled night we were
safely off at three on the morning of July 14.
That was an eventful day, packed full with
interesting experiences. The wind compelled
us to sail offshore—au large —instead of
threading some delightful inland waterways
of which the captain had told us. The sun
rose clear and cold over a shore that, as we
advanced, grew higher and more bold in rocky
headlands. It was a great pleasure to feel the
gentle land breeze after so long a period of
raw sea-winds. As we joyously bowled along,
we passed Audubon Island, an irregular
rounded pile of rocks culminating in two prom-
inences perhaps one hundred and twenty-five
feet above the sea. The red of the granitic
rocks contrasted well with the faint tinge of
green vegetation that sparsely clothed the

110

WAPITAGUN

summits. The island was undoubtedly named
by Captain Bayfield in the summer of 1833.
Off Coacoacho Bay is a small rocky island,
—Outer Island or fle au Large,—on the
summit of which, about forty feet above the
water, a triangular beacon had been placed.
Even from a distance we could see that the
top of the rock was crowded with birds to such
an extent as to lead Captain Joncas to exclaim:
“This is the old times come back!’’ We were,
indeed, fortunate, as it was evident that this
year, at least, no one had visited the island.
The red granitic rock was painted white with
guano, against which the birds stood out black
and prominent. From afar we could distin-
guish the strange black forms of cormorants,
which we later found to be all of the double-
crested species. As we sailed nearer we saw
that every foot that was not occupied by cor-
morants and their bulky nests was filled with
murres standing erect in their black coats and
white vests, while overhead hovered a dozen
or more complaining great black-backed gulls.
We landed on the rocks on the lee side, but in
by no means calm water. Our landing-boat
or tender was stoutly built and the captain’s
lll

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

habit was to run her bow on to a smooth rock
at the top of a wave, and, after all had jumped
out, to pull her up before the next wave struck.
To our delight most of the birds remained at
their posts even after we had landed in this
rude and boisterous manner, and the botanist
and I carefully stalked them with our cameras
leveled. Soon we found ourselves among the
cormorants’ nests with murres on all sides.
Although most of the adult cormorants had
silently left, their kind was well represented
by the young, who, crying vociferously for
food, stretched their necks at us from the
nests.. They were extraordinary creatures,
generally three, sometimes four, or only two
in a nest. When small they were entirely desti-
tute of down or feathers and of the color and
appearance of an india-rubber doll. The large
ones, from a foot to two feet long, were cov-
ered with a black woolly down suggestive of
a toy black lamb. They were, indeed, weird
objects as they thrust out their long snakelike
necks and small heads. Their naked throat-
sacs, of a pale yellow color tinged with pink,
distended and quivered as they constantly
called in hoarse, beseeching tones for food. I
112

OUTER ISLAND: MURRES AND THEIR EGGS: DOUBLE-CRESTED
CORMORANTS, NESTS, AND YOUNG

WAPITAGUN

counted six hundred nests and there may
have been more — great basket affairs nearly
two feet across in outside measurements and
built up from three or four inches to a foot in
height. Several were placed astraddle of the
lower frame of the triangular beacon. They
were made of weed-stalks intermingled with
dry grass and seaweed and branches of cur-
lew-berry vine, spruce, and fir. Many of the
nests, although much soiled with the chalky,
slimy droppings of the bird, had some decora-
tion in the form of a feather or two or a fresh
green branch. I once found a long, curled wood-
shaving on the edge of a.nest.

An interesting tale of decoration of the nests
by cormorants was brought to our attention. I
am inclined to believe this story from my knowl-
edge of the habits of this bird, and as it was
not solicited or even suggested on our part. It
seems that a trading-schooner was sunk two
years ago off Washsheecootai Point, and this
summer, when some fishermen visited a cormo-
rant island near by, they found that the birds had
decorated their nests with pocket-knives, pipes,
hairpins, and ladies’ combs — objects which
they had obtained by diving to the wreck.

113

“IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

A few of the nests on Outer Island con-
tained eggs, and it was interesting to notice
the small size of these eggs of the cormorant
as compared with the large eggs of the much
smaller murre. The latter bird builds no nest
and lays its one beautiful egg anywhere on the
rocks. The egg is curiously tapered so as to be
much smaller at one end than at the other.
This makes it roll in a circle about the smaller
end and tends to prevent its falling from ledges.
No two are alike in color or markings. They
vary from white to brown and sky-blue and
are marked as if by an erratic artist with a
great variety of spots, lines, dashes, and
blotches. These gems of beauty were, how-
ever, often sadly befouled so that no trace
was to be seen of their exquisite coloring or
marking, for the close crowding of so many
birds, particularly of cormorants, produces an
indescribable filth. The odor is one that clings
to the memory as well as to the clothing.

The owners of these wonderful eggs were
still more interesting, the murres, or marmeties
as they are called here, — the foolish guille-
mots of Audubon and of English writers. They
stood about in crowds and anxiously made

114

WAPITAGUN

way for us, walking or running along erect
with legs apart in a comical manner, as they
waved their short, paddlelike wings to aid
them in balancing. They reminded me at
once of moving pictures I had seen of Ant-
arctic penguins. In their anxiety and nervous-
ness they frequently fell over the cormorants’
nests and sadly stained their white shirt-
fronts in the mire, and often, in their attempts
to rise on the wing, they would sprawl head-
foremost down the rocks. Occasionally we
would see one try to arrange an egg against
the bare incubating space in the middle of the
belly. How each knows its own egg is a puzzle.
During all this time they were as silent as the
adult cormorants, but the young cormorants
made noise enough for all.

A considerable proportion of the murres
had narrow white eye-rings and white lines
leading back from the eyes. This bird is known
as the bridled or ringed murre, but is not
given rank as a separate species, although it
may deserve it. The fact that the common
murre and the ringed one breed in the same
colonies and that birds of both kinds have
been found breeding together does not vitiate

115

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

this possibility, for hybridization among water-
fowl is not rare. The ringed murre is certainly
a marked bird. I retain a mental image of a
group of fifteen or twenty murres standing
huddled together, all of whom were ringed.
William the Pirate was anxious I should
fire my gun and mark the effect on the birds,
but this I refused to do, although I allowed
him to catch a couple of murres — one of them
ringed — for me for specimens and thus satisfy
his lust for blood. We counted a hundred
murres’ eggs in a space ten feet square and
calculated there were about two thousand
murres, and, as there were six hundred cor-
morants’ nests, about twelve hundred adult
cormorants in the colony. When we returned
to the schooner we first became aware of the
curious noises made by the murres as they
flew by us with a rattling ah-ah-ah. They col-
lected in groups on the water and their com-
bined voices produced a long-drawn, plain-
tive, moaning wail. At times it was a sharp
snarl, at times it resembled the plaintive baa
of a forlorn lamb. This bird resembles in gen-
eral the razor-billed auk, but can be distin-
guished from the auk by its long, slender bill
116 3

WAPITAGUN

and its very short tail. In the water the auk is
apt to cock its tail up. In flight the legs of the
murre extend out behind like a tail and like
the same appendage are spread apart when
the bird makes quick turns. In the auk the
legs in flight are concealed under the tail. As
far as I could discover there were no Briin-
nich’s murres on the island. This bird, which
prefers the narrow ledges of cliffs, occurs on
the eastern coast and to a less extent on the
southern. It is distinguished by a broader,
thicker bill.

As we sailed away we had the pleasure of
seeing the birds return at once to the island
and of knowing that, although we had obtained
much information in the form of notes and
photographs, we had caused the birds but lit-
tle anxiety or damage. I shudder to think of
the devastation that would be inflicted by the
arrival on the island of the crew of a fishing-
schooner, yet this arrival is more than a prob-
ability. The consideration of the prevention
of this sort of thing and the conservation of
the birds will be reserved for a later chapter.

Not far from Coacoacho Bay we passed Wolf
Bay and could see the house of the only family

117

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

there, that of Gilbert Jones. This man, now
in his eighty-third year, came here from Bra-
dore Bay some forty years ago and he has
reared a family of six sons and many grand-
children. His father was the squatter of Bra-
dore Bay about whom Audubon has written
so interestingly. Beyond his house to the
eastward loom up the cliffs of Cape Whittle,
rising from deep water to a height of one hun-
dred and fifty feet. We sailed so close that
it seemed a simple matter to toss a pebble —
or clam as in our case — against the rocks, but
distances under these circumstances are par-
ticularly deceptive as we found by experi-
ence. The rocks were brown and red, daubed
in places with great splotches of white where
cormorants were nesting. The captain said
that in former years the whole cape looked
from a distance like an iceberg, but the birds
are now nearly all driven away. Fishing-
schooners for years have been in the habit of
sailing close inshore and the men have dis-
charged their guns at the poor birds, for the
brutal pleasure of seeing them fly off in terror
and fall wounded into the sea. There were only
fifteen or twenty nests on these cliffs, where up
118

NEST OF DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANT CONTAINING YOUNG

WAPITAGUN

to a few years ago they were to be counted by
hundreds. Among the few birds that flew off
from the cliffs at our approach, only one dis-
played the white markings about the neck
which showed it to be a common cormorant,
and not the double-crested kind that is so
‘ much the more common here. The common
cormorants were really common in Audubon’s
day.

We found that the double-crested cormo-
rant had taken refuge on the islands, for on
landing on Gull Island off the cape we dis-
covered that these birds were even more nu-
merous than at fle au Large. How quickly birds
respond to treatment, good or bad! The sound
of a gun, no matter how distant, inspires terror
in all the birds within earshot, and the mere
appearance of a man, who is associated in
the bird’s mind with the noise of a gun and
the accompanying pain and destruction, often
causes the same terror. On the other hand,
we found on these islands that if we moved
about slowly and carefully, fired no guns, and
avoided disturbing the birds in any way, they
soon got used to us and remained on their nests
or eggs. Cormorants are more timid than

119

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

murres, but on this Gull Island we were able
to approach within two or three paces of some
of the cormorants before they flew away from
the nests where they were brooding their
young. These birds are at first sight not
pleasing to look upon, but both the botanist
and I were much attracted by one individual
who, as she brooded her young, displayed in
her countenance — if I may use the word —
and in her whole bearing the tender emotions
of motherly love. We approached her slowly
and with great care and I finally stood within
four feet of the nest. Addressing her in terms
of endearment, I endeavored to stroke her
back, but even a follower of Audubon could
not inspire faith enough for this familiarity.
I am sure that, if I could have visited this
charming bird again, we should have been
able to establish terms of mutual confidence.
It reminded me of an experience of Audubon’s
on the cliffs of Cape Whittle opposite. He
says, ‘‘I had the pleasure of coming imme-
diately 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
120

WAPITAGUN

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.”

Cape Whittle is itself the terminal point
of a large island — put down on the maps as
Lake Island. Next to this island is Wapita-
gun, and the Newfoundland fisherman, as he
sails by, points to a great rounded rock on the
cliffs of Misstassini — the island just outside
— asa justification to him of the name Wa-
pitagun, ‘“‘a whopping great gun,” for the rock
looks like a mortar or great gun. The deriva-
tion is as curious a corruption of words as is
that of the old hostelry in London known as
the ‘‘Cat-in-the-Wheel Inn.” The original
name was “St. Catherine’s Wheel.”’ Wapita-
gun is of Indian origin and means cormorant,
an entirely appropriate name for this region.
This rock looked like a poised boulder left by
the last glacial period, but poised boulders
less than two or three hundred feet above the
sea are unknown on this coast, for the reason
that after the glacial period and before the
present rising of the coast there was a submer-
sion and the boulders were washed by the

121

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

waves into hollows. Occasionally a boulder
is so firmly lodged in a cleft that it has not
rolled away or has been lying in a harbor
secure from the waves, but boulders such as
these are rare. The captain said that he was
told by one of the early Acadians that in for-
mer days there was a French settlement at
this point, and that the great rock was rolled
up to this conspicuous place as a beacon. If
this tradition is true it explains to the geologist
the apparent paradox of a poised boulder on a
previously submerged coast, or, as the botan-
ist put it, ‘‘it lets the geologist out in great
shape.”

After leaving Gull Island we sailed by the
point of Cape Whittle and entered the pas-
sage which leads to the protected harbor of
Wapitagun. Audubon in his account of the
razor-billed auk gives a theatrical description
of the Ripley’s entrance into the same harbor:
“Springing upon the deck, and turning his
quid rapidly from side to side, he called out,
‘All hands square the yards,’ and whispered
to me, ‘All’s safe, my good sir.’ The schooner
advanced towards the huge barrier, merrily
as a fair maiden to meet her beloved; now she

122

‘ WAPITAGUN

doubles a sharp cape, forces her way through
a narrow pass; and lo! before you opens the
noble harbour of Whapati Guan. All around
was calm and solemn; the waters were smooth
as glass, the sails fell against the masts, but
the impetus which the vessel had received
urged her along. The lead was heaved at every
yard, and in a few minutes the anchor was
dropped.”

The harbor of Wapitagun. is a long, pro-
tected passage between Wapitagun on the
north and Misstassini and other islands on the
south and east. Wapitagun itself is a great
island about three miles long by over a mile
broad. It is a region of rocks and bogs, of
pools and lakes, of lichens and mosses, arctic
flowers and creeping birch and spruce. In
one of the lakelets in a flat barren was a pair
of red-throated loons that rose into the air at
my approach, and flew about high overhead,
croaking dismally. Their son and heir in his
coat of light-brown furry down had left the
nest, and was vigorously swimming about.
The old birds were dressed alike, and wore a
handsome livery, pure white below, relieved
only by a broad strip of terra-cotta red on the

123

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

throat. The upper parts are slate blue; the
back of the neck is slashed with wavy lines of
white. Whabby is their name among the Eng-
lish-speaking people of the coast. It was used
by Cartwright in the eighteenth century.

In a dark, deep valley with precipitous sides
I came upon a picturesque tarn. From among
the alders which crowded its outlet arose the
song of a winter wren, a bird recorded by
Audubon at Wapitagun, possibly at the same
place. I did not attempt to find it in the
tangle; one might as well look for a mouse in
the same situation. The hills about, although
barely two hundred feet high, were mountain-
ous in appearance. In these rugged surround-
ings where it is difficult to estimate size, one
has often a feeling that he is looking the wrong
way through binoculars, and it seems much
more appropriate to speak of lakes and moun-
tains than of pools and hills.

On my return the trill of a least sandpiper
was borne to my ears, and, in a quaking bog
where footing was most uncertain, I found
this charming bird indulging repeatedly in
the nuptial song. He would rise on whirring
wings like a mechanical toy and sail in irregu-

124

RED-THROATED LOON
Audubon Plate

WAPITAGUN

lar circles twenty to fifty yards above the bog
with wings curved downwards and backwards,
emitting at frequent intervals a short trill al-
most as finely drawn as that of acricket. He
was in the air for five minutes by the watch
and continued to trill‘ after he had reached
the ground. Here he was at once obliterated,
for his streaked brown back was next to in-
visible in the bog. He continued trilling as
long as I was within earshot, and he even fol-
lowed me, repeating his simple song.

The botanist and I met by appointment on
the shore and were picked up by the Sea Star
and carried as through a rock-lined river to the
favorite harbor of the captain’s father. Black
guillemots and razor-billed auks fluttered here
and there and everywhere as we sailed along.
The harbor was opposite Matchiatik Island,
where, some years ago, in a calm with a heavy
sea a schooner nearly came to grief on the
rocks. The men, thinking she would pound
herself to pieces, jumped ashore. No sooner
were they in safety than a puff of wind came
and their deserted schooner sailed off, but
was fortunately captured by a friendly vessel
and returned to the crew.

125

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

We had had an exciting day, so crowded
with interesting episodes that it seemed a
week since we had successfully broken away
at three that morning from the storm-bound
harbor of Old Romaine.

CHAPTER VI

AS FAR AS DR. GRENFELL’S HOSPITAL AT
HARRINGTON

FTER ten hours’ sleep in clear, cool air on

balsam boughs spread on deck, and after
the dash of the eye-opening bucket of sea-
water, we were fit for whatever the day should
bring forth. Our first objective point, while
the morning breeze was gathering strength,
was the protecting harbor island of Matchia-
tik. Here, so the captain told us, Jean-Bap-
tiste Galibois narrowly escaped disaster forty
years ago in attempting to make our harbor
in a storm, a storm that sank six schooners
and drowned many brave men. Jean-Baptiste’s
vessel miraculously escaped the rocks, passed
through the narrow and turbulent passage,
and rode in safety in the quiet anchorage of
the little harbor. Out of gratitude for his de-
liverance he erected on Matchiatik Island a
large wooden cross, which has served all these

1 This name is wrongly given on the charts to an island
several miles to the northeast.

127

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

years as a sacred memorial of the event, and
as a beacon to voyagers along the coast. It
had fallen down, but the captain and William
put it back in place and braced it with tim-
bers and great rocks. I trust that this pious
service will atone for the slaughter by William
the Pirate of two young great black-backed
gulls, but the crime rests heavy on my con-
science and I confess that I noted in my jour-
nal my enjoyment of the delicacy of their fla-
vor. How easy it is to revert to the savage!
For my own justification I will add that, with
the exception of these and two other victims,
I permitted no birds to be killed for food alone
on this expedition, but we used for food those
whose skins I preserved for scientific purposes.
This, as I have explained elsewhere, is an in-
‘teresting exception to the rule that ‘‘one can-
not eat his cake and have it too.”

What views of gray rocky islands and spar-
kling blue waters, and again rocky islands and
blue waters — all tumbled about in wild con-
fusion — all alike yet all different! With the
exception of the great weather-beaten cross,
—— symbol that means so much, —all, both
water and rocks, were destitute of any trace

128

NEST OF RING-BILLED GULL WITH

THE CAPTAIN AND WILLIAM PUTTING
UP THE CROSS AT MATCHIATIK ISLAND

YOUNG

EGGS AND

AS FAR AS HARRINGTON.

of man. It is good for the soul to escape to a
wilderness like this, especially in these terrible
days of world carnage,.and I rejoiced in the
mere fact that I was alive, and noted in my
journal, ‘This is the life!” Captain Hearn of
the Cascapedia was partly right, but an occa-
sional sojourn in a wilderness enables one also
to endure and be happy in the crowded city.
Pipits wagged their tails and walked nerv-
ously over the ledges, horned larks rose into
the air to pour out their morning song of
thankfulness, auks and sea-pigeons popped
out of unexpected clefts in the rocks and
joined their companions at a safe distance on
the waves, — all this the botanist and I saw
as each on his special mission explored the
island. But we were no narrow specialists, and
on this occasion I happened on a botanical
specimen which surprised the botanist. It
was a pinguicula, a blue flower rising from a
tuft of leaves and looking superficially like a
violet. The leaves, narrow and pale green, curl
at the edges and secrete a sticky fluid which
attracts and catches minute insects. It is, in
fact, like the sundew, an insectivorous plant.
The botanist had found it abundant on the
129

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

limestone Mingan Islands, and expressed mild
scientific skepticism when I told him I had
found it in former years on Battle Island and
other granitic and gneissoid lands. Plants as
well as animals do not always obey the rules.
I wonder whether Audubon mistook this flower
for a violet; he says: ‘‘A beautiful species of
violet was found, and I have transplanted sev-
eral for Lucy, but it is doubtful if they will
survive the journey.”

The pipit is worth more than passing men-
tion. Like the horned lark it is a bird of the
barren Arctic Zone. Its trig form and Quaker-
gray and brown plumage, its dovelike nods
in walking, and its habit of wagging the tail
— all make it attractive. Like the horned lark
it sings in the air, but a different refrain and
delivered in a different way. It sings as it
flies up obliquely to a height of perhaps two
hundred feet, then it turns and descends with
great speed, singing as it goes. The song is
simple, a loud che-whee, with a vibratory res-
onance on the whee. On one occasion I saw a
male alight near his mate and flutter his wings
excitedly; at the same time he repeated his song
so rapidly that it merged into one refrain.

\ 130

‘AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

The Sea Star did well in the light airs and
head sea, and I had a chance to think over the
crowded events of the day before. At noon
we were five or six miles au large and the
captain was taking soundings near some
unmarked shoals. St. Mary’s Island with its
lighthouse and bird-colonies was outside us
and unattainable. At a protected harbor in
one of the Galibois Islands we saw the first
men we had seen since leaving Old Romaine.
Picturesque fellows they were, in oilskins and
large sou’westers — one wore a carmine tam-
o’-shanter. They were visiting their cod-traps
in stanch boats. Birds were scarce in this
region, for fishermen, alas, do not live wholly
by fish. Yankee Harbor, on the other side of
these islands, is also a favorite harbor for fish-
ermen.

We were fortunate in reaching the little
protected harbor of Seal-Net Point or Pointe
au Maurier that night. Here, in a house
painted yellow with a brown roof, lived Joe
Galibois, a gray-bearded old man whose
father doubtless was living there in Audu-
bon’s day, for his is one of the oldest families
on the coast. Joe had lived here for fifty-seven

131

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

years and his nearest neighbor lives three
miles away over ‘rock-strewn waters, but he
was in touch with the great world, for the
telegraph and the mail station are here. Fish,
which means COD spelt with capitals, were
“striking in,’ and all hands were busy at the
splitting-table. Fish-heads and other refuse
abounded; the air reeked with them and the
dogs were fat and lazy.

A successful season means everything to
the Labrador fisherman. In six weeks to two
months he may lay by enough to live in com-
fort the rest of the year. This is his earning
season and fisherman’s luck, good or bad,
means for him either a feast or a famine. We
heard of a hundred quintals of fish taken in
two days, of fifty quintals taken from one
trap, and twenty let go free as there was no
more room in the boats. A quintal (pronounced
kentle) is one hundred and twelve pounds of
dried salt fish, and is worth on the coast five
dollars. About one hundred and_ twenty-
five three-pound cod are needed to make up a
quintal. After a short successful season the
fisherman lays in a stock of essentials — flour
arid pork and molasses — and as many luxu-

132

CLEANING FISH AT SEAL-NET POINT, OR POINTE AU MAURIER

NEAR THE SUMMIT OF LITTLE MECATTINA: POISED BOULDERS

AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

ries as he can afford, retires to his winter house
at the head of some protected bay, and settles
down to a long winter season of comparative
leisure. He traps, —and there is always the
lure of a black fox and riches, — he cuts wood,
and visits his neighbors. Winter traveling
over the ice on komatiks, or dog-sledges, with
a good team of seven or eight dogs rapidly
shortens a forty-mile space between him and
a neighbor. Latchstrings are always hanging
out, and the unexpected arrival of a whole
family to spend several days or a week is
taken as a matter of course, and every hos-
pitality possible is dispensed. Sometimes the
appearance of the stove and larder shows in
the morning that a traveler in a hurry had
availed himself of the customary. hospitality
of the country during the night, and had gone
his way without a word. I asked a number of
men along the coast how they liked the win-
ter, and their eyes sparkled as they spoke of
its pleasures. Spring and fall they shoot mi-
grating ducks and net and shoot seals, and
before the cod strike in, some of them net
salmon, for which privilege they pay the Gov-
ernment a tax of three cents a fathom of net.
133

.IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

It is a sporting life and develops independence
and strength of character; Labrador is no
place for weaklings.

It is well to mention this bright side of the
picture, for, as the fisheries fail more and more
from year to year, one hears only of insufh-
cient clothing and scanty food, of scurvy and
beri-beri, of slow starvation and death, until
some think this is the universal condition on
the Labrador coast and that each village is

“A hungry village by a hungry sea,
As worn and gray as any Calvary!”

It has even been urged that the people be
all transported to more favorable regions. The
fact is, there is poverty everywhere, especially
among the ignorant, but after all ‘‘there is no
place like home,’’ and a love of one’s native
land is possessed by all. As I have just shown,
life in Labrador may be extremely pleasant,
and with sufficient food and clothing no one
minds the winter. Captain Cartwright wrote
that he was often chilly in England, but never
in Labrador, and my Belgian friend has con-
firmed this. I believe that through conser-
vation and education the life of the Labra-

134

AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

dorians will become more and more desirable.
I asked William and Ernest where they would
prefer to live if they had plenty of money and
could choose, and they both said, ‘On the
coast.”
“The shudd’ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own;

Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease.”

Barren and bleak was Seal-Net Point, and
on the second day fog and rain and storm
rolled in from the Gulf, so that the Sea Star
pitched and tugged at her anchor-chains, yet
these two days were not grudged by us. In
the first place, the botanist found plenty of
pinguiculas and many other arctic plants
which cheered his heart, while I was so thrilled
by finding on the first day the breeding-place
of ring-billed gulls that I was buoyed up by
the memory during the succeeding storm, and
the odor of fish that hung about the little
harbor was as incense in my nostrils.

: The ring-billed gull is about two thirds the

size of a herring gull, but wears very similar

plumage. It breeds commonly in British Co-

lumbia and in the northwestern part of the
‘135

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

United States, but Audubon in 1833 found
it breeding in Labrador. There is some con-
fusion about it, however, and it is probable
that the European mew gull, which he also re-
ported as breeding, was in reality this species.
Frazar in 1884 found a few moderate-sized
colonies of the ring-billed gull in the vicinity
of Cape Whittle. Aside from these records
very little is known of this interesting bird in
Labrador, and my delight at finding a breed-
ing-place may be imagined.

Off Grand Romaine I first saw a group of
these birds, and Captain Joncas at once recog-
nized them and called them mauves. Near
Pointe au Maurier was one of the very numer-
ous Iles des Goélands, or Gull Islands, and I saw
ring-billed gulls flying over our little harbor
on their way to and from this spot. Galibois
called the island his poulazller, or poultry-yard,
where for many years he had obtained every
spring a supply of fresh eggs for the table. The
birds had not been disturbed in any way after
the first eggs were taken; they laid a second
set and brought up their families in peace, so
that their numbers had increased rather than
diminished.

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We rowed over to the island the next morn-
ing and were greeted by a chorus of protests
as about four hundred of these beautiful white
birds rose into the air. They remained above
our heads and protested so violently that I
felt extremely guilty and worked as rapidly
as possible, taking photographs of nests and
eggs and young and recording my notes. I
suppose the gulls took us for Newfoundland
fishermen, and I pictured to myself their sur-
prise and joy on finding that we had taken so
little toll and had not wreaked the usual fish-
erman’s destruction.

‘The nests, thickly scattered among the
rocks and vegetation, were made up of neatly
arranged dried grass and weed-stalks and moss
and feathers. They contained one, two, or
three chocolate-colored or bluish eggs more or
less thickly spotted and scrawled with brown.
Some of the nests contained downy young,
gray and spotted. Many were empty and the
young were concealed in the grass or well pro-
tected by their coloration among the rocks.
That was, indeed, a red-letter day, and Audu-
bon’s spirit must have rejoiced with me. __-}!

After the survey of this precious island, ~

: 137

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

and may it always have as good a keeper as
old Joe Galibois! —we explored the island-
crowded bays leading up to the outlet of the
Darby River. Windlasses on favorable points
showed where nets were stretched to catch
the seals returning from the bay. The seal-
netting season extends from the middle of
November until the last of December, but of
late years this, like the other harvests of the
sea on the Labrador coast, has fallen off. From
time to time in our summer voyage we saw
a seal stick his head above the water and
gaze open-eyed at our boat; but they were far
from abundant and nearly all harbor seals, a
species still common in places on the New Eng-
land coast. People here call them loup-marin
d’esprit, while the larger harp seal, the seal of
the Newfoundland Labrador, is called loup-
marin brasseur. We saw one gray seal, called
here the horse-head seal, a beast sometimes
nearly twice as large as the harbor seal.

The bay proved to be well worth exploring,
full of steep, rounded islands and abounding
in the two birds that can best withstand the
assaults of the fishermen. These are the razor-
billed auk — the tinker of the English, the

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gude or godde ' of the Acadians — and the black
guillemot, or sea-pigeon. Both of these birds
lay their eggs in deep crevices between rocks,
places where the eggs and young are fairly safe.
Gulls and eiders, which formerly abounded
here and laid their eggs where all could see
them, had but few representatives left, while
murres with their confiding ways were nowhere
to be seen.

Razor-billed auks are amusing birds to
watch. Like penguins they sit bolt upright
on the rocks that have been changed in color
from red to white by their droppings. Occa-
sionally we saw solemn lines of them on the
ledges, and again a group of twenty together,
many facing each other as if they were hav-
ing a discussion. When disturbed they flew
about the rocks like flies and later gathered in
crowded groups on the water. I counted fifty
in a space perhaps fifteen feet long and three
feet wide swimming with their rather long
tails cocked up behind. This long tail and
the bill shaped like a Roman nose are good

1 Jacques Cartier used the word godez, which is perhaps
the same word, when he referred to these birds and to murres.
He also used the word loup-marin for seals, while the modern
French is phoque or veau marin.

139

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR '

fieldmarks in flight. The razor-billed auk lays
a single egg on the bare rock at the bottom of
a crevice or in the space below some fallen
fragment. The young are strange-looking ba-
bies, make a peeping noise, climb about actively,
and hide in the cracks.

Black guillemots, or sea-pigeons, were com-
mon everywhere along the coast. At Old Ro-
maine I had first found their downy young,
black as soot and peeping like chickens or
making hissing noises. Here they were abun-
dant and the old birds fluttered ahead of us
over the water like great black-and-white bum-
ble-bees. As they dropped into the water with
a splash, they elevated their black wings,
marked with great white blotches on the out-
side, straight up over their backs, and dis-
played the equally striking white lining. As
they flew by, their brilliant scarlet feet! were
to be seen extended behind. In one group I
counted fifty-four birds, and I suspected that
they were courting from the excited manner
in which they were weaving their ways in
and out of the assembly. I have learned that

1 Cartwright mentions the use of the scarlet feet of these
birds by the Indians for catching salmon, ‘“‘in the same man-
ner as we doa fly.” |

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this ‘‘afternoon-tea’’ appearance among a
group of water-birds generally means court-
ship, so I was all attention and watched the
group closely. Many were dipping their heads
nervously into the water as they swam, and
presently I saw a couple circle about each
other as if they were doing the lady’s chain.
Their mouths were wide open and displayed
the bright scarlet lining. Occasionally the ex-
cited birds bobbed towards each other and
dabbed with their bills. Their tails were
cocked up and their red feet showed plainly
in the water. Others performed in the same
way and I could hear frequent hissing, whis-
tling notes. It was no doubt the nuptial song
and dance, the courtship of the black guille-
mot.

On July 18 we set sail for Harrington and
drifted slowly along with the light airs. Off
Juliet Harbor we were boarded by a fisherman
who had rowed out for a little Sunday-morn-
ing gossip. As he leaned from his boat on
the gunwale of the Sea Star he told us with
enthusiasm of his success in fishing, but he
looked very sheepish when the captain asked
about his three-months-old twins. Twins

141

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR
\

seemed to be common on the coast. His is
the only house in Juliet Harbor, and a fine
harbor it is, big enough to float a fleet of fish-
ing-vessels. To the north lay the encircling
hills and through a rift flowed a stream whose
falls looked white as snow in the dark forest.

As we advanced, the hills rose to a height
of seven hundred feet a short distance from
the shore, and were broken and faulted from
north to south in such a way as to display ver-
tical faces to the west. In the shelter so formed
the trees have grown to a considerable size,
and patches of light-green birch showed con-
spicuously amongst the dark spruces. The red
of rocky cliffs and the gray-and-white lichens
on the exposed hillsides contrasted well with
these greens.

Near at hand a long yellow sand beach
fringed with white breakers and backed with
pale-green strand wheat skirted a shore that
was broken by the mouth of the Netagamon
River. The falls, some fifty feet high, whose
spray rose like smoke in the black forest, in-
vitingly called us, but we needed to take ad-
vantage of the freshening breeze and we contin-
ued on our way only to fall into the doldrums

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AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

of a calm. Reefs were all about us, and over
these great seas were curling and breaking.
The captain took pencil notes of his soundings
from time to time, for he said, ‘‘when I put
them in my mind they rub out’’; but of this
I saw no evidence, for he never referred to
notes or chart and seemed to know every
shoal.

The breeze at last favored us, as a result
doubtless of the persistent whistling of the
crew, —an expedient faithfully resorted to
by them in calms, — and we reached Har-
rington. This is a little fishing-village of some
thirty families clustered on rocky islands about
a snug harbor. We at once visited Dr. Gren-
fell’s hospital on the main island of Har-
rington and were disappointed to find that it
was empty of patients and physicians alike.
Dr. Hare, after nine years of hard work here,
had just retired to an orange farm in Flor-
ida, and his successor, Dr. West, who came
with us on the Cascapedia, was away visit-
ing patients. The hospital, doctor’s house,
two churches, — Anglican and Presbyterian, —
and a dozen or so comfortable houses, besides
fish-stages, are nestled securely under the bold

143

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

rocky hill which rises on the north to a height
of five or six hundred feet. On a spur above
the hospital is a Marconi wireless station.
Across the harbor to the south is the low-lying
Fox Island with its cluster of homes and fish-
houses. Opposite this to the east across a nar-
row passage is Gull Cliff Island with its high
cliff facing the west. Here also are about a
dozen houses, while on Shag Island, that forms
the southeastern barrier for the harbor, there
appears to be only one dwelling-house.

The hospital itself was neat, well arranged,
and thoroughly modern in its equipments.
The operating-room had a good light, and con-
tained modern tables, sterilizers, and so forth.
The wards were bright and cheerful, and each
bed was marked with the name of the gener-
ous supporter. The verandas arranged as sun-
rooms opened on the south to a beautiful view
on this lovely summer’s day. I could imagine
the wonderful prospect in winter over snow-
and-ice-covered rock and sea, all sparkling in
the sun.

Harrington is the westernmost of the chain
of hospitals established by Dr. Grenfell. One
has but to glance at the map published in

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“AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

““Among the Deep-Sea Fishers’’ — the official
organ of the International Grenfell Associa-
tion — to realize the magnitude and variety
of the work of this man. The headquarters of
the mission are at St. John’s, Newfoundland,
in the King George the Fifth Seamen’s In-
stitute. This institute is one of the greatest
blessings to all the seafaring men who ply
along the Labrador coast. The chief hospi-
tal is at St. Anthony in the northern part of
the island of Newfoundland. Here are seven
wards, a bacteriological and pathological lab-
oratory, an X-ray room, and a modern oper-
ating suite. Dr. John Mason Little, Jr., who
came for a summer, remained in charge ten
years. At St. Anthony there is also an or-
phanage for twenty-five children, and an in-
dustrial house, which contains a carpenter-
and-machine-shop, a pottery-kiln, and a room
for spinning and weaving. There is also a
mission school and a guest-hbduse for volunteer
workers. Fortunate is the college student who
spends a summer working for the mission, be-
cause he realizes as never before the joy of
service. The effect on his character must be a
lasting one for good. Besides college students,
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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

well-known specialists in various branches of
medicine and surgery have from time to time
given their services to the mission. There is
also a codperative store at St. Anthony, now
known as the ‘“‘Spot-Cash Codperative Com-
pany, Ltd.,” and another farther north at
Cape Bauld and one at Flower’s Cove. There
is a school at Carrol’s, a sawmill and agricul-
tural station at Roddickton, and a hospital at
Pilley’s Island.

On the Labrador Peninsula, besides the
hospital at Harrington, there is one at Battle
Harbor and one at Mud Lake near the head
of Hamilton Inlet, and a summer hospital at
Indian Harbor. Then there are codperative
stores at West St. Modiste, Red Bay, Spotted
Island, West Bay, and Paul’s Island, a winter
station for Battle Harbor at St. Lewis Inlet,
industrial stations at Red Bay and Battle
Harbor, a school and dispensary at Spotted
Island, and a small store at Adlavic. Finally
there is a ‘‘ Mission Fleet.’”” The good hospital
ship Strathcona continues to float and work
notwithstanding the perilous ice, rocks, and
storms.. The George B. Cluett is an auxiliary
three-masted schooner, the Amber Jack is an

146

HARRINGTON
The Hospital is the large building in the center

Fi pasa

OUR FRIENDS THE ESKIMO PUPPIES AND THEIR MOTHER AT
HARRINGTON

‘AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

auxiliary yawl, and there are several smaller
motor-boats all doing good and valiant serv-
ice.

Dr. Grenfell’s work will go on after he is
gone, for he has imbued many workers with
his spirit. It is doubtless at times uphill and
thankless work, for there are always evil-
thinkers and hostile critics of good works. In
this age of the mailed fist, when spiritual
things seem as naught, the Christlike spirit
of the work is refreshing. A poor lad with a
diseased hip-bone, who had lain in bed a year,
said to Dr. Grenfell, ‘‘ Doctor, how can I do
anything for others?’’ To which he replied,
“Why, look cheerful, and be grateful, and purr
when you are pleased. Cheer the doctor and
the nurse, and the man in the next bed. That’s
what Christ would do. Go and do likewise.”

Our climb to the top of the island was en-
livened by the affectionate companionship of
four white Eskimo puppies, who, with their
dark-haired mother, had greeted us outside
the hospital. They were full of spirits and
always ready to romp, and when we tired of
their play they would gambol over their
mother until she sedately and sternly quieted

147

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR ©

them. The Eskimo dog is as gentle and affec-
tionate and as fond of human companionship
as any dog when properly treated. My experi-
ence here at Harrington and elsewhere bears
this out. At Battle Harbor I once enjoyed the
friendship of one of Dr. Grenfell’s dogs and
found him as intelligent, trustworthy, and
lovable as any well-brought-up canine. The
vast majority of Eskimo dogs in Labrador are,
however, savage and treacherous, and unless
this is borne in mind it is dangerous to go
among them. There are numerous instances
of these dogs turning on men and children
who had fallen down among them, and tear-
ing them, sometimes fatally. If one dog
springs at a human being, all the other dogs
of the pack are incited to follow suit. A bold
front, care not to trip and fall, and the use of a
stout staff or a large stone will keep the dogs at
a distance. Strangers from ignorance are gen-
erally less watchful of the dogs than are the
natives. The reasons for this savage dispo-
sition are not far to seek. In winter the dogs
are generally insufficiently fed, and worked
hard and abused. In summer they are gener-
ally not fed at all, but are left to pick up
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AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

their own living. This they obtain from the
fish refuse and at the expense of the birds
nesting along the shore. At all times they
are kicked and cuffed and are never kindly
spoken to or affectionately treated. That they
respond favorably to kind treatment the ex-
ceptions just given show, and these exceptions
prove the rule that dog-nature is essentially
a lovable one and faithful to mankind.

The dog question is certainly a difficult
one, however. The animals are at present
essential during the long winter season. With-
out them transportation over long distances
would be impossible; they are the only beasts
of burden on the Labrador coast, but they
impose many burdens on the inhabitants
besides the question of their food and their
dangerous nature. The Labradorian is unable
to grow even the few vegetables the climate
allows unless he fences in his garden from the
dogs with a strong and high fence. Poultry,
pigs, goats, or cows, all of which might other-
wise be kept, cannot survive unless, as at
Natashquan, the dogs are imprisoned in stout
stockades or kept chained. Some day it is to
be hoped that the reindeer, which Dr. Gren-

149

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

fell has introduced in northern Newfoundland
and which have proved so useful in Alaska,
will take the place of the dogs in Labrador.
The original herd of three hundred reindeer
brought to Newfoundland from Lapland in
1908 has now increased to one of twelve hun-
dred. There is an abundance of food for the
animals in Labrador, and it is a food they can
procure for themselves, for the reindeer, like
his near relative the caribou, thrives on lichens
and mosses. The reindeer will do the work of
dogs, and much more. As Dr. Grenfell has
expressed it, the reindeer will bring ‘milk for
babies, meat for men, transport for mails, free-
dom from dogs, possibilities of gardens and
domestic feasts, warm clothes for winter, and
many other blessings to the people of our
coast.’”’ The Eskimo dog is the chief obstacle
in the way of the introduction of the rein-
deer, and may prove a fatal one.

From the top of the hill we had an extensive
view on all sides. Below to the south and
fringing the harbor lay the little fishing-vil-
lage, and beyond the islands the sea spotted
with foaming reefs. To the east across a
stretch of water loomed the high and rugged

150

AS FAR AS HARRINGTON

land of Little Mecattina; inland was a maze
of low-lying land and water with higher land
beyond; towards the setting sun more water,
small islands, and an immense flat coastal
plain, a boggy, barren land. We descended
through a valley whence the snow had evi-
dently just gone, as was shown by the brown
and dead vegetation of the previous summer
and by the fresh buds of the spring vegeta-
tion. Alders were hanging out their yellow
catkins and some of their leaves were just
unfolding, although close beside them other
alders had long since passed the stage of these
early activities.

It was rather a relief to find the people all
speaking English here, although I could not
help noticing the lack of polite greetings with
which we were familiar among the French
inhabitants of the coast. One boy addressed
us with the remark, ‘“‘Some ’ot, hey?’’ and
they were all complaining of the heat. My
thermometer registered 65°, but it was said
that at Sam Cox’s house, where there was a
thermometer, the mercury had reached 72°,
and many had come to look at it. Part of their
sufferings may have been due to the fact that

151

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

they were all in their Sunday best, and an
English Sunday is proverbially oppressive.

That evening we were lulled to sleep on the
deck of our little schooner by the mournful
chorus of the howling of Eskimo dogs, a chorus
that was taken up by one group after another
in the village. It is a weird sound and sug-
gests the rush of winds through rocks and
crags, wolf-packs on dreary Arctic wastes, and
Eskimo snow villages in the remote North. It
is a crude, primeval sort of music, not without
a certain wild charm and beauty.

CHAPTER VII

LITTLE MECATTINA ISLAND AND
MUTTON BAY

ROM Harrington Harbor we sailed directly

towards the sun, which was rising out of
a mass of purple clouds edged with rose. Be-
low them lay the mountainous island of Lit-
tle Mecattina, which, looking like a series of
rocky waves advancing towards the Gulf,
loomed in the distance. The island was won-
derfully beautiful in the purple morning shad-
ows, but stern and forbidding. A glorious
luminous haze was all about us as we bowled
steadily along with all sails set. The westerly
wind had been quieting the waves during the
night, but there was so much sea left that
we were thankful the captain had decided to
spend the previous night in a secure harbor
and not push on. Audubon had sailed from
Wapitagun directly across to Little Mecat-
tina, losing all the intervening interesting land
and islands, and for two days and a night was
subjected to the discomforts of seasickness.

153

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

As we approached the island and passed
Cross Harbor at the western end, where a
schooner was sheltered behind the rocks, we
did not wonder that Audubon’s pilot was in
doubt as to the opening of the ‘“‘bowl,’’ as he
called it, or Hare Harbor, into which the
Ripley finally blundered, for it was nowhere to
be seen. The shore was bold and rocky with
here and there a cove and pebbly beach.
These beaches extend back into the land with
or without intermissions of vegetation, —
green bands in the gray, — far up above the
reach of any ordinary, or extraordinary, storm.
These, of course, were examples of raised
beaches, of which there are so many in Labra-
dor, attesting the movement of the land in
elevation. To Audubon they were a mystery;
he writes: ‘‘On rambling about the shores of
the numerous bays and inlets of this coast,
you cannot but observe immense beds of
round stones of all sizes, some of very large
dimensions rolled side by side and piled one
upon another many deep, cast there by some
great force of nature. I have seen many such
places and never without astonishment and
awe. If those great boulders are brought from

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LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY

the bottom of the sea, and cast hundreds of
yards on shore, this will give some idea of what
a gale on the coast of Labrador can be, and
what the force of the waves.”’ In another place
he says: ‘‘These stones I now think are prob-
ably brought on shore in the masses of ice
during the winter storms. These icebergs, then
melting and breaking up, leave these enor-
mous pebble-shaped stones, from ten to one
hundred feet deep.”

When I landed my first pilgrimage was to
one of these beaches. At the water’s edge and
for some yards back the beach pebbles, cobble-
stone size, were round and smooth, kept so
by the wash of the waves and by grinding and
polishing against one another. Higher up they
lost their natural red color and were painted
gray by the lichens; this color gradually
merged into green as mosses replaced lichens,
while, higher up still, spruces and firs, laurels,
curlew-berry, Labrador-tea, and all the other
low-growing arctic plants had thoroughly
concealed the beach now raised fifty feet or
more above the sea. It was interesting to
notice a slight roughening of the surface of
the rock on which the lichens were growing.

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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Higher up the surface crust for a quarter of
an inch or so was soft and crumbling, while,
where the vegetation was luxuriant, many of
the pebbles had entirely lost their shape, and
others were split into many pieces by the frost
entering cracks wedged apart by plant-growth.
In this way vegetation aided by frost changes
even polished crystalline rocks into soil suit-
able for plant-food.

“You could not have happened in better
weather,” said the captain as the sea quieted
down under the lee of the shore and we en-
tered the mouth of the harbor, sailed through
the narrows, and beat up to the head of the
wonderful rock-enclosed bowl. The water was
so deep that we were almost on shore be-
fore we could anchor. In this quiet harbor
five or six schooners, Newfoundland fisher-
men, had taken refuge, but there were no
signs of human habitation on the shore. It
was as deserted as in Audubon’s day.

As we had started early from Harrington,
it was only half-past seven in the morning
when we landed, and for five glorious hours
we scrambled about the rocky mountains that
surrounded the bowl. Heights are deceptive,

156

LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY

and Audubon was so impressed by the scene
that he exaggerated the height of the rocks.
He says, “Our harbor is the very represen-
tative of the bottom of a large bowl, in the
centre of which our vessel is now safely at
anchor, surrounded by rocks fully a thousand
feet high, and the wildest-looking place I ever
was in.’ According to the chart, the highest
peaks, a little way back from the harbor, have
an elevation of five hundred and seventy feet,
and it is probable that the rocky precipices
that rise directly from the water reach a height
of only two or three hundred feet. They are
splendid rocks, however, and full of crannies
and shelves. A pair of ravens were croaking
and sailing about, and on the grassy beach
at the head of the harbor four full-grown
young were feeding. They were probably
lineal descendants of the birds seen by Audu-
bon. Above this beach a clear cold brook led
from a lake, above which was a narrow for-
ested valley, thick and impenetrable, in which
I could hear the rushing of a brook. What
unnumbered centuries it must have taken to
make even a feeble grove on these adaman-
tine rocks! A black-poll warbler was singing,
157

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

occasionally a yellow-bellied flycatcher ejacu-
lated je-let, and a pipit on the Arctic borders
of this Hudsonian island walked about and
wagged his tail. Doubtless a ruby-crowned
kinglet, as in Audubon’s time, was concealed
in the thicket, but he was silent; his season of
wonderful song had passed. Above this val-
ley was another lake and another summit be-
yond. From here there was an extensive view
over a desolate region, or, in Audubon’s words,
“nothing but rocks — barren rocks — wild as
the wildest of the Apennines everywhere.”
Rocky hills, lakes in islands, and islands in
lakes. The red line of rock surface at the
water’s edge showed the salt-water inlet; the
lichens and green plants extending to the
water’s edge showed the fresh-water lakes;
otherwise they could not be distinguished.
Within fifty or seventy-five feet of the sum-
mit boulders, large and small, were lying about
where they were left by the receding ice of
the last glacial period; below that there were
no poised boulders to be seen, they had all
been washed into hollows by the waves during
the period of submersion. The line between
the two regions was sharply drawn. Profes-
158

THE SEA STAR IN HARE HARBOR, LITTLE MECATTINA
: ISLAND

LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY
sor Reginald Daly! found at Ice Tickle, on

.the eastern Labrador coast, that poised boul-

ders occurred only above the 265-foot con-
tour-line, while at Hopedale the highest shore-
line was at 390 feet.

Many of the rock-surfaces at the summit
were nearly as smooth and polished as when
they were left by the ice, and they showed
well the scratches and grooves made by the
glaciers. These scratches radiate from the
center of glaciation in the middle of the penin-
sula. I kept note of their compass direction
in different places as I went east and found
them to vary as regards true north from south
3° west to south 35° east. The variation of
the compass at Natashquan is about 30° to
the west of north. I crossed a deep gorge on
the tops of gnarled and twisted alders and
spruces, a brook babbling unseen below me,
and slid down steep slopes in the slippery
mosses, as Audubon had done in the same place
eighty-three years before. It was all good
exercise and very exhilarating in the clear

1 The Geology of the Northeast Coast of Labrador, Bulletin

Museum of Comparative Zodlogy, Harvard College, vol.
XXXVIII (1902), p. 255.

159

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

air, so cold that the captain had called for his
mittens as he was beating up the harbor. A
brief plunge into the sea and a quick scramble
back removed all sense of fatigue.

Ernest was alone on board quietly cooking
the dinner when something made him look
out of the galley and he found that the Sea
Star had dragged her anchor from the bottom
into deeper water. He hastily let out more
cable and prevented her putting to sea pre-
maturely. When we did get off the sea was
running high, lashed by a strong southwest
wind, and we passed out of the harbor under
a jib and reefed foresail for our thirty-three
miles’ run for Mutton Bay. We soon passed
{le de la Providence, a smooth, red rock where
a bleak, weather-beaten church stood out
prominently on the ridge. This is the guiding
star of the inhabitants, some fifteen or twenty
families, who are scattered about in the archi-
pelago of the Head of the Whale, Téte-d-la-
Baleine de Ouest. It is the Mission of St.
Anne, formerly St. Magloire, and was built
with much labor and sacrifice through the
zeal of the Abbé Théberge in 1894. Huard
says, ‘Bad weather, most furious winds, —

160

LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY

nothing prevents the people, if only there is a
priest to preside at the religious offices, com-
ing with their wives and children in their fish-
ing-boats to the Chapel. When they go au
large for the fish or when they return, the
sight of their chapel surmounted by its pretty
tower fills them with joy.”’ The island is so
rocky that there is no soil in which those that
die can be buried, and the cemetery is situated
on the island of Kenty or the Téte ala Baleine,
another smooth red rock which pushes out into
the sea like a great whale’s head. Huard
quotes from the Abbé Gagnon, who says, “If
the voyage to the isle of Kenty became im-
practicable, one must refrain from dying under
penalty of being buried much later and almost
without regret; this prospect suffices, it ap-
pears, to keep everybody alive.”’ Another cu-
rious circumstance about this mission is that
all of the inhabitants retire to their winter
houses three miles inland after the fishing-
season, and the greater part of the year must
be spent, as in the case of the Indians, with-
out spiritual succor. Father Hesry, of Long
Point, Blanc Sablon, about one hundred and
fifty miles to the eastward, is the spiritual
161

‘IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

adviser for this little mission of St. Anne, and
his visits are necessarily few.

The sheets of white foam ran rapidly up
‘the smooth red sides of the whale’s head, and
‘slowly sank back again as we drove on before
the freshening wind. Foaming reefs appeared
on all sides, but the captain knew them all
and they had no terrors for us. A couple of
fishing-schooners were sheltered close to the
head and a half-dozen small houses clung pre-
cariously to its sides just above the water’s
edge. As we passed Nadeau Island, a round
rock with a steep cliff, the captain pointed out
the house of the man who had put by six thou-
sand dollars in the bank, as a result of his life-
work in fishing. Dying a bachelor, he had left
this money — a fortune in these regions — to
his nephew.

As the wind increased to half a gale we low-
ered our jib and, with only a reefed foresail,
scudded across the intervening eight miles to
Cape Mecattina. It was not exactly “‘under
bare poles,’’ but it came very near to it. Great
green seas with white crests rose up behind us
as if about to engulf our little schooner and
surged along beside us, but the Sea Star, under

162

LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY

the skillful management of Captain Joncas,
rode them like a duck and kept her decks dry.
Not only were the waves and the wind behind
us, but also the:sun, and, when the waves shut
out its direct rays, the clear, transparent water
sparkled with a wonderful green brilliancy.
All too soon we reached Cape Mecattina with
its rocky heights patched in places with snow,
and passed into the shelter of Mutton Bay.
This prosaically named place was the Baze de
Portage — so called on account of an ancient
Indian portage — into which Audubon in the
Ripley entered on July 21, 1833. We were
three days ahead of him in the calendar, and,
while the Ripley, before ‘‘a stiff northwest
breeze,’’ had sailed from the harbor at Little
Mecattina Island in five hours, we had scudded
across in three. It seems too bad to race with
Audubon, but I think he would have enjoyed
it. I know Ingalls and Shattuck and Tom Lin-
coln and Coolidge and young John Woodhouse
would have considered it great larks!

The derivation of the present name of the
bay is uncertain, as there are no sheep there
and probably never have been. The botanist
suggested that it might have been named from

163

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the fleecy aspect of the waves and their choppy
character. I dare say some sea-captain pre-
sented another with a leg of mutton here, and
the bay was named for this important and
savory happening.

Under a protecting cliff, over which tum-
bled a waterfall that, like the Staubbach in
the valley of Lauterbrunnen, was blown into
dust and spray, lay the little village of Mutton
Bay. There are about twenty families here,
all, with one or two exceptions, Protestants
from Newfoundland. The houses are of all col-
ors, — yellow, pink, lilac, brown, and red,— and
there is a Church of England chapel. Huard
says the inhabitants desire to make the place
the capital of southern Labrador, and that the
village, compared with the other villages of the
coast, “‘est d’apparence vraiment coquette.”’

I was soon ashore and at the telegraph-
office, where I found my old friend M. Charles
Vignot, of Natashquan. His little grandchild
sat on my knee and sang very correctly, and
with a charming French accent, ‘‘Old Black
Joe.”” It served to dissipate the gloom caused
by the bad war news that ticked over the tele-
graph. Near the top of the rocky pass close

164

LITTLE MECATTINA AND MUTTON BAY

to the “Staubbach” the wind was blowing so
strongly that I could scarcely stand against
it. The captain afterwards remarked, ‘‘Still
some wind left — we did not use it all.” From
the pass a large patch of snow beyond looked
like a glacier creeping down the hillside. It
was marked by a deep crevasse, and from
under an arch at the lower end a brook issued.
All vegetation was as dead as winter about it.
We were catching up with the spring. as we
went east and north.

CHAPTER VIII

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET TO THE
ST. AUGUSTINE RIVER

N July 22, 1833, Audubon went in a
’ small boat from Baie de Portage, where
the Ripley lay at anchor, to a harbor a mile
to the eastward, where an island shut off the
sea to the south, and high hills kept off the
northern winds. Here he found a French Cana-
dian, a seal-catcher, who entertained him with
an account of his work in netting seals, trap-
ping foxes, and shooting bears, wolves, and
caribou. This was Big Mecattina Harbor, and
Audubon says in his ‘‘Episode’” on ‘The
Squatters of Labrador”: ‘‘Pierre Jean-Bap-
tiste Michaux had resided in that part of the
world for upwards of ten years. He had run
away from the fishing-smack that had brought
him from his fair native land, and expected
to become rich some day by the sale of the
furs, Seal-skins, eider-down, and other articles,
which he collected yearly, and sold to the
traders who regularly visited his dreary abode.

166

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

He was of moderate stature, firmly framed,
and as active as a Wild Cat. He told that ex-
cepting the loss of his rum, he had never ex-
perienced any other cause of sorrow, and that
he felt as ‘happy as a lord.’ ”

His grandson, Leander Michaux, or Michel,
as it was given to me, the son of Francois, a
man of seventy years, still lives there, and we
waved our hands to him as we sailed by. In
a little graveyard on the hillside Audubon’s
friend lies buried. There is but little change in
the surroundings, the same work goes on, but
there is less animal life of all sorts than in
Audubon’s day.

We sailed on over an emerald ocean of such
clarity that we could see the bottom in several
fathoms’ depth. Five miles ahead of us to
the right lay Great Mecattina Island looming
up dark and forbidding in the early morning
shadows. On our left we passed a bold, rocky
shore into which entered a deep bay — La Baie
Rouge de la Tabatiére. Why it should be
called a snuff-box is rather a puzzle, but, accord-
ing to Mgr. Bossé,! the name should be Ta-
baquen, or Tapatienne, which, in Montagnais

1 Annales dela Propagation de la Foi (Quebec, 1887), p. 207.
167

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

language, signifies sorcerer. At this point the
Indians before departure for the interior came
to consult the soothsayers to learn of their
coming fortune in the chase. Deep in the
valley, against a background of sheltered and
sheltering spruces, was the church. Its altar is
adorned by the skin of a polar bear shot here
one winter a few years ago. Near at hand on
the point — the old post — were a half-dozen
houses.

“July 23, 1833. We visited to-day the Seal
establishment of a Scotchman, Samuel Rob-
ertson, situated on what he calls Sparr Point,
about six miles east of our anchorage [Baie
de Portage].’”” I quote from Audubon’s Jour-
nal. On July 20, 1915, we dropped anchor at
Sparr Point in the well-protected harbor of
La Tabatiére. On the rocks at the entrance
were capstans for seal-nets, as the seal estab-
lishment was still there. Almost no seals were
caught last year, but the year before five or
six hundred were secured. We were soon
ashore at the fish-stage, for cod as well as
seals constitute the harvest here, and, walking
up through the multitude of Eskimo dogs, we
were greeted by Samuel Robertson, not the

168

MUTTON BAY (BAIE DE PORTAGE)

SAMUEL ROBERTSON, 3D, AND SOME OF HIS DOGS, AT
SPARR POINT

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

Scotchman of Audubon’s day, but his grand-
son. The house was as neat as a pin, and its
tall clock, a ship’s barometer, and various
ancient, weapons, as well as thrifty window-
plants, gave it an interesting and attractive
look. While I was waiting for the old man to
put on his best clothes, — for his wife would
not hear of his being photographed in any-
thing else, — the dogs, about twenty-five of
them, engaged in a sudden fight. The uproar
was quickly stopped by a buxom, rosy-cheeked
lass who rushed out, seized a stick, and be-
labored them left and right with a hearty
good-will. A dog was killed here in a fight a
short time ago and good Eskimo dogs are too
valuable to throw away. Audubon records
that Samuel the First had more than forty of
these animals.

Mr. Robertson soon returned our call, and
I had the great pleasure of reading to him
from Audubon’s Journal about his grandfather.
The Abbé Ferland, in writing of this same en-
terprising Scotchman, said that he attempted
to catch whales in nets made with cables
stretched between islands, but with the same
success as if he had tried to catch caribou in

169

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

spiders’ webs. Nowadays they use wire nets
to catch submarines, so the Scotchman may
not have been so far afield.

Audubon’s account of his visit to Samuel
Robertson, in the ‘‘Episode,” is interesting.
He says: ‘‘Several neat-looking houses enliv-
ened the view, and on landing, we were kindly
greeted with a polite welcome from a man
who proved to be the owner of the establish-
ment. For the rude simplicity of him of the
rum-cask [Michaux] we found here the man-
ners and dress of a man of the world. A hand-
some fur cap covered his dark brow, his clothes
were similar to our own, and his demeanor
was that of a gentleman. . . . Having fol-
lowed him to his neat and comfortable man-
sion, he introduced us to his wife and children.
Of the latter there were six, all robust and
rosy. The lady, although a native of the coun-
try, was of French extraction, handsome and
sufficiently accomplished to make an excel-
lent companion to a gentleman. . . . Gazing
on the desolate country around, I asked him
how he had thus secluded himself from the
world. For it he had no relish, and although
he had received a liberal education, and had

170

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

mixed with society, he never intended to
return to it. ‘The country around,’ said he,
‘is all my own, much farther than you can see.
No fees, no lawyers, no taxes are here. I do
pretty much as I choose. My means are ample
through my own industry. These vessels come
here for Seal-skins, Seal-oil, and salmon, and
give me in return all the necessaries, and in-
deed comforts, of the life I love to follow; and
what else could the world afford me?’ I spoke
of the education of his children. ‘My wife and
I teach them all that is useful for them to
know, and is not that enough? My girls will
marry their countrymen, my sons the daugh-
ters of my neighbors, and I hope all of them
will live and die in the country!’ ”’

After our exchange of calls with the repre-
sentative of this interesting family, who had
followed his grandfather’s advice, we weighed
anchor and continued our course on one of the
most beautiful days of the summer. It is true
that it was hardly summer heat, for the ther-
mometer was 49° in the morning, 57° at noon,
and 55° at night, but the sun was bright, the
air was clear, and a gentle northwest wind
brought us the odor of balsam firs and the

171

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

songs of birds. The shadows of the clouds piled
up over the high land of Great Mecattina were
wonderfully beautiful. We sailed out past the
Baie du Lac Salé, where the six brothers Galli-
chou, who live in summer at Old Post, have
their winter houses; past Ha Ha Bay with its
fine hills; past a deep harbor, formed by a
glacial cirque, and on into the archipelago of
Kekarpoui. The captain suggested that these
islands would make a good bird reservation,
but the birds had been so decimated there
that the name of one of the groups of rocky
islets — Les [les A fligées — seemed most ap-
propriate. Only a few black-backed gulls, ra-
zor-billed auks, and black guillemots were to
be seen. Not an eider or murre was left, but
I have no doubt that rigid protection would
bring all of these birds back in numbers.

On one of the Kekarpoui Islands lived a
Good Samaritan, an old salmon-fisherman,
Jacques McKinnon. Whenever Jacques heard
of any lonely body too old or infirm to work,
he would take him to his house. He and his
wife had ministered to several poor old dere-
licts who had had no one to care for them, and
had tended them faithfully until death.

172

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

There is a narrow passage between the is-
lands close to the old man’s house, and this,
at low tide, the Sea Star negotiated under full
sail. So intent was the captain on escaping
the rocks in this intricate passage that he did
not salute the Samaritan. Indeed, we hardly
looked at him, for it was an exciting moment
for all on board. Ernest cried, ‘‘ Keep her up!”
and William at the same time, ‘‘Keep her
off!’’ but the captain heeded them not, and,
from his long experience, was able to give the
proper turns to the helm at the right moments,
and the Sea Star glided through without a
graze. The clear water showed our narrow
escape from the rocks that beset us. It was
a serious offense to sail by thus without pay-
ing any respects to the old man, who stood
like a statue among his Eskimo dogs with his
back against a rock. He was a picturesque
figure with his white bushy beard. The cap-
‘tain chuckled at his success in making the
difficult passage, and at the confusion of the
two sailors. He would stop and make his peace
with the Samaritan on his return.

When Audubon sailed from La Baie de Por-
tage at five o’clock on the morning of July 26,

173

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

he wished to see something of the intervening
coast, but, as the pilot knew ‘‘nothing at all”’
of the harbors, they proceeded to Bradore Bay,
where they came to anchor the next morning.
He says his “mind was as troubled as the
ocean’’ and that the coast is ‘‘crowded with
islands of all sizes and forms, against which
the raging waves break in a frightful man-
ner.’’ I could not but regret that such a man
should have been hindered in his work by such
a pilot. Our good captain sailed northeast
straight in among the maze of islands, and,
after a passage of five miles through a water-
way a mile broad, turned east and entered the
long passage between the islands and shore
known as La Petite Rigolet. For eighteen miles
this passage extends, and we sailed through it
with a good wind astern. In places it was but
a couple of hundred yards wide. One-such
place, the narrowest of all, is called Rapide
Lessard, for here Madame Lessard, traveling
in the winter on a dog-sledge, broke through
the ice and was drowned; a cross on the rocks
commemorates the tragedy. In other places
long bays extended off to the right or left with
deep valleys beyond, within whose sheltering
174

UVLIS VAS HHL
JO ALVN LsdId AHL GNV MOOD FYHL LATOOI ALILAd

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

walls birches and spruces and firs grew to a
respectable size. The hills were white with
reindeer moss and the rocks were dark and
_rugged; no signs of human hands were any-
where to be seen. A few great black-backed
gulls scolded us as we passed, and three ven-
turesome young ones swam out from a rocky
island. A female eider occasionally flew ahead
of us, and we passed one in a bay that seemed
to have but one duckling in tow; the others
were probably concealed. A raven croaked
from some rocks and we occasionally heard
the calls of white-crowned sparrows and black-
poll warblers, but aside from these there was
little of bird-life. This long passage is in most
places fifteen to thirty fathoms deep even close
to the shore, and if we had wished to land it
would have been necessary, instead of anchor-
ing, to tie to the rocks or a tree.

Just before we emerged from this long canal-
like passage we passed a lone salmon-fisher-
man tending his nets: How many gulls and
eiders and their eggs he had taken was not
manifest, but it is to repeated and persistent
depredations by his class that the approaching
extinction of Labrador water-bird life is due.

175

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Leaving the Rigolet, which seemed to close
in behind us and be lost in the labyrinth of
islands, we turned northwest by Grosse fle
and perceived in the distance beyond us the
buildings of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s
post at St. Augustine — buildings as white and
trig as are all the outlying posts of this great
company. We entered a big landlocked basin
over five miles in diameter, an inland lake
with rocky, semi-mountainous shores and no
sign of an outlet. The story goes that a yacht-
master, who was piloted through the Rigo-
let to Bradore Bay, declined a pilot for the
return, as he had taken numerous notes of
directions and bearings, and he prided himself
on his good memory for places. After trying
for several days to find the eastern end of
the Rigolet, entering innumerable blind pas-
sages and scraping various reefs, he gave it up
and put.to sea.

We dropped anchor that afternoon a few
miles below the post in one of the captain’s
many favorite harbors where the boat was as
quiet as if she had been on shore. A salmon-
fisherman and his wife and child and a crew
of Eskimo dogs lived at the head of the har-

176

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

bor. Their winter house — their habitation
for nine or ten months— was at the post.
We obtained a bucket of trout — two- and
three-pounders — in exchange for the same
measure of potatoes, and the botanist and I
were off for a reconnaissance of this land un-
known to men of our tastes and hobbies. We
might have fished for trout, but the potatoes
had accomplished our purpose quicker than
artificial flies would have done, and both of
us, although fond of fishing, were agreed that
there is no greater sport for the naturalist than
exploring an unknown region. We are still of
this opinion even though the flies were so thick
and active that existence was possible only
with the head securely tied up in a bundle
handkerchief. Comfort, in addition to exist-
ence, was given from time to time by timely
application of citronella ointment to the small
exposed area of face.

I spent some time at a lake among the hills
watching two broods of golden-eye ducks with
their mothers. One brood of five were taking
life easily as they floated about and preened
their miniature wings and still more diminu-
tive tails. They paid no attention to me; they

177

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

had not learned to be afraid of man. The
mother soon appeared swimming leisurely
around a point, but, as soon as she caught sight
of the human intruder, she uttered a warning
note and rapidly swam away. Later, when
I came upon this same brood, they were no
longer unsophisticated, but dived at once and
made off. They had been warned that I was
dangerous.

The St. Augustine River is one of the great
migration-routes of the Montagnais Indians.
By its waters and those of other rivers and
lakes with the intervening portage-paths long
traveled by the Indians, it is possible to cross
the height of land and reach the shores of
Hamilton Inlet and the North-West River
Post. I was told that a Catholic priest with
two Indians had reached the mouth of the St.
Augustine River after nine days’ travel from
the North-West River Post. Indians with
their families make the trip in fifteen days.
Beckles Willson, in his ‘Life of Lord Strath-
cona and Mount Royal,’ says of this great
man, — then plain Donald Alexander Smith:
‘At the end of April, 1848, a couplé of guides
and a canoe were procured, and he ascended

178

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET

the St. Augustine River. After three weeks’
travel he struck into the Grand River, crossed
Goose Bay, and duly reported himself to Chief
Trader William Nourse at North-West River,
at that time the chief of the Labrador posts of
the Company.” :

Twice a year, as at Seven Islands, Mingan,
Natashquan, and Romaine, the Indians and
their families traverse the route to and from
the coast. They go in in the fall and come
out in the spring with their furs. They have
done it since babyhood and their ancestors for
unnumbered generations before them. What
wonder is it that they know the way and the
best and easiest way? The white man who
attempts the route without the Indians’ guid-
ance is severely handicapped and makes a
failure of it. I learned this in I912 on the
Natashquan River.! In 1890 a Canadian, Mr.
J. G. Alwyn Creighton, ascended the St. Au-
gustine River, hoping to cross the height of
Jand to the Hamilton River. Insubordination
of his Indian guides and a great forest fire

1A Short Trip into the Labrador Peninsula by Way of the

Natashquan River, Bulletin of the Geographical Society of
Philadelphia, vol. x1 (1913), pp. 38-50.

179

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

caused him to turn back. In 1912 Mr. Henry
G. Bryant, of Philadelphia, one of the few
white men who has seen the Grand Falls of
the Hamilton River, attempted the traverse of
this part of the peninsula by way of the St.
Augustine River. He and his companion, Mr.
Russell W. Porter, had provided themselves
with experienced canoe-men, but they espe-
cially desired to obtain Indian guides to insure
the success of the expedition. “Aside from the
usual disinclination of the Indians to engage
in systematic labor,’’ he says, ‘‘we soon learned
that the most serious obstacle arose from their
unwillingness to have white men spy into the
secrets of their country.’’ They had no desire
for timber mills or mining camps in their
hunting grounds, and they are not to be
blamed. At last, with the help of Pére Hesry,
two young Indians were obtained who agreed
for five dollars a day apiece to guide the
party as far as the height of land. The expe-
dition started in three canoes on the 12th of
July. The Indians kept ahead out of sight in
their lightly laden canoe, and appeared only

1 An Exploration in Southeastern Labrador, Bulletin of the
Geographical Society of Philadelphia, vol. x1 (1913), pp. I-15.

180

THROUGH THE PETITE RIGOLET '

at meal-times, when their appetites were phe-
nomenal. On the fourth day, however, the
Indians left them, and Mr. Bryant had to
get on without them as best he might. They
had a rough and difficult time, a succession of
rapids in the river with portages by the dan-
gerous places. One of the portages was ten
miles long. After nearly a month’s travel the
expedition reached the source of the river one
hundred and sixty miles from the sea, and
stood at the foot of the well-worn Indian por-
tage up over the height of land. Ten days more
would doubtless have brought them to the
Hamilton River, but one of the canoe-men
had so wrenched his knee that Bryant did not
feel justified in proceeding, and with heavy
hearts they were obliged to give up the under-
taking and return. They reached the post at
the mouth of the river on August 23.

We had enjoyed our day but were glad to
creep into our sleeping-bags long before the
light had failed. In the east that evening there
was a small piece of rainbow. The captain
called it ‘‘the eye of the buck” and said ‘it
betokened wind from the same quarter in the
morning. He was right.

CHAPTER IX
'SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

FINSTEAD of going up the broad river to
the post, a passage beset with shifting sand-
bars, we set sail for Sandy Isle, or ile Bayfield,
as we hoped to find the Indians there. It was
like sailing through a large lake dotted with
islands, for there was no sight of the sea. The
captain said that thirty or forty years ago this
region was filled with eiders that nested on
all the shores. Constant persecution by the In-
dians and fishermen, who take all the eggs and
shoot the nesting birds, has produced deplor-
able results, for, with the exception of one
flock of nineteen migrating to the eastward,
no eiders were to be seen. A few fishermen
and their families live at the St. Augustine
Post in winter, but are scattered among the
islands in summer, and are fast destroying the
birds. A few gulls and sea-pigeons alone sur-
vive.
| We landed on one of the islands, where the
men gathered a plentiful supply of driftwood
182

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

brought down by the great river. The shore
was fringed with strand wheat heavily loaded
with the fruiting spikes, the hills were white
with reindeer moss and dotted with bake-
apple and mountain cranberries, and in the
valleys dwarfed and distorted forest trees
struggled for life.

Three hours later, after a reconnaissance
not merely ornithological and botanical, — as
I here added considerably to my collection
of spiders for Mr. Emerton, — we again set
sail in the ‘‘lake’’ with its many islands and
deep bays. We passed a rock that the cap-
tain said was formerly visible above water
only at spring tides, but that now emerged
at every tide. Near Paul Nadeau’s Island we
opened up the Grand Rigolet, and also for
the first time saw the sea through a narrow
gap.

It had been an active morning for all of us
and the captain called out, as was his custom,
“Cook, cook, avez-vous des bonnes nouvelles?”
Not long after, a loud knocking in the galley,
repeated in a few seconds, announced the good
news. Capelin, hot on the stove and ready at
hand, juicy seal-steaks, potatoes, and boiled

183

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

tender tips of beach peas, with an admirable
grain rouge pie, were all good and proved that
the cook was not a false prophet.

We arrived at our anchorage at Sandy Isle
only to find that the Indians were not there.
Sandy Isle derives its name from the elevated
bluffs of marine sand similar to those at vari-
ous other places on the coast. Some of the
ponds in the tundra had hard beaches of fine
sand on which it was a pleasure to walk after
struggling through the deep and spongy bog.
A robin sang in a deep ravine bounded by
black cliffs as cheerfully as if he had been
singing in an orchard or among the swaying
branches of an elm in a village street. White-
crowned and white-throated sparrows com-
pared notes, and a fox sparrow was in very good
form considering the lateness of the season.
In a reedy pool I came upon a black duck that
fluttered and flapped her wings as if she were
sore wounded. That it was mere pretense to
lead me away from her young hidden in the
reeds, I made sure, because, as I continued
to draw near, she took to her wings and flewa
few yards. Again she performed the wounded-
bird act, but this time it was on the land and

184

SANDY ISLAND

CUMBERLAND HEAD

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

I could plainly see that she was not of the
red-legged subspecies which breeds still far-
ther north, but the sad bird — Anas rubripes
tristis — of my friend Brewster.

But it was not all sand and moss and water
here, for there were smooth granitic ledges on
the shore, on some of which I found and photo-
graphed the interesting glacial markings known
as “‘lunoid furrows.’’ I had previously noticed
them at Natashquan, at Grand Romaine, and
at Little Mecattina. These markings were
transverse to the direction of glaciation as
shown by the grooves, and varied from a few
inches to a foot or more long and extended
about an inch into the rock. As their name
indicates, they are crescentic in shape, and the
convexities of the curves point in the direc-
tion from which the glacier came. They sug-
gest that the ice or graving tool had caught
and hitched along, tearing out the rock. Pro-
fessor R. A. Daly, in his paper on ‘‘ The Geol-
ogy of the Northeast Coast of Labrador,”
says: ‘‘From a somewhat prolonged study of
the typical examples at Hopedale, the writer
was led to believe that these lunes were only
potential when the ice-sheet disappeared... .

185

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

The tension or shearing stress set up in the
bed-rock by a boulder dragged along beneath
the ice, must oftentimes be enormous....
The integrity of the rock-surface will hence-
forth be endangered because frost can work
upon these cracks in the same manner as
it works on joint-planes. The actual hollows
would thus owe their existence to the post-
glacial splitting action of frost, prying up and
breaking off prismatic fragments of the rock
until these fragments had reached a thickness
appropriate to the steep inner face of the lune.”

From our anchorage in the harbor the two
or three houses at the bleak point looked for-
lorn and desolate enough; there was nothing
lovely or beautiful about them until the set-
ting sun disguised their shabbiness and glori-
fied the whole landscape. As the sun went
down behind low-lying black clouds, the sky in
the east was gradually eclipsed by the shadow
of the land and became the darkest of blue.
This color was well set off by the vivid Vene-
tian-red sail of a fishing-boat whose occupants
were returning from their day’s labors. The
sea itself was vinaceous in color with a dull
metallic cast. Above the eastern eclipse were

186

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

layers upon layers of purple and pink clouds
against a blue background, while a veil of
gray mackerel clouds covered the apex of the
vault of the heavens. To the northwest, above
the cloud-bank where the sun was hidden,
was a clear light-blue sky in which floated
fleecy clouds whose colors constantly changed
from rose-pink to dark maroon. The weather-
beaten houses, the grim, hungry shores, the
heaving sea, and fathomless vault of heaven
were all transformed and enriched in the glori-
ous luminous glow. It is Benson who speaks
of a wonderful sunset in its effect on himself
as an experience wholly and deeply religious:
“And here I am but recording my own experi-
ence when I say that the lights and gleams of
sunset, its golden inlets and cloud-ripples, the
dusky veil it weaves about the world, is for
my own spirit the solemnity which effects for
me what I believe that the mass effects for the
devoted Catholic — the unfolding in hints and
symbols of the mysteries of God.” In another
place he says, ‘‘But there are some idealists
who find the sense of worship and the conscious-
ness of an immortal power... in the endless
loveliness of nature, her seas and streams, her
187

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

hills and woods.” And the most impressive
of all nature’s manifestations is the sunset.
We cruised the next morning among islands
formerly crowded with sea-birds, but it was the
same story: the fishermen had cleaned them all
off. A few gulls and sea-pigeons alone eked
out a perilous existence. The coming of the
gasoline motor-boat, which has made travel
among the islands so easy in the last two years,
had put the finishing touch on these nurs-
eries of bird-life. We passed Tommy Le Salt
Shoals, now known as Grenfell Shoals, for Dr.
Grenfell was the last to run on them, in the
Strathcona. Leaving Duke’s Island on our
port, we sailed across the entrance to Cum-
berland Harbor, passed the great rocky point
of Cumberland Head, rising sheer from the
water, and entered Shecatica Bay. Near the
entrance on the left, nearly concealed behind
the rocks, was a fisherman’s house, and the
flag of the fishing-firm of Job Brothers and
Company, Limited, — a white square on a blue
ground, — was flying close by. Shecatica Bay
is a splendid broad bay embosomed in rocky
hills, with a great open basin to the west and
many islands on the eastern side. The only
188

GLACIAL LUNOID FURROWS AND

STRAND WHEAT

GROOVES

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

house in the whole bay is the substantial one
in the northwest corner belonging to the tele-
graph-operator, Mr. Louis Robin. At the head
of the bay we entered what seemed to be a
narrow rapid river, and, sailing close to the
rocky shore, began our voyage up Shecatica
Inlet. I am inclined to agree with Professor
W. F. Ganong! that this inlet is probably that
to which Jacques Cartier refers as the St.
James River, and that the harbor he named
after himself is in reality Cumberland Harbor.
Any one who has entered Shecatica Inlet, or
merely passed its mouth, might easily mistake
it for a river. The generally accepted view,
however, is that Shecatica Inlet is Jacques
_Cartier’s Harbor and it is so designated on
maps. Ganong does not accept the idea, which
at first sight seems plausible, that the name
Shecatica, or Shekatika, is an Indian corrup-
tion of Jacques Cartier. Lemoine’s Diction-
naire Francais-Montagnais — which, however,
is not infallible — says that the word comes
from shikatikau, and signifies, ‘“‘there are
bushes around the water.”

1 Jacques Cartier’s First Voyage, Transactions Royal Soci-
ety of Canada, sec. 11 (1887), pp. 121-36. : <

189

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Jacques Cartier on his first voyage left his
native town, Saint-Malo, France, on April 20,
1534. His first landfall was Bonavista, New-
foundland, and after visiting Funk Island and
provisioning with the great auks — think of
the sacrilege! — he entered the Straits of Belle
Isle and sailed along the southern Labrador
coast to Blanc Sablon. From the latter place
he sailed to the Port of Brest and then to
Jacques Cartier’s Harbor, but on June 13 re-
turned to Brest. He was so impressed with
the number of islands along this coast that he
named the locality “Toutes fles.” From Brest
he sailed to the west coast of Newfoundland,
and thence to the Magdalen Islands, Prince Ed-
ward Island, the Bay of Chaleur, Gaspé, and
Anticosti, and he finally crossed back to Cana-
dian Labrador somewhere near Long Point,
Mingan. Owing to the lateness of the season
he decided to return, and, passing Natashquan
Point, which he named Cape Thiennot after
the Indian chief there, he reached Blanc
Sablon on August 9 and Saint-Malo on Sep-
tember 5.

The original description of these discoveries
was published in Rouen in 1598 under the title,

190

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

“Discovrs du Voyage fait par le Capitaine
Iaqves Cartier aux Terres-neufes de Canadas,
Norembergue, Hochelage, Labrador, et pays
adiacens, dite nouuelle France, auec particu-
lieres mceurs, langage, et ceremonies des habi-
tans d’icelle.”’

The book was republished in Paris in 1863,
and from this I quote the parts about the
River S. Jacques and the Port of Jacques Car-
tier. The whole book is very quaint and full
of interest: —

“Plus outre a deux lieués, y a vn autre
bon fleuue plus grand, auquel nous peschasmes
beaucoup de Saumons, et l’appellasmes le fleuue
de S. Iacqves: . . . Nous mismes ensemble en
vn autre port, qui est plus vers Ouest, viron
une lieué plus outre que le susdit fleuue de
S. Iacqves, lequel i’estime estre vn des meil-
leurs ports du monde, et fut appellé le port de
Iacqves Cartier. Si la terre correspondoit a
la bonté des ports, ce seroit vn grand bien,
mais on né la doit point appeller terre, ains
plustost cailloux et rochers sauvages, et lieux
propres aux bestes farouches: d’autant qu’en
toute Ia terre deuers le Nord, ie n’y vis pas
tant de terre, qu’il en pourroit en vn benneau.

191

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

... Et en somme ie pense que ceste terre est
celle que Dieu donna a Cain.’’!

After we had passed the rapid at the outlet
of Shecatica Inlet, the shores widened and we
sailed as in a rock-bound lake surrounded by
miniature mountains. Little brooks glided
tranquilly down over smooth rocks or tumbled
and boiled out of chasms. There were small
sandy beaches and pockets of forests in pro-
tected gullies. Again the water narrowed ahead
of us and we entered the “‘second rapids’’ to
emerge into another and larger basin over two
miles in diameter.

“The mountains opened wide on either hand,
And lo! amid those labyrinths of stone
The sea had got entangled in the land,
And turned and twisted, struggling to get free,
And be once more the immeasurable sea.”

1 “ Two leagues farther on there is another good river still
larger, in which we caught a great many salmon, and we called
it the St. James River: . . . We put into another harbor farther
west and about a league beyond the aforesaid St. James River,
which I judge to be one of the best harbors in the world, and
which was named Jacques Cartier Harbor. If the land cor-
responded to the excellence of the harbors, it would be a great
blessing, but one ought not to call it land at all, but rather
pebbles and savage rocks and places fit for wild beasts, inas-
much as in all the land towards the north I saw not so much
as a cartload of earth.... And, in fine, I think that land is
the land that God gave to Cain.”

192

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

Here the forest was larger and more exten-
sive, filling in great valleys between the rugged
precipitous hills. We passed a long sand-beach
and the mouth of the Little Coxipi River, and,
turning abruptly to the northeast by a high
‘rocky island or peninsula, entered a lovely
basin.

All the valleys were heavily forested and the
tree-line on the hills was higher than at the
entrance of the inlet. Near the delta of the
Little Shecatica River, whose falls we could
hear roaring in the forest, we at last found an
anchorage. Elsewhere our plumb-line had not
reached bottom — it was twenty or even thirty
fathoms deep. We had sailed eight or nine
miles from the entrance of Shecatica Bay to
the foot of the inlet at the first rapid, and ten
or twelve miles from there to our anchorage
at the head of the inlet. We had come from
the Arctic Zone with trees flat on the ground
to the Hudsonian Zone of spruce and fir trees
fifteen or twenty feet high. Here and there a
giant black spruce, bare for the most part with
a tuft ‘of dark foliage on its summit, towered
ten or fifteen feet higher. The Arctic Zone was
still here, however, for the hills, which reached

193

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

a height of five or six hundred feet, extended
their rocky and lichen-covered summits above
the tree-line. It was a beautiful place, and it
was a great pleasure to gaze upon the scene
from the deck of our little schooner, where the
gentle breeze served to keep away the insect
pests. But the naturalists, like eager children,
would not be satisfied until they could examine
at close range all the interests of the place.

At the mouth of the Little Shecatica River
we found a tent and a hogshead in which. to
salt salmon, but no sign of recent occupancy.
An old Indian portage leads up to the rapids
and falls of the river, twisting its narrow path
through the forest. The roar of the river
drowned out all the bird-voices, and I pushed
on, enjoying from time to time the glimpses of
falls and rapids, and at last reached a small for-
est-embosomed lake where the portage-path
ended abruptly. As I had not carried a canoe
on my head to launch into the lake, I had no
choice but to take to the forest, guiding my
way by the sound of the river behind and the
glimpses of a precipitous peak in front. On the
way I came upon a family of water-thrushes.
They appeared somewhat darker than the

194

THE SEA STAR IN SHECATICA INLET

SHECATICA RIVER

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

bird of northern New England, but their ways
were familiar. From the peak I could see four
little lakes or basins connected with rapids
and falls that flashed out white among the
spruces. Another peak much higher, to the
westward, then became my goal, and, after a
struggle through the thick woods and thicker
flies, I reached its summit and was well repaid
by the glorious view over a typical southern
Labrador country, bare and desolate in the
uplands, but thickly forested in the valleys.
In the little salt lake, perhaps six hundred feet
lower down and to the south, the Sea Star
looked like a speck on the unruffled water.
Other lakes not so freely connected with the
sea lay to the north and west. Arctic birds,
pipits and horned larks, alighted and walked
on the poised boulders of the summit of my
little mountain, and white-crowned sparrows
called and sang in the scrubby thickets lower
down. It would have been easy to retrace
my steps and thus find my way back to the
schooner, but a steep and narrow valley to the
west which evidently concealed a brook flow-
ing down to the inlet tempted me to return in
this way. One can have no better guide than
195

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

a brook; it is sure to flow into a river or lake
or sea.
“And even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.”

It is a friendly companion with a soothing,
cheerful voice, and, although difficult at times
to follow, is a safe guide. It was Plautus who
said: ‘‘He who knows not the way leading to
the sea, should make the river his compan-
ion.”” A soap-down on deck and a plunge in
the inlet soon dispelled all feelings of irrita-
tion from the flies and of heat and weariness.

The next day we sailed only a mile on our
return and were glad the wind gave out and
compelled us to anchor, for we could well
spend another day ashore. How glad we were
that we had no vile gasoline motor! This an-
chorage was at the delta of the Little Coxipi
River, and about a quarter of a mile to the
westward of this we found the beginning of
the Grand Portage. This is a portage-path
that the moccasined feet of the Montagnais
Indians, men, women, and children, have
worn and polished for generations. With their
canoes and supplies and household gods on
their backs, with their babies and spoils of

196

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

the forest, they have journeyed back and
forth for centuries. Many tons of furs have
been brought by this portage, which leads
over the hills and by little lakes to the Big
Coxipi River, then by a series of lakes and
portages to the St. Paul River, and so on over
the height of land to Hamilton Inlet.

One not familiar with Indian portage-paths
might picture a broad, smooth path, almost
a road, over the mountains and through the
forest, as a result of such long usage. This is
not the case, however, for the portage is but
a narrow footpath in which men may walk
in single file, a path that winds and twists to
avoid obstacles, some of which, like fallen
trees, may have long since disappeared. A
portage-path well suits the purposes of an or-
nithologist, for in it he may cover large areas
of country without the necessity of strug-
gling through the thick growths except for
short forays on either side, and he has no
need of watching his direction lest he be lost.
Its superiority was well shown that morning
when I stumbled upon the portage and went
a couple of miles into the interior, while the
botanist, not finding it near the Little Coxipi

197

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

River as he expected, was unable to penetrate
into the thick tangle more than a couple of
hundred yards.

The foot of the Grand Portage at the inlet
was crossed by a narrow brook of the clearest,
coolest water, and I drank where doubtless
many Indians had drunk before me. The path
led up over steep rocks to an elevated plateau
from which there was a good view of the forest
below and the inlet. Here I found a camping-
ground marked by the circles where a dozen
or more wigwams had stood, still carpeted
with balsam boughs now leafless. In the cen-
ter of each circle short stakes had been driven
into the ground. On these a little sheet-iron
stove had stood, a more convenient form of
family hearth than the old open fire. The
smoke from the stove is conducted out through
a small iron pipe. I searched about this camp-
site and found the broken stock of a cheap
Hudson’s Bay Company’s gun, a single cari-
bou antler chipped with a knife, gulls’ and
ducks’ feathers, and long shavings and props
where canoes were built. A singular wooden
implement shaped like a large wooden dumb-
bell puzzled me, but I afterwards learned that

198

LOOKING DOWN SHECATICA INLET FROM THE GRAND PORTAGE

FRAMEWORK OF SWEAT-HOUSE AT INDIAN CAMPING-PLACE
ON THE GRAND PORTAGE

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

it was used in building canoes, in pounding
the ribs from within alternately, first on one
side and then on the other. It goes by the
simple name of vateragamashook. But the most
interesting record left in this Indian encamp-
ment was the framework of a low oval wig-
wam formed of twelve poles bent over and
tied with withes. It was five by six feet in
diameter and four feet high. In the middle
was a flat surface of sand surrounded by a
circle of sphagnum moss. Here were chips of
stone and bits of charcoal, while outside were
numerous large stones which showed the effects
of fire. This was a sweat-house where the In-
dians took a Turkish bath. It is an almost
universal practice among them. The “‘Hand-
book of North American Indians,” published
by the Smithsonian Institution, says: ‘The
type of the ordinary sweat-house seems to
have been everywhere the same. Willow rods
or other pliant stems were stuck into the
ground and bent and fastened with withes
into a hemispherical or oblong framework,
which generally was large enough to accom-
modate several ‘persons. A hole was dug con-
veniently near the door into which stones,
199

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

usually heated outside, were dropped by means
of forked sticks. These were sprinkled with
water to generate steam. A temporary cover-
ing of blankets or skins made the enclosure
tight. . . . The construction of a sweat-house
was usually attended with many rules and
observances. ... Among the Kiowa (Mooney)
the framework consisted always of twelve sup-
ports.’”’ It is interesting to note that there
were just twelve supports in this sweat-house.
The sweat-bath has been used among the
Indians as a religious rite, as a treatment for
disease, and as a social and hygienic practice.
Hovering about the camp, probably with a
view to food, was a Labrador jay, the darker
race of the Canada jay or whisky-jack.

The portage-path led up over an old sea-
beach perhaps two hundred feet above sea-
level, made up of rounded cobbles and pebbles
more or less disintegrated by the vegetable
growth and frost. The rocky heights at the
same level were bare of boulders, but those
two or three hundred feet higher showed deli-
cately poised boulders against the sky-line.
On one of these I counted fourteen large ones.
The view to the south gave a glimpse of the

200

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

sea through the lower passage of the inlet,
with wonderful patches of blue water among
rocky hills, while to the northwest was a large
lake. I followed down the portage-path on
the other side of the divide until it entered a
sparsely forested bog and ended at a small nar-
row lake shut in on the east by rocky cliffs.

The botanist and I had interesting experi-
ences; our short incursion into the partially
forested interior from the barren coast was a
profitable one. He added twenty species to his
list and I four to mine. There are thrills to
be experienced in the pursuit of all hobbies.
I expected a great many thrills in Audubon’s
Labrador and I had my full share. Now this
kind of thrill may be produced by any unusual
thing in the ornithological world and may
range from the first sight of a common bird
on its arrival in the spring to the discovery of
a bird new to science. It includes, for example,
the observation of a rare bird or of an unusual
or unknown song or note or habit. Thrills of
this sort add greatly to the pleasures of life,
and only those who have experienced them
know their full value.

My greatest thrill was here, at Shecatica,

201

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

over a small and insignificant-looking bird, a
Hudsonian chickadee that at once struck me
as unusually dark and sooty in appearance.
This tendency to darkness of plumage is
shown in several of the Labrador birds, and
is due, I believe, to the damp.climate. As
Siebold says, in ‘‘The Birds of Siberia,” “It
seems too bad to shoot these charming littie
birds, but as the ‘Old Bushman’ says, ‘What
is hit is history, and what is missed is mystery,’ ”’
and in order to be sure to make a real addition
to knowledge it was necessary to procure speci-
mens. It was apparently an undescribed sub-
species and on my return I had the pleasure .
of describing it and adding it to the list of birds
known to science.!

The moon was nearly full that night, and the
next morning was clear and calm. A white
mist filled the valleys among the hills and gave
the appearance of glacial ice leading down
to the water’s edge. A fox sparrow sang from

1 In The Auk of January, 1916, I gave a description of this
race of chickadees, naming the bird Penthestes hudsonicus
nigricans. Strangely enough, this Labrador chickadee was
so kind as to return my visit, for a large migration of them
occurred throughout the New England States and even to

New Jersey and Staten Island in the winter of 1916-17. (See
The Auk for April, 1917.)

202

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

the shore, a loon called as he flew overhead,
and above the constant murmur of the brook
could be heard the whistles, groans, and calls
of a Labrador jay in the forest. We weighed
anchor and drifted down slowly with the tide.
The men had caught in nets a couple of dozen
two- and three-pound trout, and we were
therefore well supplied with food. As we were
drifting, Louis Robin and his son George came
up to visit us from the telegraph-station at
the mouth of the inlet, and the talk wandered
from fish to Indians and from caribou to wal-
rus. Only this spring a walrus — une vache
marine — was shot on an island in Shecatica
Bay. They heard what they thought to be
a man crying for help, but found a young
walrus eight feet long and shot it. One was
caught at Harrington in seal-nets four years
ago, and still another at Esquimaux Point ten
years ago. In Cartier’s time they were com-
mon on these shores, — he speaks of seeing
them near the Bay of Seven Islands, — but
they are now nearly restricted to much more
Arctic regions.

The a aie still come down in the winter
from the interior to the shore and occasionally

203

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

visit the islands. Forty were shot between St.
Augustine and Old Fort in the winter of 1914-
15. These are the woodland caribou and also
the smaller barren ground or Cabot’s caribou,
a form distinctive of Labrador and named by
Dr. Glover M. Allen after Mr. W. B. Cabot,
the well-known Labrador explorer. I was so
fortunate as to obtain a pair of antlers of this
caribou taken at Blanc Sablon. The eyes of the
old man Robin sparkled as he spoke of the
pleasures of dog-sledding and of the winter’s.
hunt. t

Shecatica Inlet is a good example of the
fiordal character of this coast. Daly ! quotes
the description of the coast of Norway from
Trondhjem to Bergen, as given by J. D.
Forbes in ‘‘ Norway and its Glaciers,” as ap-
plicable to the southern part of the eastern
coast of Labrador. It also applies to this
southern coast. Forbes says that a series of
inlets penetrates ‘‘in all directions a low, bare,
rocky land, partly island, partly continent,
nowhere rising but to a very small height
above the sea, and so monotonous in charac-

1 The Geology of the Northeast Coast of Labrador, Bulletin
Museum of Comparative Zodlogy, Harvard College, vol.
XXXVIIIL, p. 210.

204

SPRUCE GROUSE

ENTERING SHECATICA INLET

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

ter, and destitute of long reaches or natural
landmarks as to seem to ‘require an almost
superhuman instinct for its pilotage.’”’ G. W.
Gregory, in ‘‘Nature and Origin of Fiords,’”’
draws the following conclusions: ‘‘Hence, the
main fiords of Labrador, like those of Baffin
Land, occupy valleys worn by preglacial de-
nudation in an ancient and faulted plateau,
which has undergone unequal uplift and sub-
sidence in recent geological times.”’ These vari-
ous passages and inlets of Canadian Labrador
resemble the fiards of Sweden, where the land
is also but slightly elevated. Their irregular-
ity suggests the cracks in a broken piece of
glass. John Burroughs, writing of the Alaskan
Coast, says: ‘‘The edge of this part of the con-
tinent for a thousand miles has been broken
into fragments small and great, as by the
stroke of some earth-cracking hammer, and
into the openings and channels thus formed the
sea flows freely.”

Here and at several places along the coast
dikes of dark trap-rock were to be seen cutting
the gneiss. In New England where these dikes
have not been under the sea they stand out
above the gneiss or granite, for the trap-rock

205

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

is less easily worn down by the rain and the
frost, but on the shores where the waves bat-
ter they are cut away and form chasms like
the well-known Rafe’s Chasm at Gloucester.
In Labrador these dikes have recently risen
from the sea and are, therefore, cut below the
level of the surrounding granitic rock. I have
seen similar but larger dikes on the eastern
Labrador coast which suggest from a distance
cuttings for roads across the country.

In sailing out of the inlet we startled a female
red-breasted merganser, or sheldrake, with a
brood of young. The ducklings at once hid
themselves among the rocks on shore while
the mother flew away. It was good policy for
both parent and offspring, but very different
from the actions of a brood of the same species
that I had surprised in a different way the
day before. I emerged from the woods on the
shore of a lakelike expansion of the inlet and
perceived a mother merganser with a dozen
downy young a little over a gunshot away.
The mother saw me at once and swam a short
distance, nervously thrusting out her ‘head;
then dived and came up outside, enticing her
brood to follow, which they did, swimming

206

SHECATICA AND JACQUES CARTIER

in a compact bunch. By frequently repeating
her tactics the young were drawn farther and
farther away. They were having their first
lesson of fear of man instilled into them; an-
other time they would probably react without
prompting.

CHAPTER X

A DESCENDANT OF THE CHEVALIER DE ST. PAUL,
WITH REMARKS ON VINLAND THE GOOD AND
THE PORT OF BREST

FAVORING wind sprang up and we
said good-bye to the Robins and to
Jacques Cartier’s anchorage and passed inside
of Shecatica Island. Here were two houses; in
one lived a man wealthy in children — he had
twelve — but poor in worldly goods until last
winter when he caught a black fox. This he
sold for twelve hundred dollars and at once
purchased a cod-trap and a gasoline boat. I
hope the increased income from the former will
pay for the latter. I was once journeying in
Cape Breton in a motor-boat, the engine of
which was continually giving trouble. Its owner,
an elderly Scotchman, was too strait-laced to
give vent to his feelings in the ordinary manner,
but finally, after long unsuccessful cranking, he
turned to me and said, “‘A gasoline engine isa
vexation of the spirit and a leaky pocket.”
In the other house the family had been
208

VINLAND THE GOOD

nearly exterminated by tuberculosis, the
scourge of this coast. At first sight it seems
strange that, in a country where the air is so
pure, tuberculosis should be so common, but
the cause is not far to seek. The houses are
small, the rooms crowded, and the doors and
windows are tightly closed for reasons that
appeal very forcibly to the people. In sum-
mer the mosquitoes swarm, and nettings are
_ practically unknown on the coast; in winter
the cold is severe and warmth must be con-
served. All ignorant people prefer to crowd
together and dislike all ventilation. The an-
cestors of the most hygienic people in the
world followed the same methods a short time
ago. The habit of spitting is, however, the
chief offense and a cause of the prevalence of
this disease. Dr. George W. Corner has vividly
described the situation. He says: “Spitting
is the national sport of the fisherman, both
indoors and out; and, when practiced by an
infected man, in a tight, overheated, one-room
shack, among a family of underfed children,
the result may be imagined.’’ He also says
that ‘‘in the absence of statistics it has been
estimated that one death in three in Newfound-
209

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

land and Labrador is caused by this disease.”
Dr. Grenfell and his entire staff are continu-
ally striving to remove the cause of tubercu-
losis, but educational work of this kind is nec-
essarily slow. Dr. Arthur Wakefield, now at
the front, for several years traveled about New-
foundland and preached in every village from
the one text, ‘Open your windows and don’t

spit.”
We sailed on through Chimney-Head Pas-
sage — “‘a passage only for those who know

it’ the captain said. Here was an ancient
stone chimney formerly used in trying-out
seal-oil. We passed Napetepi Bay and Anse
a Malouin opposite, which was a “Bull” or
“Boule,” a round rocky island. Then Lobster
Bay, nearly five miles deep leading up into the
low mountains, opened up. There is a portage
of only about a hundred yards at its head
which leads to Napetepi Lake. To the south
we could see for the first time the shadowy
mountains of Newfoundland. Rocky Bay and
Lydia Harbor were passed in turn. At the
latter place was a single house and the captain
told another sad tale of tuberculosis. Birds
were almost absent. In the morning’s sail we
210

VINLAND THE GOOD

saw only eighteen black guillemots, one her-
ring gull, and seven great black-backed gulls
—not a single eider, murre, or razor-billed
auk; the motor-boat had done its deadly work.
We landed and explored Grassy Island with
its sand-beach and fringe of strand wheat, an
elevated elastic tundra of lichens, mosses, and
curlew-berry, a pool of clear water, and be-
yond this, fifty or sixty feet above the sea, an
elevated beach of large and small pebbles. The
most skeptical would here be convinced of
changing land-levels.

The mountain cranberry, the strand wheat,
and the northern white birch have all been men-
tioned several times in these pages. They are
of especial interest in the discussion that has
gone on for so many years as to the location of
“Vinland the Good,” the land discovered by
Leif, the son of Eric, sometimes called Leif the
Lucky. Among the latest and most important
contributions to this discussion are ‘‘ The Find-
ing of Wineland the Good,” by A. M. Reeves;
“The Voyages of the Northmen,” by Julius
E. Olson; ‘‘Notes on the Plants of Wineland
the Good,” by Professor M. L. Fernald;! ‘In

1 Rhodora, vol. 12 (1910), pp. 17-38.
Q11

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Northern Mists,” by Fridtjof Nansen; and
“The Voyages of Norsemen to America,” by
Professor William Hovgaard. From all of
these I have freely drawn for the following
brief résumé of the subject.

Although the discovery of America by the
Norsemen took place about the year 1000,
detailed accounts of the Vinland voyages are
not recorded until the thirteenth century in
the ‘“‘Saga of Eric the Red,’ and in the four-
teenth, in the ‘‘Flatey Book.” From the latter
it appears that a young man named Bjarne
Herjulfsson, intending to sail to Greenland
from Iceland to visit his father, missed reckon-
ings owing to northerly winds and fogs and
finally reached a land which was ‘‘flat and
wooded.” The men knew it could not be
Greenland, but Bjarne refused to go ashore
and investigate; he turned away, and after
many days reached Greenland. In the “Saga
of Eric the Red” it was Leif who, sailing from
Norway to Greenland, discovered this land.
The “‘Flatey Book”’ says he followed Bjarne’s
directions and landed where ‘‘no grass grew
and great glaciers were seen inland, while the
coast between the glaciers and the sea looked

212

VINLAND THE GOOD

like one large flat stone. . . . Then said Leif:
‘,.. Now I will give this land a name and
call it Helluland.’’’ The glaciers suggest Baf-
fin Land, although it is generally supposed to
be Labrador. Then they sailed to another
land which was “‘flat and covered with woods,
and there were extensive white sands, wher-
ever they went, and the beach was not steep.
Then said Leif: ‘This land shall be named
according to its nature and it shall be called

‘Markland.’’’ Labrador at Sandwich Bay is

one of the interpretations of ‘‘ Markland”’; the
usual one is Newfoundland. Again they sailed
out into the open sea with a northeast wind,
and after two days saw land and it was here
that vinvio and vinber were found, or grape-
vines and grapes as ordinarily interpreted.
They were first seen by Tyrker Southman,
Leif’s foster-father, a German, who said to
Leif, “‘I was born where there is no lack of ’
either vinvio or vinber.”’ Leif therefore named
the land Vinland. Hveztz and masur or mosurr
wood are also mentioned several times in the
Saga. These terms have been interpreted to
mean Indian corn or wild rice and maple,
but Professor Fernald has shown that they
213

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

must refer to strand wheat and the northern
white birch. Strand wheat occurs on both sides
of the Atlantic; on the American side it ex-
tends south to the Maine coast and the Isles
of Shoals, and it has recently been found on
the tip of Cape Cod. It is used in Iceland to-
day for making flour for bread and was a famil-
iar plant to the Norsemen. The white birch of
northern Europe and Labrador are believed by
some to be the same species. On the eastern
Labrador coast this tree is much stunted and
distorted by the severity of the climate, the
violence of the gales, and the weight of the
winters’ snows. The grain of the wood is in
consequence often curiously twisted. Hard
knobs, induced perhaps by partial breaks, are
common, and from these much-prized drink-
ing-vessels were made by the ancient Vikings.

The wild grape does not appear even at a
distance from the coast north of the St. John
Valley in New Brunswick, and is found on the
coast only as far north as the mouth of the
Kennebec, but is common to the south of Cape
Ann. On Cape Cod the large fox grape, the
ancestor of the well-known Concord grape, is
particularly abundant,

214

VINLAND THE GOOD

The description of the natives seen by the
Norsemen and called Skraelings corresponds
very closely with that of the Eskimos. They
wore fur clothing and came in skin canoes and
were said to live in caves and holes. In the
“Saga of Eric the Red’’ the following pas-
sage occurs: ‘‘They saw a great number of
skin canoes, and staves were brandished from
the boats, with a noise like flails, and they
were revolved in the same direction in which
the sun moves.’’ This, of course, suggests
kayaks and the double-bladed paddle of the
Eskimos.

Those who believe that Vinland was on the
Nova Scotia or Newfoundland coast are forced
to the conclusion that the Eskimos formerly
extended their range farther south, or that the
Norsemen did not discriminate between the
Eskimos and the Indians and called them all
Skraelings. I have found in the ancient shell-
heaps of the New England coast bone needles
which resemble closely the same articles made
and used to-day by the Labrador Eskimos.
Such bone implements are, however, made
by Indians. Pottery, plainly of Indian manu-
facture, is also common in the shell-heaps.

215

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

There is very little difficulty about the gen-
eral location of Helluland and Markland, and
there is no reasonable doubt that the Norse-
men reached Labrador and very probably New-
foundland. Vinland the Good is, however, a
different matter. The description of the land-
fall as given in the Sagas can be made, by the
use of a little imagination, to: fit a number
of places exceedingly well. Its location may
depend to a considerable extent, therefore, on
the significance of vinber. If the Norsemen
really found grapes and vines, — and it would
seem that Leif’s foster-father definitely re-
ferred to grapes, — Vinland must be at least
as far south as southern Maine, possibly as
Professor Hovgaard suggests, on the sandy
shores of Cape Cod, notwithstanding the fact
that the Saga allows only two days for the
voyage from Markland. On the other hand,
the terms vinber and vinland may have been
used to make the voyages appear more mar-
velous or in order to induce settlers to come
there. Such exaggeration or myth-making is
common enough in ancient legends. Eric the
Red frankly states that he gave Greenland
its name, ‘‘because men would be more read-
216

VINLAND THE GOOD

ily persuaded thither if the land had a good
name.”

Another explanation is that of Professor
Fernald, who finds that the term vfnber, or
wineberry, was used for various berries from
which wine was made, particularly the moun-
tain cranberry. He has gathered a great deal
of evidence in support of this theory, which
appears to reconcile many difficulties. If a
cargo of vinber was carried away in the spring
it might well have been one of mountain cran-
berries, for at this season they are in good
condition, which, of course, is not the case
with grapes. The Saga is, however, obscure
on this point and does not say definitely that
the berries were gathered in the spring. The
passage is as follows: ‘“‘It is said that their
after-boat was filled with vinber. A cargo was
cut for the ship, and when the spring came,
they made ready and sailed away.”

If, as the Saga relates, there was no snow
in Vinland during a winter spent there by the
Norsemen, and the cattle were able to graze
during the whole season, it is evident that this
was not the country of the mountain cran-
berry. The description fits an especially mild

Q17

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

winter on Cape Cod. From this description
of the climate and the statement of Tyrker
the German it is plain that the Saga wishes
to. convey the impression that the real grape
was found.

Nansen says: ‘‘ Apart from the surprising cir-
cumstance of the Icelanders having called a
country Wineland the Good because whortle-
berries [mountain cranberries] grew there, the
explanation is inadmissible on the ground
that whortle-berries were never called vinber
[wine-berries] in old Norse or Icelandic. ... In
ancient times the Norse people did not know
how to make wine from any berry but the
black crowberry [curlew-berry]; but there are
plenty of these in Greenland, and it was not
necessary to travel to Labrador to collect
them.’”’ Hovgaard says it is ‘‘at least improb-
able that the name vinber was applied gener-
ally in Scandinavia to berries other than the
grape at the time of the Vinland voyages.”
He finds that Bishop Jon taught the people of
Iceland to make wine from Krekiber in the
year 1203, or after the time of the Vinland
voyages. Krekiber is the crowberry or cur-
lew-berry.

218

VINLAND THE GOOD

Nansen calls attention to the frequent refer-
ence in the Saga to vinvio as well as vinber, to
the vines as well as to the grapes. These grape-
vines were cut by the Norsemen and formed
part of their cargoes. Hovgaard suggests that
they were used and were of great value in
tying the bottom planks of the ships to the
frames. A Viking vessel, the so-called Gok-
stad ship, was found in 1880 near Sandefiord,
Norway. It was,in an excellent state of pres-
ervation owing to the fact that it had been
used as the burial casket of a chieftain, and
was covered by a mound of blue clay. In this
vessel the planks were fastened to the frame
by withes.

I cannot help agreeing with Nansen that
the Norsemen would not have named a mar-
velous new country after such a familiar berry
as the mountain cranberry. It is as if a native
of New England should name a new and won-
derful country ‘‘Huckleberry Land” even if
huckleberries grew there abundantly. Either,
therefore, Eric sailed a long distance south
of Newfoundland and found the real grape
when he named Vinland, or, like a dutiful son,
he raised the grapes from his own fertile imagi-

219

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

nation after the manner of his father in nam-
ing Greenland.

Nansen contends that ‘‘Wineland the Good
was originally a mythical country, closely con-
nected with the happy lands of Irish myth
and legends — which had their first source in
the Greek Elysium and Isles of the Blest, in
Oriental sailors’ myths, and an admixture of
Biblical conceptions.’”’ He believes, however,
that the Norsemen discovered a part of North
America and that the tales of wine and wheat
are later inventions.

By way of summary of the facts and fan-
cies regarding the voyages of the Norsemen,
the following seem to be reasonable: —

I. The Norsemen discovered America about
_ the year 1000 and landed at Baffin Land,
Labrador, and probably Newfoundland.
The more northern of these regions they
called Helluland, the more southern,
Markland.

II. South of Markland was a country they

called Vinland the Good. This was: —
(1) A mythical region with the famil-
iar attributes of grapes and wheat,
wine and bread like those of many

220

VINLAND THE GOOD

another such mythical land pic-
tured from the earliest times.

(2) It was a region where they found
the true grape. In this case the
land was at least as far south as
southern Maine and may have
been Cape Cod. The reasons in
favor of this supposition are as
follows: —

(a) The statement of Tyrker
the German, who was famil-
iar with the true grape.

(b) The fact that they cut the

vines to bring back in their
vessels. These were prob-
‘ably used in shipbuilding.

(c) The statement that there

was no snow in Vinland

‘ during the winter and that
the cattle grazed during the
entire season.

These three statements, together with the
fact that the mountain cranberries were prob-
ably not used for making wine by the Norse-
men at this early date, and the improbability
of their naming a wonderful land after such a

221

\

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

familiar and commonplace berry, negative the
idea that by vinber they meant mountain cran-
berry.

Old Fort Island — Vieux Fort au large —
with its summer houses and fish-stages could
be seen in the distance from Grassy Island,
but we sailed seven miles inland to the winter
village of Old Fort. This is on the mainland
at the head of a bay behind a sheltering island.
Here were about fifteen dwelling-houses and
a schoolhouse, but only one family was there
looking after some captive foxes. The rest
of the people were fishing at the islands. A
deserted village it certainly was. Not even
dogs were to be seen, although there were ele-
vated platforms of logs for the safe storage
of dog-food near the houses. On one of these
were the ghastly remains of an Eskimo dog
kept to feed his kindred. Tall wigwam-shaped
wood-piles, frames for stretching sealskins,
little gardens containing a few lettuces and
turnips, rank with weeds and surrounded with
high fences, komatiks shod with bone cut from
the jaws of whales — all these were familiar
objects in this cold land. Some bits of broken

222

GRASSY ISLAND: RAISED BEACH

OLD FORT: SITE OF BREST
Showing Raised Beaches

THE PORT OF BREST

china arranged in squares and circles showed
the former presence of children. Above the
narrow shelf close to the beach on which the
houses were built was a terrace, and about a
hundred and fifty feet higher another terrace,
while on either side still higher were others; all
bore the familiar earmarks of raised beaches. I
regret that I had no means of measuring their
exact heights.

Old Fort was the ancient Port of Brest. This
is clearly proved and set forth in detail by
W. C. Gosling in his valuable work on Labra-
dor. The port was founded at the beginning
of the sixteenth century by the hardy Breton
and Basque fishermen, probably before Jacques
Cartier’s arrival in 1534. Audubon’s friend
Samuel Robertson of Sparr Point, the grand-
father of my friend of the same name and place,
misled by a tradition that Brest was a city of
some size and importance, added much con-
fusion to the subject by locating the port at
Bradore Bay. He described in the ‘ Proceed-
ings of the Literary and Historical Society of
Quebec” for February, 1843, what he be-
lieved to be the remains of a city of some two

hundred houses or a thousand inhabitants that ;

223

t

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

he found at this place. These statements have
until recently been generally accepted and
copied by historians. Dr. Samuel E. Dawson,
however, in a paper read before the Royal
Society of Canada on May 24, 1905, showed
that on all the early maps Brest was located
at Old Fort Bay. He showed, however, that
it was chiefly a summer fishing-port with pos-
sibly a blockhouse and a few men to guard
the property in winter, and that it was not
even mentioned by Champlain or Charlevoix
or in any of the ‘Jesuit Relations.” It
is believed that the ruins found by Samuel
Robertson were undoubtedly those of Fort
Pontchartrain and the settlement made by
Legardeur de Courtemarche early in the
eighteenth century. This settlement was prob-
ably abandoned and fell into ruins about 1760,
and it was these ruins that Robertson, eighty
years later, thought to be the remains of the
town of Brest. It is interesting to note here
that this Samuel Robertson of Sparr Point
married a daughter of Mr. Jones, of Bradore
Bay, and it is probable that in his visits to
this place these erroneous ideas of Brest were
conceived.
224,

THE PORT OF BREST

The botanist and I explored the hinterland
on the following day; it was a land of rocky
peaks and lakes and bogs with small patches
of forest in the protected valleys. The peaks
were hills in height, four or five hundred feet
at the most, but mountains in contour and
general appearance. As Shaler says, “if a
mountain or hill goes about it aright, it can
get an amazing dignity without assaulting the
heavens in its efforts.”” Although the bogs were
small, owing to the multitude of rocky peaks,
yet deep, soft moss was everywhere, even on
the mountains, except on the exposed rocks.

At Shecatica we had seen several spruce
grouse with their young, and we found them
common here. It is a bird that is easily ap-
proached, often within a few feet, before it
takes alarm and flies away. The young, eight
or more in a brood, were only about a quarter
grown, but able to fly well. They generally
flew off and disappeared while their mother
remained on the ground, where she was diffi-
cult to see unless among white reindeer moss.
Sometimes she took to a spruce tree, where
she cocked up her tail, nodded her head and
croaked and clucked nervously. In the spring

225

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

these birds are fond of the new tips of the
spruce and fir, but at this time of year they
were eating curlew- and snow-berries, young
leaves of the oval-leafed blueberry, ferns, and
the seeds or achenes of sedges.

We lay secure in our quiet harbor of Old
Fort that night, while, as we learned later, the
Strathcona with Dr. Grenfell on board spent
the night rolling in a heavy sea outside. With
a good pilot he would have had a quiet night,
and we should have spent a delightful evening
with him. He went on the next day and we
entirely missed him.

On July 26, 1833, Audubon states in his
Journal: ‘‘We left Baie de Portage before five
in the morning, with a good breeze, intending
to come to at Chevalier’s settlement, forty-
seven miles; but after sailing thirty, the wind
failed us, it rained and blew, with a tremendous
sea which almost shook the masts out of our
good vessel, and about eight we were abreast
of Bonne Espérance; but as our pilot knew as
much of this harbor as he did of the others,
which means nothing at all, our Captain thought
prudent to stand off and proceed to Bras d’Or.”’
On this same day of July eighty-two years

226

THE CHEVALIER DE ST. PAUL

later our captain guided us safely in the Sea
Star among the maze of islands from Old Fort
into the mouth of the Esquimaux or St. Paul
River to ‘‘Chevalier’s Settlement,’ and we
paid our respects to Louis Owen Chevalier,
whose father, Louis David, was a baby at the
time that Audubon passed along the coast.
His first ancestor to come to the New World
was Jean Godefroy, who sailed from Lintot,
Normandy, in 1626. He settled at Three Riv-
ers when the town was founded in 1634, and
in 1669 he was ennobled as the Chevalier de
St. Paul. His third son, Jean Amador Gode-
froy de St. Paul, was a fur-trader along the
Labrador coast. On the 20th of March, 1706,
he was granted by Philippe de Rigaud, Mar-
quis of Vaudreuil and Governor of New France,
a large tract of land, ten leagues frontage by
ten leagues in depth, on ‘‘La Grande Riviére,
pays des Esquimaux.”! This seigniory has
been passed from father to son, although we
were told that the papers are now lost and
that the present representative does not retain
his privileges.

1 IT am indebted for this information to Mr. L. P. Sylvain,
Assistant Librarian of the Library of Parliament at Ottawa.

227

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

” T found the descendant of the noble family,
a man in the sixties with white hair and beard
and a certain aristocratic manner of speech,
dining with a descendant of another early ad-
venturer in these regions, Mr. W. B. Cabot.
Their ancestors were doubtless served with
joints of venison and flagons of wine, but
their descendants were dining on salt fish and
tea. Mr. Cabot had found some of his Indian
friends up the river, which sufficiently ac-
counted for his presence. Chevalier told me
that one of his great-uncles had been a taxi-
dermist for Audubon and had traveled with
him, and he was glad to hear about the famous
ornithologist. The little settlement of four-
teen or fifteen houses and a church is deserted
in summer save for our friend, who ekes out a
scanty existence by the netting of salmon.

The shores of the bay and the mouth of the
river were everywhere rocky and _ pseudo-
mountainous, — if I may use the word, — with
little forests hanging in the gullies or creep-
ing down the valleys like glaciers. The sandy
shores about the village were thick with grass
growing on the soil enriched by years of fish-
ing and sealing industries. A young bull was

228

THE CHEVALIER DE ST. PAUL

kept there one summer, and he throve and
grew after he had killed several dogs and
proved his mastery.

The river itself is one of the largest that pours
its waters into the Gulf, but, owing to the fact
that the first falls are a long distance from the
mouth, it is not used for fly-fishing. All the
salmon that are caught are taken in nets by
the Chevalier.

CHAPTER XI
‘BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

HE next day we sailed on the final lap of

our course and passed out through a nar-
row passage between Esquimaux Island and the
shore. The captain called it a rigolet, but the
English-speaking inhabitants of this region
probably called it a tickle. In places we could
have touched the rocks with a salmon-rod, and
yet the water was almost too deep for anchor-
age. I landed on the side of a cliff and filled the
water-jugs from a brook that spouted down
over the rocks.

A rounded peak of Esquimaux Island that had
been burned over several years ago presented a
striking and singular appearance. The irregu-
lar rock-surfaces standing out in their green
surroundings were gray in color bordered with
pink, while in the unburned areas this border
was lacking. The pink was the color of the
naked granitic rock deprived of its covering of
lichens and vines. It will be many years before
the lichens creep down over the burned places

230

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

and the moss and curlew-berry and spruce
creep up.

The name of this island is doubtless derived
from the fact that Eskimos formerly inhabited
it. Gosling says that there is an authenticated
tradition “that about the year 1640 the Mon-
tagnais, armed by the French, attacked the
Eskimos, who were encamped at Eskimo Island
in St. Paul’s Bay, and slew about a thousand of
them.”’ There is much difference of opinion as
to the former distribution of the Eskimos, who
are now not found south of Hamilton Inlet on
the eastern coast. In the latter part of the eigh-
teenth century, in Cartwright’s time, they were
found as far south as the Straits of Belle Isle,
and Gosling says that at the beginning of that
century they were found along the coast of the
Gulf of St. Lawrence as far west, at least, as
Pointe des Monts, where one of their battles
with the Indians took place. The name Es-
quimaux Point suggests, of course, the former
existence of the Eskimos at that place. Battle
Harbor is generally thought to be so named be-
cause here, a few years before the English con-
quest of Canada, the last important battle be-
tween the Indians and the Eskimos is believed

231

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

to have taken place. Gosling shows that this
cannot be the origin of the name, for on maps
published two hundred years prior to this sup-
posed event the name “ Batal”’ appears, the Por-
tuguese for boat or canoe. Corte Real, the Por-
tuguese, probably saw this land in the year 1500.

It is a significant fact, and one that throws
doubt on the former western extension of the
Eskimos in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, that
Jacques Cartier does not mention seeing Eski-
mos in this region, but does mention the Indi-
ans. Gosling believes this is to be explained
by the supposition that the Eskimos, induced
by the desire to obtain European goods, first
went to that locality in the latter part of the
sixteenth century.

We sailed by Salmon Bay and Jack Nasty
Passage, where some years ago a whale stranded
itself among the reefs. Here it was finally killed
by many charges of buckshot.

Bonne Espérance, — ‘‘ Bonny,’’ — the great
fishing-establishment of the Whiteleys, was left
on our starboard side. A group of trig, white-
painted buildings, a red chapel, extensive fish-
flakes and stages, and a fleet of fishing-barges
showed the character of the place.

232

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

As we squared away from Bonne Espérance,
three porpoises appeared on our windward side ~
and accompanied us for over an hour. At times
they came close to us, pushing their backs and
long, backward-curving fins out of the green
water amid a shower of spray, and display-
ing their white flanks, which contrasted well
with their lead-colored backs. As we watched
them, we were startled to see one suddenly
turn at right angles to his course and advance
under water — his trail plainly visible as a
light-green line — directly towards our little
schooner. I could not help thinking of a tor-
pedo discharged from a submarine, and held
my breath, momentarily expecting the shock of
contact. The porpoise, however, passed harm-
lessly beneath the schooner and shortly after
was seen returning. This performance occurred
again and again, and was no doubt a form of
play or game on the part of those great beasts.
It was so interesting that even the botanist
was aroused from his state of introspection,
occasioned by the rough water, and ‘“‘sat up
and took notice.”

The birds seen in this traverse were few: a
dozen or more razor-billed auks flew about the

233

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

waves or dived beneath them, two or three
Wilson’s petrels pattered over the surface, a
few kittiwakes soared overhead, three gannets
passed us, and puffins, at first few in numbers,
became abundant as we neared our destination.

There was a heavy sea with wisps of fog and
little wind, and we rolled unpleasantly and
made little progress off Perroquet Island. At
last, however, we managed to crawl in among
the low, flat rocky islands which guard the little
harbor of Bradore. Inside were a dozen New-
foundland fishing-schooners at anchor, a small
number compared with the fleet Aubudon
found here. He says: ‘‘ Bras d’Or is the grand
rendezvous of almost all the fishermen that
resort to this coast for codfish. We found here
a flotilla of about one hundred and fifty sail,
principally fore-and-aft schooners, a few pick-
axes, etc., mostly from Halifax and the eastern
portions of the United States. There was a life
and stir about this harbor which surprised us
after so many weeks of wilderness and loneli-
ness — the boats moving to and fro, going after
fish, and returning loaded to the gunwales,
others with seines, others with capelings for
bait. A hundred or more were anchored out

234

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

about a mile from us, hauling the poor codfish
by thousands; hundreds of men engaged clean-
ing and salting, their low jokes and songs re-
sembling those of the Billingsgate gentry.”’

A few houses were scattered about the is-
lands; there were wharves and storehouses;
boats filled with men in oilskins were passing
back and forth from the schooners to the shore;
children in scanty clothing were playing fisher-
men with great sweeps; arid the whole place
smelled of fish. One could look down through
the clear water and see hundreds of dead fish
lining the bottom. It did not look inviting for
a bath. The Abbé Huard says of this harbor
that it is made “‘by a group of little islands of a
very picturesque character separated by nar-
row channels — the whole place designed for a
future American Venice.”’ The abbé has a keen
sense of humor, which is continually cropping
out in his book on ‘‘ Labrador et Anticosti,’”’ but
the most amusing bit, of which, however, he
was apparently unconscious, is a footnote on
page 435 in which he says: ‘‘It appears that the
Esquimaux were evangelized in 1763 by Cart-
wrigh [sic], Moravian minister’! I am sure
Captain Cartwright would laugh in his grave

235

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

if he should hear this. He gave the Eskimos a
square deal, however, which is more than some
missionaries have done.

At Bradore Bay in Audubon’s time dwelt a
Mr. Jones, whose fame still lingers in this re-
gion, and tales are still told of his grand style
of living. One of his sisters, as I have already
stated, married the first Samuel Robertson of
Sparr Point, and was living there when Audu-
bon called. A son of Mr. Jones is still living —
an old man over eighty years of age — at Wolf
Bay, Cape Whittle. We saw his substantial
houses from a distance, but it was one of our
very busy days and we were unable to pay him
a call. Audubon has given an amusing account
of this settler at Bradore in his “Episode” on
“‘The Squatters of Labrador,’’ but he refers to
him as Mr. ——. He was embarrassed by hav-
ing Mrs. Jones point to some ‘‘vile prints hung
on the bare walls, which she said were elegant
Italian pictures,’ and he had to compose his
features when she described a musical instru-
ment, at that time sent away for repairs, which
had at one end ‘‘a crooked handle, by turning
which round, either fast or slow, I do assure
you we make most excellent music.’’ The fam-

236

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

ily lived very comfortably and were most hos-
pitable to Audubon and his party. ‘During
our stay at Bras d’Or,” he says, ‘‘the kind-
hearted and good Mrs. daily sent us fresh
milk and butter, for which we were denied the
pleasure of making any return.” Mr. Jones was
an interesting man who had seen much of the
world, but was well content and happy to settle
here where he earned a comfortable living by
sealing, fishing, and trapping. ‘“‘ Whenever the
weather was fair, he walked with his dame over
the moss-covered rocks of the neighborhood;
and during winter killed Ptarmigans and Cari-
bous, while his eldest son attended to the traps,
and skinned the animals caught in them. He
had the only horse that was to be found in that
part of the country, as well as several cows; but,
above all, he was kind to every one, and every
one spoke well of him.’”’ The house with all its
interesting contents was long ago burned to the
ground. It stood near where the house of Cap-
tain Blais now stands, on the eastern shore of
the bay. The place is still called Jones’s Point.

We caught but fleeting glimpses of the pic-
turesque mountains which reach their climax in
three rounded peaks at the head of the bay.

237

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

The highest of these, 1264 feet in elevation, was
named Mount Cartier by Professor A. S. Pack-
ard in his visit to the coast in 1864. The fog
was continually blowing in and blotting out the
view. It might well have been here in Bradore
Bay that Sir Humphrey Gilbert in his voyage
of discovery in 1583 found himself befogged and
“‘surrounded by hideous rocks and mountains
bearing no trees and voide of any greene vege-
tation.”

Fog is the common condition here, and as the
mail steamer Meigle, on which I was to return
by way of Newfoundland, touches at Bradore
only in clear weather, it was very necessary, if I
wished to take no chances, to go on to Blanc
Sablon. In the absence of wind I descended to
the level of a motor-boat, in which with all my
luggage I set out for that harbor: —

“When suddenly a grosse fog over sped
With his dull vapour all that desert has

And heaven’s cheerful face enveloped;

That all things one, and one as nothing was,

And his great universe seemed one confused mass.”
The effect of the ‘‘grosse fog’’ on the skipper of
the motor-boat was not such as is pictured in
the next stanza of Spenser’s poem, where he
says, —

238

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

“Thereat they greatly were dismay’d, ne wist
How to direct theyr way in darkness wide;
But feared to wander in that wastefull mist:
For troubling into mischief unespyde:
Worse is the danger hiden then descride” ; —
for he appeared to know his way and to steer
the boat at full speed with an assurance almost
incredible until I realized that he was making
use of his knowledge of the waves and currents
and of the sound of surf on ledges, all of which
were familiar guides to him in his life-work. In
fact, he scorned my compass as entirely unnec-
essary, — he did not carry one himself, — and
suddenly the lee side of Perroquet Island, at
the exact place where we wished to land, loomed
up out of the fog. Here puffins, or perroquets
as they are called, have bred from time imme-
morial and here they still retain a hold not-
withstanding the persecution they have en-
dured. This, I am inclined to think, is greater
at the present day than ever before, and will
soon destroy them root and branch if nothing
is done to prevent. The birds were noticeably
less in number than they were when I passed
the island in 1906. Audubon says: ‘‘As we
approached the breeding-place, the air was
filled with these birds, and the water around
239

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

absolutely covered with them, while on the
rocks were thousands, like sentinels on the
watch.” Father Hesry said that puffins were
formerly so numerous that when they rose in
*the air they hid the island from sight. This is
doubtless a picturesque exaggeration on the
part of the good father, but it gives a vivid idea
of the great numbers of birds. At the time of
our visit, in the year 1915, there were small
places where the air and the water were filled
with the birds; small groups could be seen on
the rocks, but there were probably not one hun-
dredth part of the hosts that Audubon found.
Razor-billed auks were common, and I am in-
clined to think that they were holding their own
much better than the puffins, as they lay their
eggs in more inaccessible places under the rocks.
As the puffins diminish, the auks seem to in-
crease by comparison.

The island itself lies about halfway between
Bradore Harbor and Long Point, at the en-
trance of the Bay of Blanc Sablon. The island
is not far from the shore at Anse au Dunes. It
is about a quarter of a mile across, nearly circu-
lar, with a flat, elevated center of red sandstone
disposed in horizontal layers. On the western

240

A GLIMPSE OF BRADORE IN THE FOG

PERROQUET ISLAND

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

and southern sides of this tableland are cliffs
twenty or thirty feet high with great slabs of
rock broken from the cliffs lying below. Every-
where in the soft reddish-black soil formed by
the disintegration of the sandstone are the
nesting-burrows of the puffins. These are to be
found not only on the high land of the interior,
but on the low shore-shelf, and one must watch
his steps with care in this difficult ground. Some
of the puffins nest under or among the blocks of
stone, and here they are as secure as the razor-
billed auks that lay their eggs in the same re-
gions. I dug out one of the burrows in the soft
soil and found it four feet long. It was about
a foot below the surface during the first half of
the course and descended to a depth of nineteen
inches at the end. Here was a loose nest made
of feathers and eel-grass in which was an old
bird and a young. The young was a charming
baby — a fluffy ball of black down with a white
breast, and a small black bill. The old bird
with its great parrot-like beak, scarlet, blue, and
white in color, and its solemn spectacled face,
went flopping over the ground when I released
it, and shortly afterwards took wing. Many of
the holes had been dug out, and I learned that
Al

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

fishermen from the Newfoundland fleet had
frequently visited the island this summer, as
there had been no one to prevent. These men
also spread fish-nets over the ground, and the
poor puffins, coming out of their holes, are en-
tangled and fall an easy prey. The birds are
also shot to some extent in the summer, but the
spring shooting is the most destructive. Men
camp on the island for four or five days at a
time and shoot the birds as they fly about
within easy gunshot. My informant boasted
that he had brought down twenty-five birds at
one shot, and added that the wounded birds
crawl into the holes and escape. Boys lie be-
hind rocks and knock the birds down with
sticks. The puffins are destroyed ostensibly for
food, but the element of cruel sport undoubt-
edly enters into the game and many birds are
wasted or fed to the dogs. How long can this
sort of thing go on before the puffin is as extinct
as the great auk? A stop must be put to these
practices before it is too late. The whole sub-
ject is considered in a later chapter.

Jacques Cartier visited this island, which he
calls the ‘Island of Birds,’ and gives an un-
mistakable account of the puffins. He de-

242

BRADORE BAY AND PERROQUET ISLAND

scribes them as ‘‘crows with red beaks and red
feet: they make their nests in holes under the
ground even as conies.’’ He also mentions the
large numbers of ‘‘Godets’’ — razor-billed auks
— at the same island.

CHAPTER XII
BLANC SABLON

E pushed on in the fog, passed Long

Point, the western entrance of the
Straits of Belle Isle, and landed at Blanc Sa-
blon. This was on Wednesday, July 28; the
steamer was due on Friday, but fog delayed her
until the afternoon of Monday, August 2. Dur-
ing the interval I was the guest of Mr. Edwin
G. Grant, the agent of the great fishing-es-
tablishment of Job Brothers and Company,
Limited, at Blanc Sablon. The most distinc-
tive quality of the Labradorians, says the
Abbé Huard, is their hospitality, and with this
I can entirely agree. I began this expedition by
a delightful experience of hospitality at Piashte
Bay and I ended it equally pleasantly at Blanc
Sablon. Mr. Grant and his charming family
made my stay one always to be remembered.
He has had charge here for Job Brothers and
Company, a Newfoundland firm, for thirty-one
years. There are seventy men under him: those
who are nominally independent and own the

244

COW PARSNIPS AND STRAND WHEAT AT PERROQUET ISLAND

st

BLANC SABLON: JOB BROTHERS AND COMPANY, LIMITED

BLANC SABLON

fish they catch, but sell them to the company,
and the ‘‘servants’”’ who work for wages. The
company has also a branch, or ‘‘room”’ as it is
called, at [le au Bois, another at Greenly Is-
land, both near at hand, and still another at
Forteau, some twelve miles down the coast.
This ‘‘room” at Blanc Sablon was founded one
hundred and fifty years ago by a firm from the
Island of Jersey, and the main building, altered
and rebuilt, still stands. With many of the
terms used I was familiar from my acquaint-
ance with Cartwright’s Journals. A season’s
work, for example, is called a ‘“‘voyage,” and
the term ‘‘cook-room” does not mean merely a
kitchen, but refers to the whole building where
the men eat and sleep.

Another word frequently used by Cartwright
I found to be common here, and that is ‘‘alex-
ander” applied to a plant used as a pot-herb.
Mrs. Grant at once pointed it out to me, and
said that she always gathered it when it was
young and tender and cooked it as greens. I
was somewhat chagrined to find that the iden-
tification I had made of ‘“‘alexander”’ in editing
Cartwright’s Journals was an erroneous one,
but I am glad to have this opportunity to

245

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

correct it. It isnot, as I supposed, the cow-par-
snip, — a very common plant here, — but a
smaller plant of the same family known as
“Scotch lovage.”’

It was a very picturesque and interesting
place, and, considering the nature of the busi-
ness done here, everything was as neat and
clean as possible. Men in oilskins with large
forks were pitching the fish — which, of course,
means cod — from the trap boats on to the
wharf. Here the fish were again transfixed and
passed to the men in the fish-houses, who were
deftly splitting, cleaning, and salting them.
The wet fish, glistening with salt, are stacked
in the low, darkened buildings, to await a fa-
vorable opportunity later in the season to be
spread and dried on the extensive fish-flakes,
which take up all available room among the
buildings. This process, like haymaking, is an
anxious one, and its speed and success are de-
pendent on the weather.

The fresh livers are carefully washed and
steamed, and the resulting oil is passed through
three successive conical cloth strainers and
comes out at the end looking good enough to
drink — but this is a matter of taste. The

246

BLANC SABLON

whole place was as neat as a laboratory. The
unselected livers are thrown into great hogs-
heads outside, where they are allowed to rot,
and the oil which gathers on the surface is
used for various purposes other than medicinal.
This process is not so attractive.

There is a fishing-room owned by a Jersey
firm a short distance to the westward, on the
other side of the little river which divides New-
foundland Labrador from Canadian Labrador.
This is presided over by a Jerseyman, Mr. Mor-
rell. He has charge also of the telegraph-office,
but what he enjoys most, I suspect, is his garden,
which he tends with a true garden-lover’s care.
I never saw such beautiful potato plants, green
and luxuriant, and his turnips and lettuces
were equally flourishing. The garden is pro-
tected by a high fence from destruction by dogs
and is enriched with decaying seaweed. Mr.
Morrell never tired of telling about its charms.

I was impatient to explore this country
which I had looked at with longing eyes nine
years before from the deck of the steamship
Home, so I soon left the business of fish and
fishing and directed my steps inland with a
whole afternoon before me.

247

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

The topography as well as the general ap-
pearance of Blanc Sablon at once strikes the
traveler coming down the coast as something
totally different from that of the country he has
been passing through to the west. Beginning
near the eastern limit of the Mingan Islands,
which with the adjacent shore are composed of
yellow Cambro-Silurian limestone laid in hori-
zontal strata, the stretch of three hundred miles
of coast by which we had journeyed as far as
Bradore Bay is of a uniform granitic or gneissic
character — primordial Laurentian rock, gray,
white, or red, molten and crystallized. It is
thrown about and piled up in hills and moun-
tains that are worn down by the ages, and re-
cently smoothed and grooved, scratched and
polished by the last ice age. At Perroquet Is-
land, near Blanc Sablon, one comes face to face
with a sudden change in the character of the
country, for here are dark-brown or red cal-
careous sandstones laid in horizontal strata and
forming flat-topped cliffs. Similar cliffs extend
to Chateau Bay and L’Anse au Diable, near the
entrance of the Straits of Belle Isle. The fossils
found in this stone show it to be of the Cam-
brian age, but although it is many millions of

248

THE CLIFFS AT BLANC SABLON

THE VALLEY AT BLANC SABLON
Photograph by Edmund Hunt

BLANC SABLON

years old, it is very young compared with the
crystalline rocks on which it rests. These latter
rocks are exposed at the shore at Blanc Sablon,
and are the source of the white sand which
forms the beaches and small dunes at this spot.
Hence its name, given by Jacques Cartier in
1534-

The valley of Blanc Sablon is about a mile
wide at the shore. Near the middle, flowing
from a lake threé or four miles to the north,
runs a small river of clear, cold water, while
from the cliffs on the east cascade one or two
smaller brooks of clearer, colder water. The
sandstone cliffs on either side of the valley, ex-
tending up to a height of about three hundred
and fifty feet, are terraced and precipitous as
on the faces farther east which are exposed to
the sea. One might suppose that the valley
was cut by the stream without any change
of level of the land, but the series of raised
beaches on the sea-terraces show as plainly as
the same formations on the coast we have just
traversed that elevation of the land here has
also been going on. It is probable that the river
has been cutting down and enlarging the valley
at the same time that the land has been ele-

249

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

vated, but it also seems probable that the sea
once entered more deeply than it does now, for
the raised beaches extend back some distance
up the valley. Some of the beaches are com-
posed of great flat blocks of sandstone which
are but little rounded; on other beaches at
higher or lower levels the cobbles are more
nearly spherical. This would point to a differ-
ence in the rate of elevation, as some of the
beaches must have been hurried out of reach
of the sea before the waves could finish their
work of making the perfect cobble-stone. On
the western side of the entrance to the valley
the raised beaches, six or seven in number, are
more distinct, and the cobbles are smaller and
more perfect, showing, as might be expected,
stronger wave-action than on the more pro-
tected eastern side. On these beaches I found a
few granitic cobbles among those of sandstone.

The bed of the valley, in which the streams
have meandered back and forth, is a flat, sandy
plain well covered with vegetation. In one
place is a small oblong mesa, perhaps forty feet
high. with steep sides, which has escaped the
erosion of the river.

Much as I wished for a geologist to show

250

BLANC SABLON

me all the interesting points in the topography
of this valley, still more I missed the botanist,
whom I had left at Bradore to return the way
he came, for here, with two extremely different
rock formations, — pre-Cambrian and Cam-
brian, — there was a variety and a wealth of
vegetation I had seen nowhere else on the
Labrador coast.

Professor M. L. Fernald, who in 1910 made
at this point a brief incursion into Labrador,
has most interestingly described the region in
the pages of ‘“‘Rhodora.’”’! ‘Here,’ he says,
‘“‘was an ideal place to study the vegetation of
a highly calcareous region side by side with
the plants of a silicious and gneissoid area, and
if any one doubts the dissimilarities of these
floras he can find no better spot in which to
undeceive himself than at Blanc Sablon.”

Like him I was struck by the flat, grassy
plains on the tops of the terraces, so different
from the rounded and irregular surfaces of'
the granitic rocks with their wealth of mosses
and lichens and their comparative paucity of
grasses. Professor Fernald says: ‘“‘The com-

1 M.L. Fernald, ‘‘A Botanical Expedition to Newfoundland
and Southern Labrador,” Rhodora, vol. 13 (1911), pp. 109-62.

251

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

monest flower of these Laurentian plains is Ca-
vex rariflora, though with singular regard for
its specific name it is by all means the rarest of
its genus in New England.” But the most sur-
prising feature which is described and figured
by Professor Fernald is the presence of stumps
of forest-trees, and with them of a forest veg-
etation still lingering in the plains now fully
exposed to the sun. Dwarf cornel, snowberry,
linnza, star-flower, clintonia, one-flowered py-
rola, dwarf Solomon’s-seal were most in evi-
dence, and Professor Fernald mentions also
such typical forest species as red baneberry,
Dewey’s sedge, great-spurred violet, and sweet-
scented bedstraw.

I measured several of the stumps that were
a foot or two high with great sprawling roots,
now destitute of bark and blanched by the sun
and storm, but yet fully a foot in diameter or
three feet in circumference. Sometimes a pros-
trate trunk three or four feet long would be
seen. One pictures an ancient forest very dif-
ferent from the grassy plains with occasional
clumps of dwarfed and stunted spruce and fir
bushes that are here now.

Professor Fernald was much interested in

252

BLANC SABLON

these stumps. He says: ‘‘In such accounts as
I have found (except possibly Cartier’s) the
coasts of the Straits of Belle Isle are described
as desolate and bare, and even Cartier, in 1534,
entering the Straits and anchoring at Blanc
Sablon, was so impressed with the barrenness
that he wrote: ‘If the land was as good as the
harbors there are it would be an advantage; but
it should not be named the New Land, but [a
land of] stones and rocks frightful and _ ill-
shaped, for in all the said north coast I did not
see a cart-load of earth, though I landed in
many places. Except at Blanc Sablon there is
nothing but moss and small stunted woods; in
short, I deem, rather than otherwise, that it is
the land that God gave to Cain’;1 and again
on his second voyage, in 1535, he wrote: ‘The
whole of the said coast from the Castles as far
as here [note by Professor Fernald — ‘‘From
Chateau Bay as far as Brest, west of Blanc
Sablon’’] bears east-northeast and west-south-
west, ranged with numerous islands and lands
all hacked and stony, without any soil or woods,
save in some valleys.’2 And at the present
1 J. P. Baxter, Memoir of Jacques Cartier (1906), p. 86.
2 Tbid., p. 130.
253

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

time the people at Blanc Sablon insist that
there never has been any forest there and that
no timber exists within four or five miles of
the Straits. Yet, the first day I saw upon the
terraces east of Blanc Sablon such plants as
have just been enumerated, I was convinced
that a forest must have been there, since these
are so distinctly woodland species and so de-
cidedly not plants typical of the Arctic barrens
and tundra. So my delight can be imagined
when, crossing with Kidder the tableland east
of Blanc Sablon, we came upon buried logs and
soon after found numerous stumps protruding
from the moss. Some of the stumps, now much
crumbled, were still a foot or more in diameter
and indicated an ancient forest of considerable
size. Just when the forest lived it is difficult to
say, but if it still throve in the sixteenth cen-
tury Cartier did not give a very clear indica-
tion of it. Only by such indefinite expressions
as, ‘except at Blanc Sablon there is nothing but
moss and small stunted woods,’ and ‘without
any soil or woods, save in some valleys,’ did he
indicate a possible forest cover. But here at
least was a remnant of the forest which had
once sheltered Carex Deweyana, Actea rubra,
254

BLANC SABLON

and Viola Selkirkii, though at the present time
only shrubs or dwarf, straggling trees, as de-
scribed by Cartier, thrive on the bleak and
wind-swept shores of the Straits of Belle Isle;
and that the forest was an extensive one and
presumably once fringed the entire length of
the Straits we are safe in assuming from the
presence at Bonne Espérance, L’Anse au Clair,
Forteau, Red Bay, and Chateau (as shown by
the collections of John A. Allen and others) of a
relict forest vegetation (sometimes further aug-
mented by Onoclea sensibilis, Osmorhiza obtusa,
Pyrola secunda, etc.) such as abounds on the
terraces of Blanc Sablon.”

The name of the island near at hand, “fle au
Bois,” hints at the former presence of a forest,
yet if forests existed in Cartier’s time we should
expect a different account from him. Our
knowledge of the history of the Labrador Pen-
insula since the glaciers melted a few thou-
sand years ago would negative the possibility
of a climate or topography that could support
a forest such as these stumps and woodland
plants suggest. Moreover, the stumps them-
selves can hardly date back to Cartier, who
found ‘‘the land that God gave to Cain.”

255

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

How can we explain the seeming paradox?
Like many things in nature, the explanation,
which I chanced upon in a walk over the plains
to Anse Eclair, is very simple. The answer is,
There has been no change; here are forest con-
ditions at the present day, and here are plenty
of forest-trees right before our eyes. Where
the ancient white stumps are so prominent, the
forest has been cut away, as is apt to be the
’ case near settlements, but farther away to the
east and west along the coast there are regions
where forest conditions of darkness and quiet
reign as truly as in the forest aisles where the
trees rear their heads to the skies and wave and
sough in the wind. The forest vegetation is the
same in both cases.

One is at first disposed to deny these state-
ments and say there are no trees here, merely
spruce and fir bushes, insignificant things with
flat tops clipped as it were by the Arctic blasts,
but a close examination reveals true forest con-
ditions. This examination is extremely difficult
unless one is provided with an axe, or, better
still, finds a place where wood-cutting has re-
cently taken place, and the actual habits of the
wood-cutter can be learned. This gives the key

256

BLANC SABLON

to the situation and at once explains the exist-
ence of the ancient stumps. From a study of
a number of partial clearings in various places
about Blanc Sablon I found that the wood-
cutter often chooses a spruce or fir bush with a
large central trunk, first cuts off the branches,
and then the whole top of the trunk, leaving a
stump exactly like the stump figured by Pro-
fessor Fernald, which so irresistibly compels in
us the conception of a lofty tree, a conception
which, to a botanist, is rendered still more com-
pelling by the presence in the neighborhood of
the stumps of a type of vegetation found only
in forests.

I regret that a photograph which I took of
one of these trees that had been partly cleared
of branches proved to be one of the mysterious
failures which happen at times to all except
superhuman photographers, but I am able to
give the dimensions of this tree, which it seems
to me thoroughly sustain my contention. The
tree was a black spruce with a trunk forty-seven
inches in circumference one foot from the
ground. Its diameter was, therefore, about one
foot, two and a half inches. This size of the
trunk was maintained nearly to the highest

257

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

branch, which went off at right angles thirty-
two inches from the ground. From the center
to the tip of the branches on all sides was
nine feet, making a diameter for the whole tree
of eighteen feet. It is true that many of the
clumps of evergreen bushes are made up of a
number of small trunks, but it is also true, as
I found, that trunks of the size just described
were not uncommon. In places the trunks are
four or even five feet high. When the trees are
continuous over a considerable area they form
an almost impassable barrier. Many times, be-
guiled by a favorable opening, I determined to
disregard the difficulties and pass through a
hundred yards or so to open land beyond, when
I found my progress so barred after a hard
struggle of a few yards that it seemed an
economy of both time and effort to walk even
a mile around, rather than to attempt the
straight and extremely narrow course. Where
the trees are only a foot or two high, one can
walk on their tops, but this is out of the
question in trees four or five feet high; per-
haps one might manage it with modified snow-
shoes!

To delve beneath those ancient trees — for

258

BLANC SABLON

my former study of tree-rings on the Labrador
coast assures me that many of these trees must
be much over a hundred years old and may
in some cases date back even to Cartier — is
a difficult task, but one finds here a habitat in
which forest plants are surely at home.

There was so much of interest in my journey
inland on the first afternoon that I wandered
less than a mile, but I had a most exciting or-
nithological experience, namely, the discovery
of song sparrows. As far as I know, the only
previous record by any one for the song sparrow
in the whole Labrador Peninsula is at Lake
Misstassini, and I have always had a lurking
suspicion, probably erroneous, that there was
a possibility of error in that record. Certainly
there were no song sparrows along the coast we
had traversed. Audubon did not find them and
no observer has recorded them. There are only
a very few records for Newfoundland. Cape
Breton and the Magdalen Islands are generally
supposed to be the northern limit on the eastern
coast, yet here in this valley at Blanc Sablon I
was startled by hearing the familiar song and
soon saw several birds that were plainly song
sparrows. It was interesting to find in the same

259

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

spot three closely related sparrows, — mem-
bers of the same genus, — the song, swamp,
and Lincoln’s sparrows.

The next day I explored three miles to the
eastward, to Anse Eclair. On my way back,
I startled a pair of snipe, which rose uttering
rough scaips, flew slowly a few yards with dan-
gling legs, and dropped again into the grass.
One of these I flushed again, and this time it
dropped on mossy ground, where it lay on its
side and fluttered its wings as if wounded.
Young birds were doubtless concealed in the
grass.

The following day I tramped seven or eight
miles to the westward, to Long Point and
Bradore. From Mr. Morrell’s fishing-room the
path leads up over the old terraces and sea-
beaches with occasional sand-dunes. The fog
shut in so that I had no distant views, but
near at hand there was plenty of interest
— ornithological, botanical, and geological —
which gave me food for thought. In Shaler’s
Autobiography the following lines by his wife
should apply to all naturalists: ‘It was im-
possible for one to be bored who sought, as he
did, an explanation of the world about him.

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BLANC SABLON

... With the good earth beneath his feet and
the light of heaven above, the ceaseless puls-
ing of the sea and the ancient rocks to tell
their story, he found himself elated. In truth
he was never lonely in company with his great
friend and goddess, Nature.”

Near the summit of the pass I came upon
several redpolls, whose varied call-notes re-
semble closely those of both species of cross-
bills and those of the goldfinch. Their song is
a series of high trills, and the birds were flying
in irregular circles as they sang.

The little village of Acadian fishermen at
Long Point is clustered about the low, rocky
eminence on which stands the mission church
of Notre Dame de Lourdes. This is presided
over by Pére Hesry. To him I paid my re-
spects and with him I had interesting con-
verse. His is the most eastern mission of the
Eudist Brothers on this coast. He enjoys his
life here among the fishermen, particularly his
winter travel by komatic, but he is looking for-
ward to seeing again the dear home country,
to which he believes that all the banished re-
ligious orders will be welcome on the spiritual
awakening after the war. He showed me with

261

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

great pride the new church he is building, as
well as the old structure still in use.

After tearing myself away ‘with an effort
from the good priest’s generous hospitality, I
continued my solitary way and soon found
myself among the interesting and familiar sur-
roundings of sand-dunes, a region known here
as Anse des Dunes. Outside was a white sand
beach about a mile long, bordered by the pale-
green strand wheat, which was growing luxu-
riantly. A harvest of grain might have been
gathered here that would have filled many
otherwise empty bread-boxes. The strand
-wheat extended back but a short distance into
the dunes, growing scantier and smaller as it
went, showing its dependence on the brine of
old Ocean. The dunes were irregularly wind-
cut and were about a mile wide, piled up in
places to a height of fifty feet. Their forma-
tion was the same as in all dune regions, mod-
ified by the vegetation, which was here for
the most part very different from that with
which I was familiar on our New England
coast. Closely matted carpets of curlew-berry,
\bearberry, oval-leafed blueberry, mountain
cranberry, and alpine birch in places bound

262

BLANC SABLON

the sand. Again there were somewhat thicker
carpets of spruce and fir. But what I appre-
ciated most in this desert region — features
that I wished could be transported to my
home dunes at Ipswich, Massachusetts — were
the brooks of clear, cold water in which trout
darted to and fro. Inland, beyond the dunes,
were raised beaches of boulders, low cliffs, and
again more terraces and raised beaches.

The path, which had been obscure among
the dunes and often wiped out by the blowing
sand, then led me over the higher land some
distance from the sea, and I suddenly became
aware of the fact that it was marked by what
looked for all the world like cart-wheel ruts.
Anywhere else I should have thought noth-
ing of it, but here there were no carts and no
horses, and, as far as I knew, the only animal
of this description in all the region had lived
and died some years ago at Natashquan, two
hundred and fifty miles off. I tried to explain
the phenomenon in various ways, but learned
from Mr. Grant that these were in reality cart-
tracks made many years ago by the horse and
cart of the wealthy and famous Mr. Jones of
Audubon’s time. Vegetation is of slow growth

263

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

in these cold regions, and tracks of this sort
take many years to obliterate. It reminded me
of a discovery by some Arctic explorer of the
tracks of a hand-cart at Melville Island made
by Parry’s men over eighty years before.

While I was pondering over these cart-tracks
I perceived a dozen ravens on the plain ahead
of me. Such a number of these birds together
was new in my experience, and I was anxious
to assure myself that my diagnosis was cor-
rect, and that they were not crows. Several
flew near enough for me to see their charac-
teristic fan-shaped tails, so different from the
slightly rounded tail of the crow, but I wished
to put the final stamp on their identity by
hearing their voices. They were singularly si-
lent as they flew away, but one was good enough
to turn and fly directly towards me and say
cra-a-k, cra-a-k instead of caw-caw, and then
I was as sure he was a raven as if he had told
me his name.

I planned my arrival at Bradore Bay so as
to dine on the Sea Star, but, at the house of
the captain’s brother-in-law, Captain Blais,
I learned that the whole company of the Sea
Star — captain, first mate, cook, and_bota-

264

BLANC SABLON

nist — had gone back into the mountains for
the day. Captain Blais, one of the splendid
men of the coast, unfortunately for me had
not yet arrived for the season. I was made
welcome at his house, however, and, after a
good lunch, returned to Blanc Sablon.

This was-Friday night, and I signified my
intention to the Grant family of giving up all
ornithological work for the rest of the visit
and of taking part in any variety of fishing
occupation they might suggest. I did not, how-
ever, bind myself to shut my eyes and ears
to birds, for this was impossible. I was at
once taken possession of by the younger mem-
bers of the family, who proposed to initiate me
into the various branches of Labrador fishing.
We were taken in a motor-boat that towed a
“trap skiff” full of men out to haul cod-traps
near Greenly Island. The cod-trap is a large
box, as it were, made of nets suspended in the
water by corks and cask buoys. At one corner
is an opening, and here a net called a leader,
some fifty yards long, connects it with the
shore. The cod, swimming along the coast,
strike the leader and at once turn to deeper
water for safety and enter the trap, from which

265

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

they have not the intelligence to escape. Al-
though it was six o’clock in the evening and
the fog was so thick that we could not see the
shore, on which we could hear the surf pound-
ing only a short distance away, the light in
this northern seashore region was so intense
that I was able to photograph the men as they
were drawing the nets.

The men begin at one side of the trap and
haul the nets into the boat, crowding the fish
in a quivering, struggling mass at the other
side, whence they are scooped up into the boat
or lifted up in the net. We had a small haul,
only about three quintals of fish.

Saturday morning early we boarded the
steam-trawler Tommie and started for the
fishing-grounds. The captain, Sam Elder, had
learned the business of gill-netting from my
friend, Mr. Jere Campbell, at Gloucester. The
net is about a fathom wide and is kept up-
right at the bottom of the sea by lead weights
on the lower edge and metal cylinders filled
with air on the upper edge. It is hauled up
over the side of the boat by a steam-winch and
it came up literally crowded with fish entangled
by their gills and tails in the meshes of the net.

266

BLANC SABLON

All were cod with the exception of a few dog-
fish — vicious-looking sharks much detested
by the fishermen — and one or two strange-
looking blue lumpfish. The men stood by and
disentangled the cod from the net and pitched
them into the hold, while the boss himself,
Mr. Grant, was ready with a boat-hook to fish
up the loosely attached cod that occasionally
dropped back into the water. His efforts were
skillful, but not always successful, and served
to give a sporting flavor to this rather mo-
notonous form of fishing. Every now and then
an interesting starfish or other marine in-
vertebrate would come up in the net, and I
was able to make a collection of red seaweeds
for a botanical friend at Harvard. We hauled
three miles of net and secured fifteen quintals
of fish. :

On our return our ardent party of amateur
fishermen again embarked, this time in a row-
boat, and were towed by a motor-boat over
towards Ile au Bois. Here we were left to drift
about for an hour or two and we entered into
a competitive sport of ‘‘jigging’’ for cod. The
“jig” is a bright piece of lead, somewhat of
the shape of a fish, about six inches long, ter-

267

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

minating in two cod-hooks placed back to back.
The fisherman lets this down until it touches
the bottom, withdraws it a foot or two, and
then proceeds to ‘‘jig.”” He stands erect in the
boat and quickly draws the line from side to
side over the gunwale of the boat as far as his
arm can reach; the jig is then allowed to sink
back and the process is repeated. A spurt of
water follows the line; it is wet work and best
done in oilskins. The cod are attracted by the
glittering, quickly moving lead, and are liable
to be hooked anywhere in their anatomy. We
caught sixty-six fish and then started to row
back, but the considerate ‘‘boss’’ sent out the
Tommie to tow us in.

That afternoon it was proposed that the
whole household should go for a picnic supper
up to the waterfall of one of the small brooks
that flowed down the terraces. A large frying-
pan formed the chief part of the equipment,
and I discovered that I was the only one to
bring a fishing-rod. However, my task was
an easy one and much pleasanter than jigging
for cod. I stood on a little gravelly beach be-
side a deep pool just below the falls, and had
the pleasure of finding that each of my casts,

268

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BLANC SABLON

no matter how unskillful, was greeted uproar-
iously, so to speak, by the trout, who vied
with each other for the distinction of hooking
themselves. They seemed to like to jump from
the water and seize the flies from above. In a
short time I caught thirty trout, mostly half-
or three-quarter-pounders, more than enough
for all of us to eat. They were not wasted,
however, and we took the remainder home for
breakfast. Tea and trout, pie and “‘ pork cake,”
made a good supper, and were much enjoyed
after our fishing day. It is true that it rained
a little, and the black flies were so thick that
a smudge was necessary. I had hardly no-
ticed them in the excitement of fishing. Mr.
Grant was the only one of the household miss-
ing on this picnic, but from our elevated posi-
tion on the terraces we had seen him start out
twice from the house, and each time unex-
pectedly return. He told us afterwards that
the flies were too thick for him.

Sunday was a day of rest, rain, and fog
with no chance of the arrival of the Meigle,

1 J have since learned that the “pork cake” of Labrador,
made without eggs, milk, or butter, is the now well-known
“war cake.”

269

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR °

and I ate a big Sunday dinner, but not of
the regulation kind. Dried capelin, rabbit, —
the big Northern hare canned in winter, —
boiled turnip-tops, and steamed blackberry
pudding, all washed down with spruce beer.
The pudding was made with curlew-berries,
or blackberries as they are called here, and it
was very good. In the evening there was serv-
ice in the dried-fish storehouse, from the belfry
of which rang the bell that in old times had
summoned the fishermen to their daily grog.
Mr. Edward Hunt, the young Church-of-
England theological student from St. John’s,
who was spending the summer at the missions
along the coast, read the service in an admir-
able manner. There were vigorous responses
and hearty singing by the men.

On the afternoon of Monday, August 2, in
one of the lucid intervals of the fog, the Meigle’s
horn was heard blowing, and I bade good-bye
to my hospitable friends. I turned away from
Labrador with very different feelings from
those of Audubon, who recorded in his Jour-
nal, “Seldom in my life have I left a country
with as little regret as I do this,” — but he
had not been visiting the Grants!

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BLANC SABLON

“Those hardy days flew cheerily,
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main
And bear my spirit back again,
A wild bird and a wanderer.”

CHAPTER XIII
CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

N the foregoing pages I have referred to the

great waste of natural resources that is
going on everywhere along the coast of the
Labrador Peninsula. It seems worth while
to gather up the scattered threads and weave
them in this chapter into a connected whole.
It is possible that much could be done in
the conservation of the chief industries of the
coast — that the harvest of cod, salmon, hali-
but, herring, and capelin could be made more
abundant and less uncertain from year to
year by modern methods of fish-culture and
fish-capture. There is no doubt that these
fish could be utilized with less waste than
at present. Cods’ tongues, for example, now
thrown away, could be canned and form a
by-product of considerable value. The cods’
livers are rarely so treated as to produce a
high-priced medicinal oil. At most places
‘ along the coast the livers are thrown into
barrels to rot and the resulting dark cod-oil

272

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

is of inferior value and can be used only for
commercial purposes. There is no reason why
Labrador cod-liver-oil should not be as good
and as famous as the Norwegian cod-liver-oil
and command as high a price.

Capelin are small fish about the size of smelts
and of considerable food-value. They school in
enormous quantities on the coast; the water
appears at times to be literally filled with this
dark, almost transparent, fish, and they often
pack together in great masses in the cod-traps
or strand in shallow water. Owing to their
abundance, they are not appreciated as they
should be, but are generally cast aside or they
are salted and dried so carelessly that large
quantities spoil. Both fresh and dried they
are excellent eating, but are generally con-
sidered only as food for dogs. As cod-bait they
have few equals, but they may. be absent at
the critical time when they are needed. It
would be very easy and inexpensive to pro-
vide cold-storage rooms packed with snow for
capelin, which would be ready whenever bait
was needed. A large export industry in dried
capelin could also be built up as soon as
the food-value and excellence of this fish were

273

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

generally known. As a smoked or canned pro-
duct the possibilities are also large. Yet one
sees many tons of this valuable fish destroyed
and wasted along the coast.

Even such fish as flounders and dogfish, now
thrown away, would be found of value. To
one familiar with the excellence of the flounder
as food it is a surprise to read, as I did in Au-
gust, 1915, an editorial in a St. John’s paper
calling the attention of the Newfoundlanders
to the obvious fact that the flounder is an
edible fish and should not be used as a ferti-
lizer. Dogfish — small sharks — do great dam-
age to the fishing-industries, as they eat the
bait on the bultows or trawls, damage the nets,
and destroy countless fish. They are taken
out of the nets by the fishermen, knocked on
the head, and thrown into the sea as worse
than useless, but they are of considerable food-
‘value, and are much appreciated by those who
have tried them. Dogfish have large livers
which are of value in the production of fish-
oil, and as a last resort these fish make excel-
lent fertilizer. A considerable saving would
result if the people of the coast should ac-
custom themselves to the use for their own

Q74

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

table of the cheaper but excellent fish, such
as capelin, flounders, and dogfish, and ‘should
reserve the more valuable cod for export. These
cheaper fish, if properly salted and dried, could
also be stored away for winter use.

During the fishing-season the waters of the
harbors are lined with tons of fish viscera,
heads, and backbones, all rich in nitrogen and
of great value as plant-food. As long ago as
1855 Lord Strathcona, then Donald Alexan-
der Smith, discussed plans for the manufac-
ture of fish manure. The annual product of
the North American cod-fisheries was then
estimated to be one and a half million tons
of fresh fish.

He says: ‘‘Not less than one half of this is
refuse thrown back into the sea, or left on the
shore to decay, and yet capable of yielding
150,000 tons of a valuable manure, almost half
that annually produced by Peru. . . . The waste
of fish'on this coast is enormous and is only
comparable to the waste of buffalo in the Far
West. Every ton of fish is equal to at least
three head of cattle or fifteen sheep, and
Labrador yields millions of quintals annu-
ally.”

Q15

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

In 1884 the value of fish-guano produced in
Nova Scotia amounted to over $22,000, and,
in New Brunswick, to over $43,000. |

The lobsters of the Labrador coast are of
the best quality, and nowhere are better
canned lobsters put up than in that region.
The lobster-fisheries are wastefully managed.
It would be difficult in these remote canneries
to enforce a law against the use of ‘“‘shorts,’’
but I have always believed that a law requir-
ing the lobster-pots to have an opening defi-
nitely limited in size would be practical and
advantageous. All lobsters over a certain size
would then be unable to enter the pots, and it
is the large lobsters that are the most produc-
tive of their kind. Inspection of the lobster-
pots would be simpler and easier wae epee
tion of the catch.

The appalling wastes that are a part of the
present methods of spring sealing on the ice
can only be mentioned here. Every year tens
of thousands of seal-carcasses are stripped of
their hides and fat and abandoned in the
same way that the carcasses of the buffalo, de-
stroyed for their tongues and their hides, were
abandoned in the West. As a result, the same

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CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

fate that befell the buffalo awaits the seal. In
addition to this waste, many thousands of the
seal-pelts are lost annually by the breaking-
up of the ice before they can be placed on
board the sealers. This is expected; chances
must be taken, for the slaughtering competi-
tion is keen. Even in the shore fisheries the
meat is often wasted, or, if saved, is given to
the dogs. As I have said, it is a meat of pleas-
ant flavor, tender, and of great food-value
for human consumption. Stores of seal-steaks
packed in snow for the winter, and drawn on
from time to time, would supply plenty of ex-
cellent proteid food and prevent beri-beri and
scurvy along the coast.

The uncertainty and waste in the trapping
of fur-bearing animals is a strong argument
in favor of the raising of these animals in
captivity. The climate is well adapted to the
purpose, and the fur, in consequence, is of
the best quality. The starting of a black fox
ranch is expensive. Even if a poor man is for-
tunate enough to catch a black fox alive, he
cannot afford to run the risk of its loss in cap-
tivity, and must sell it as soon as possible.
There is, however, a profit in the raising of red

Q77

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

foxes and various other fur-bearing animals
without so much initial expense and without
the risk of so much loss. Experiments in mink-
raising have recently been made by the Bio-
logical Survey of the United States Depart-
ment of Agriculture, and their success for com-
mercial purposes is reported. The animal is
polygamous and breeds rapidly at the age of
one year, and its fur is marketable at a year
and a half. It can be fed the same food as is
given acat. Many Labradorians, to whom black
fox farming seems entirely beyond their reach,
would, with a little instruction and encour-
agement, welcome such a means of livelihood.
There are doubtless other fur-bearers that
could profitably be reared in captivity for
their skins. Muskrats are extremely prolific,
and the black form, which is occasionally
found in Labrador, has a fur of great beauty
and considerable value. The raising of fur-
bearing animals need not in any way inter-
fere with the principal industry of the coast,
—namely, cod-fishing, — for its chief duties
would occupy the people during the long win-
ter when there is least to be done; in the sum-
mer the women and children could care for the
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CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

animals when the men were engaged in fish-
ing. If the dogs were replaced by reindeer,
—a consummation devoutly to be wished,
and a subject I have already discussed, — the
food formerly used for them would be avail-
able for carnivorous fur-bearing animals.

It is probable that agriculture on a large
scale will always be unprofitable on the Cana-
dian, and still more on the Newfoundland,
Labrador coast. The soil is scanty and poor,
often: entirely absent; the summer season is
short and liable to interruption by frost at
‘any time. The earliest green leaf to unfold is
that of the wild currant, and at Esquimaux
Point in 1909 I found the first currant leaf
on May 26. Cartwright, in 1771, at Cape
Charles records the first currant leaf on May
21. Ice often lingers along the shores of the
eastern part of the southern coast into July,
and by the latter part of August autumn is in
the air. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that
with careful selection of short-season species
of food-plants, such as have been introduced
so successfully, after government experimen-
tation, in Alaska, agriculture, to a limited but
very important extent, might flourish here.

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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

The Government of the Province of Quebec
has already made some effort to show the peo-
ple how this may be done. The river-valleys
but a short distance from the sea not only
have a much milder climate, as is shown by the
forests and the bird-life, but often contain an
abundance of fertile soil in natural meadows.
Thorough drainage operations would convert
large areas of bog into arable land and at
the same time rid these places of the pest of
mosquitoes, In the Amur district in Siberia
similar bog country has been made productive
even in regions where the ground is perma-
nently frozen to a great depth.!

The gardens of Mr. Morrell at Blanc Sa-
blon, of the Eudist fathers at Natashquan, and
of M. Johan Beetz at Piashte Bay, described
in these pages, are examples of what can be
accomplished directly on the coast. Even so
long ago as the eighteenth century, Captain
George Cartwright set an example which
might well be imitated by the Labradorians
of to-day. He not only raised in his house in
winter cress and mustard as a salad and pre-
ventive of scurvy, but he made many careful

1 See Through Siberia, by Fridtjof Nansen.
280

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

experiments in garden-growing and in the use
of fish-refuse and seaweed as fertilizers. He
says: ‘‘My garden in Isthmus Bay, which, the
reader would observe, produced excellent crops
the first year, by being manured with seaweed
and offals of fish; and also by mixing a greater
portion of the barren sand that lay under-
neath, among the peat soil on the surface, it
has since, I have been informed, brought every-
thing to a degree of perfection, which had never
been seen in that part of the world, in any
former year.”! Isthmus Bay is on the east-
ern coast near the entrance of Sandwich Bay,
where the climate is much more severe than
in the Canadian Labrador.

The natural luxuriant growth of strand
wheat along the sandy shores shows what can
be done if proper plants are chosen. In Ice-
land the grain of the strand wheat is used in
making bread. I cannot insist too strenuously
on the importance of using some other cereal
food than the universal finely bolted white
flour. Dr. John Mason Little, Jr.,? has shown

1 Captain Cartwright and his Labrador Journal (1909), p.
360.
2 Journal of the American Medical Association (1912), vol.
58, p. 2029.
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IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

that, as the exclusive use of polished rice in
Japan is productive of beri-beri, so the same
disease is caused in Labrador by the use of
white flour. I was interested to find in my trip
up the Natashquan River im 1912 that the
men were much pleased with my supplies of
Indian meal and brown rice. They had never
tasted them before, and, to my surprise, pre-
ferred them to the white flour, which was al-
most untouched.

Many miles farther north in Labrador, at
the North-West River Post of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, the enterprising Donald Alex-
ander Smith, in the fifties and sixties of the
last century, made a model farm on an ex-
tensive scale. The trappers and fishermen,
who at first scoffed, were later filled with as-
tonishment and admiration. Seed, poultry,
and hardy cattle he obtained from the Ork-
neys, horses and sheep from Canada. The soil
he enriched with fish-offal, and he cultivated
seven acres, some of which was under glass.

For fertilizers decayed seaweed and _ fish-
refuse are both excellent and ready at hand.
It has been supposed that guano could be ob-
tained in Labrador from the islands where the

282

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

sea-birds breed, but this is not the case. The
frequent rains and the freezing and thawing
prevent the accumulation such as is found in
dry climates like that of Peru.

The water-power of the country is enor-
mous and the possibilities in the production
of wood-pulp are great. It is sincerely to be
hoped that the proper forestry restrictions will
be placed on the latter industry, as is now
voluntarily done at Clark City in the Bay of
Seven Islands, and that the country will not
be ruthlessly stripped and left a rocky desert.

As regards mineral wealth, there are serious
doubts as to its existence in paying quantities
in the Labrador Peninsula.

But what lies nearest to my heart is the
subject of bird-conservation, which is so sadly
needed on the coast of Labrador. In the latter
part of the eighteenth century, in the time of
Cartwright, water-birds swarmed along the
coast. The Eskimos and the Indians, the polar
bears and the raptorial birds, served but to
keep the bird-colonies in healthy condition.
The white man is more systematic in his
methods and more thorough when he is stimu-
lated by the expectation of financial gains, and,

283,

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

if conservation is not practiced, he will event-
ually exterminate the ‘creatures of his quest.
This was true in the case of the buffalo, the
great auk, and the passenger pigeon, and the.
same fate awaits many other beasts and birds.
In Audubon’s day the despoilers of Labrador
bird-rookeries plied their trade without let or
hindrance. Audubon was filled with sorrow on
observing their cruel methods and their ruth-
less destruction of his beloved bird-life. He
writes: —

“See yon shallop, shyly sailing along; she
sneaks like a thief wishing, as it were, to shun
the very light of heaven. Under the lee of
every rocky isle some one at the tiller steers
her course. ...

“There rides the filthy thing! The after-
noon is half over. Her crew have thrown their
boat overboard, they enter and seat themselves,
each with a rusty gun. One of them sculls the
skiff towards an island for a century past a
breeding-place of myriads of Guillemots, which
are now to be laid under contribution. At the
approach of the vile thieves, clouds of birds
rise from the rock and fill the air around, wheel-
ing and screaming over their enemies. Yet

284

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

thousands remain in an erect posture, each
covering its single egg, the hope of both par-
ents. The reports of several muskets loaded
with heavy shot are now heard, while several
dead and wounded birds fall heavily on the
rock, or into the water. Instantly all the sit-
ting birds rise and fly off affrighted to their
companions above, and hover in dismay over
their assassins, who walk forward exultingly,
and with their shouts mingling oaths and exe-
crations. Look at them! See how they crush
the chick within its shell, how they trample on
every egg in their way with their huge and
clumsy boots. Onward they go, and when they
leave the isle, not an egg that they can find is
left entire. The dead birds they collect and
carry to their boat....

“The light breeze enables them to reach
another harbor a few miles distant, one which,
like the last, lies concealed from the ocean by
some other rocky isle. Arrived there, they
re-act the scene of yesterday, crushing every
egg they can find. For a week each night
is passed in drunkenness and brawls, until,
having reached the last breeding-place on the
coast, they return, touch at every isle in suc-

285

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR '

cession, shoot as many birds as they need,
collect the fresh eggs, and lay in a cargo. At
every step each ruffian picks up an egg so
beautiful that any man with a feeling heart
would pause to consider the motive which
could induce him to carry it off. But noth-
ing of this sort occurs to the egger, who gath-
ers and gathers until he has swept the rock
bare. The dollars alone chink in his sordid
mind, and he assiduously plies the trade which
no man would ply who had the talents and
industry to procure subsistence by honorable
means.”

Mr. M. Abbott Frazar in 1884 was much
impressed with the destruction of bird-life by
the fishermen. He says: ‘During the week
the men are all busy out in their dories fish-
ing, but their Sundays are their own and are
generally spent on the islands gathering eggs -
and shooting birds, and they stop at nothing,
but shoot everything that flies whether eatable
or not, and shodt just for the sport they find
in destruction; and as they keep it up dur-
ing the whole season the poor birds have but
a slim show.” He also saw a few Halifax eggers
on the coast.

286

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

Mr. D. N. Saint-Cyr ! visited the Canadian
Labrador coast in 1882 and 1885. He says:
“It is unfortunately too true that certain set-
tlers on the coast, but more especially stran-
gers, from Nova Scotia, from the State of
Maine, and the Island of Newfoundland, pil- .
lage the sea-birds’ eggs, which they carry off to
sell in their own country. These years past as
many as thirty schooners have been counted,
engaged in obtaining loads of wild birds’ eggs
in the islands of the gulf, and, to make mat-
ters worse, when these pillagers observe that
the eggs are hatching, they break them, in
order that the old birds may lay more. Then
all these fresh eggs are taken away, and it is
thus that thousands upon thousands are de-
stroyed every year.” :

The visits of the Halifax eggers for com-
mercial purposes have long since ceased, but
the robbery of eggs and the destruction of
nesting birds still continue. The conditions
as I found them on my four trips to the Lab-
rador Peninsula, which have included a sur-
vey of eleven hundred miles of the coast from
the Bay of Seven Islands to Nain, are most

1 Sessional Papers, No. 37. (Quebec, 1886.) —
287

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

deplorable, and are rapidly leading to the utter
extinction of the water-birds. Spring shooting
confined to migratory birds, although unde-
sirable, is not so pernicious in its effects as
the shooting of birds on their arrival at their
breeding-grounds. This is practiced in the
case of all the birds that nest on the coast. At
Perroquet Island, in Bradore Bay, for exam-
ple, the arrival of the puffins or perroquets in
the spring is eagerly awaited by the inhabit-
ants, who make the occasion a great shooting
holiday. They encamp for several days on the
island and shoot down the poor birds as they
fly in a bewildered manner round and round
their homes. I was told by one man with
great glee that he sometimes shot two hundred
birds in a day. He added that the wounded
birds were generally lost, as they crawled into
the nesting-holes.

I myself in 1909 witnessed, on another island
where puffins bred, this cruel sport. The birds,
bewildered and frightened by the shooting,
circled about the island, and were picked off
by the gunner as they flew past. At Perroquet
Island the boys who have no guns lie behind
the rocks and strike down the birds with long

288

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

poles. The whole village feasts on the puffins
and many are wasted or given to the dogs.
Throughout the summer the island is visited by
fishermen, who not only shoot the birds, but
also dig them out of the nesting-holes and se-
cure them in nets spread over the holes. In any
case the young are left to perish. The New-
foundland fishermen are undoubtedly the worst
offenders in egg and bird destruction, but the
people of the coast are not far behind. The for-
mer are absolutely regardless of consequences
for the birds, but the people of the coast in some
few cases are careful not to disturb the birds
after the first eggs have been appropriated.
The cases related in Chapter vi of the island
near Pointe au Maurier, where ring-billed gulls
breed, is an example. Here for many years the
sole family living at this place have been in
the habit of looking to the island for a supply
of fresh eggs, but they never disturb the ‘rds
after the first set of eggs has been taken. The
bird-colony has in consequence suffered no dim-
inution, and has even increased in numbers.
The shooting of female eider ducks as they
leave their nests involves, of course, the loss of
the broods. The eggs themselves may be dis-
289

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

carded on account of the advanced stage of in-
cubation. The fishermen take the eggs to a
pool of water and save only those that sink.
The ones that float contain partly or wholly
formed young and are thrown away. If the
men intend to stay near the breeding-place for
a few days, they destroy all the eggs so that a
fresh lot may. be laid for them to appropriate.
Nesting murres and auks are shot or killed
with clubs. Most of these birds are eaten, but
nesting gulls, terns, and cormorants are often
shot for the cruel pleasure and practice of the
sport and left where they fall. It is almost
inconceivable that men should destroy such
exquisite creatures as terns and gulls without
even intending to pick them up and look at
them, and it is a sad commentary on humanity
that such ‘‘sport’’ — God save the mark! — is
not infrequently indulged in by men of educa-
tion and supposed refinement. I have known
men of this class to hold up their hands in hor-
ror at an ornithologist who had shot a small
bird for the distinct object of study and of
addition to human knowledge. Another cruel
sport that is frequently practiced by thought-
less people is the firing of guns near rookeries
290

DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANTS LEAVING THEIR NESTS AT GULL
ISLAND OFF CAPE WHITTLE

DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANTS AND MURRES

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

for the purpose of seeing the frightened birds
jump from their eggs. As a result the cliffs
ef Cape Whittle are now nearly deserted by
birds.

I obtained from reliable sources, often from
the offenders themselves, who seemed to be
entirely unconscious of the enormity of their
offenses, numerous reports of great quantities
of murres’ and eiders’ eggs collected for their
own consumption by the crews of fishing and
trading schooners. Many of these vessels are
scantily or poorly provisioned and make up for
this by inroads on the birds. Up to a few years
ago a dozen barrels of murres’ eggs have been
collected by a crew of twenty men in less than
an hour from one island. As many of the terri-
fied nesting birds are clubbed and killed as pos-
sible. The manner in which bird-life is squan-
dered at such times is almost too terrible to be
thought of.

Besides the eggs and nesting birds, the young
of several species of water-birds, particularly of
the great black-backed gull, are eagerly sought
for the table. Sometimes the young are con-
fined in coops and fattened before killing. The
fact that this gull sometimes destroys young

291

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

eiders and the eggs of nesting birds is often
seized upon by these men as an excuse for de-
stroying both old and young of this species, but
the majority seek no excuse.

The recent adoption and increasing use of
motor-boats has greatly increased the destruc-
tion of birds. Fishermen are enabled to trav-
erse much greater areas of the coast, to reach
distant islands where birds are nesting, and
more readily to approach birds on the water.
Going to and from the fishing-ground, the
motor-boat enables its owner to take wide dé-
tours and gather cargoes of eggs and nesting
birds. When sails and oars are used, these out-
of-the-way spots are fairly safe.

The destruction wrought by the Indians dur-
ing their summer sojourn on the coast is increas-
ing as other sources of food are diminishing.

If the treatment of the bird-population in
Canadian Labrador, where there are laws and
game-wardens, is bad, that in Newfoundland
Labrador, where there appear to be neither,
is still worse. In 1906 I found a bad state of
affairs 1 and a rapidly diminishing water-bird

1 See Along the Labrador Coast, chap. x1, ‘‘ Audubon and the
Need of an Audubon Society in Labrador.”

292

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

population. Mr. A. C. Bent, who visited this
coast in the summer of 1912, says: ‘‘I had
heard that the sea-birds on the Labrador coast
were disappearing, but was not prepared to find
them so scarce as they proved to be. They seem
to have decreased very decidedly during the
past few years, and, unless something can be
done to protect them, many species will soon
have disappeared entirely. Their nests are
robbed frequently all through the summer by
the resident white people, by the Eskimos, and
by the large number of Newfoundland fisher-
men that visit the coast in the summer. The
birds are also shot freely for food at all seasons
of the year.” 4

The whole outlook is, indeed, a gloomy one.
It was thoroughly understood by Audubon in
1833. He says: ‘‘ Nature herself seems perish-
ing. Labrador must shortly be depeopled, not
only of aboriginal man, but of all else having
life, owing to man’s cupidity. When no more
fish, no more game, no more birds exist on her
hills, along her coasts, and in her rivers, then
she will be abandoned and deserted like a worn-
out field.”

1 Bird-Lore (1913), vol. XV, p. II.
293

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

It isan old custom, and the wastefulness and
terrible cruelty of it all does not appear to pene-
trate to those men’s consciences. The people
who live along the coast and the fishermen who
come from a distance have always been in the
habit of taking eggs and killing the birds for
food. They regard it as their right, and, al-
though some of them will admit that the waste-
ful methods used are fast destroying the birds,
they are not willing to refrain from these meth-
ods. They say, with reason, that if they do not
take these eggs or young gulls or shoot these
nesting ducks some one else will. It is each man
for himself and the devil take the hindermost.
After us the deluge. Annihilation is the fate of
the birds: the eider and the murre will go the .
way of the Labrador duck and the great auk.
Birds that nest in crevices in the rocks, like
black guillemots and razor-billed auks, will last
longer, but the end is in sight for all.

It is a truism that laws out of sympathy with
the feelings of people will not be kept. Laws
against egging or shooting out of season can-
not be enforced on the long and intricate coast
of Labrador. Wardens who intend to do their
duty and arrest and prosecute offenders will

294,

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

be looked upon as enemies to be avoided and
cheated, and this by an otherwise law-abiding
people.

There is one very simple means which might
help in enforcing the present laws in Canadian
Labrador. Newfoundland fishermen, who are
the most reckless offenders, are obliged to ob-
tain licenses to fish in Canadian waters. The
law requires that they not only obey the game
laws, but that they also take out at some ex-
pense licenses to carry guns and shoot. If the
presence of an unlicensed gun on a fishing-
schooner or the detection in egging be made
a sufficient reason for canceling the fishing-
license, one of the great sources of bird-de-
struction will be diminished, but not by any
means stopped. It is easy to conceal guns and
elude wardens on this coast.

The open season for shooting should be intel-
‘ligently planned for different parts of the coast
and should be strictly limited to the periods
‘when the birds are migrating. It is, of course,
illogical to have the same open season at Blanc
Sablon as at Nain where birds nest several
weeks later. These suggestions if adopted may
be of some value, may delay for a little the

295

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

rapid progress towards annihilation of water-
bird life in Labrador. That these or any similar
measures will prevent this dreaded consumma-
tion I do not believe.

What, then, is to be done? Is there no hope
for the birds and for the people to whom the
birds are such a valuable asset? I think there is.
I believe that the whole problem can be solved
most rationally and satisfactorily for all con-
cerned by the immediate establishment of bird
reservations. These should be islands or groups
of islands or suitable portions of the main coast
that can be watched by guardians. Here the
birds should be undisturbed and allowed to
nest and feed in peace. The people should be
made to understand that these reservations are
not established to cut down their hunting, and
thereby invite poaching and violation of the
laws, but for the purpose of preserving and
increasing the birds so that there shall be bet-
ter shooting for everybody on the coast.

A campaign of education is necessary, there-
fore, and I believe that the bird reservation
will do good in making the people understand
not only the need of bird-conservation, but its
advantages. The game-wardens will be looked

296

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

upon, not as enemies to be avoided and cheated,
but as friends who are working for the people’s
good. If the matter is well managed, the peo-
ple will regard their reservations with pride,
and public opinion will keep the birds there
inviolate. The wasted regions near fishing-vil-
lages, now devoid of all sea-bird life on the
one hand, and the crowded bird reservations
on the other, will be powerful object-lessons in
this process of education. I would suggest the
placing of a brief notice on each reservation,
printed in English, as well as in French, Mon-
tagnais, and Eskimo, where these languages
are used, worded somewhat as follows: —

BIRD RESERAVTION

The purpose of this Reservation is to preserve the
birds from destruction and to increase their num-
bers so that there wil] be better shooting on the coast.
The people are asked not to disturb the birds or their
eggs on this Reservation and to avoid the use of guns
in its neighborhood.

There are a number of places that could be
named, some of which have responsible men
living near who could be made guardians. For
example, on the Canadian Labrador coast I
would suggest one of the islands at the mouth
of the Bay of Seven Islands; the Perroquet

297

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Islands off Long Point, Mingan, where the
lighthouse-keeper could be put in charge; Sea-
Cow Island and the small islands in its neigh-
borhood, near Esquimaux Point; an island at
Betchewan; one at Piashte Bay; one or two at
Natashquan; a strip of the sandy shore near
the lighthouse at Natashquan Point; Triple Is-
land off Romaine; Outer and Gull Islands and
the cliffs of Cape Whittle; Gull Island at Pointe
au Maurier where the interesting colony of ring-
billed gulls breed; St. Mary’s Islands with their
lighthouse; one of the Harrington group of is-
lands; Treble Hill Island and Flat Island off
Great Mecattina; some of the islands of Ke-
carpoui and islands near Shecatica and Old
Fort; and lastly, and very important, the fa-
mous Perroquet Island in Bradore Bay. On the
Newfoundland Labrador similar scattered res-
ervations should .be made. These scattered
reservations are, it seems to me, more impor-
tant and more easily kept sacred than large
ones such as the sixty-four miles of coast be-
, tweeri Cape Whittle and Mecattina suggested
by Colonel William Wood in his admirable
address in 1911 on ‘‘Animal Sanctuaries in
Labrador.”
298

CONSERVATION IN LABRADOR

Some of these islands are now nearly depopu-
lated of birds, but the birds can be trusted to
find out where they are safe. On the coast of
the United States where reservations have been
established, sometimes close to great cities, the
birds that are elsewhere very shy and wary are
tame and confiding. I would also suggest that
the guardian of the reservation be instructed in
the eider-down industry as detailed in the next
chapter, and that a beginning of this industry
be made on the reservations both to eke out the
small stipend of the guardian and as an object-
lesson to the people.

If the reservation movement is well managed
so that the people are in sympathy with it, it
will be a success and one may look forward
to many benefits as a result. First and funda-
mentally, the birds will be saved from extinc-
tion. This fact may not appeal to the people,
but the improvement in the shooting during the

‘migrations will be welcomed as a great boon.
The introduction of the eider-down industry,
which I believe will follow the reservation move-
ment, should add a large sum yearly to the in-
come of the people of the coast. Another desir-
able result of the reservations will be to make

299

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

the coast more attractive to tourists in general
and to ornithologists in particular, and they
will help the people in several ways. They will
necessarily spend money along the coast, will
introduce better transportation facilities, and
new and better ideas of living. To ornitholo-
gists everywhere it will be an enormous relief
to know that the great destruction of bird-life,
so vividly portrayed by Audubon, is at last
stayed and the wonderful bird-nurseries of Lab-
rador are again assuming their rightful function.

CHAPTER XIV

A PLEA FOR THE CONSERVATION OF THE
EIDER !

HE treatment of that magnificent duck

the eider (Somateria dresseri) along our At-
lantic coast is rapidly leading to its extermi-
nation. This duck, which is locally known as
sea duck, laying duck, shoreyer, Eskimo duck,
moynak, and metic, is everywhere diminish-
ing in numbers. In Maine they were at one
time reduced to a few pairs, but, by enforce-
ment of laws and by reservations watched over
by wardens, they are beginning to increase.
I believe there are only two or three cases of
their breeding at the present time on the Nova
Scotia coast. On the Newfoundland coast
their numbers are pitifully few where once
they abounded. The coast of Labrador for-
merly swarmed with these birds, and the is-
lands were thickly covered with their nests.
All the ornithologists from the time of Audu-

1 Read at the meeting of the American Ornithologists’
Union, November 11, 1913, and reprinted by permission from
The Auk (1914), vol. XXXI, p. 14.

301

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

bon to the present day who have visited this
coast have bewailed the fact that the eider
was singled out for destruction.

In 1906 Dr. G. M. Allen and I saw only
about seventy of these birds on the long stretch
of the eastern coast of Labrador between Battle
Harbor and Hamilton Inlet. This is a region
that is visited by a large number of Newfound-
land fishermen in summer, and its coast is
dotted with the fishing-hamlets of the resi-
dents, or liveyeres, as they are called. The men
know every nook and cranny of the coast,
shoot the birds in great numbers in both fall
and spring migrations, take their eggs and
down whenever they find them, and even shoot
the setting females. In visiting their fishing-
traps in the height of the breeding-season
they often take their guns along with them,
so that few birds escape. North of Hamilton
Inlet the Northern eider (Somateria mollissima
borealis) is persecuted by the Eskimos of the
Moravian villages as well as by the fishermen.

The same condition of affairs exists on the
southern coast, where eiders are persecuted
not only by the white fishermen, but also by
the Montagnais Indians, who, after disposing

; 302

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

of their furs, the result of their winter’s work,
cruise along the coast in sailboat and canoe and
feast on the eider eggs and flesh.

In 1909 Mr. A. C. Bent and I found the
ground about the Indians’ encampments cov-
ered with eider egg shells, and we saw eider
flesh being dried and smoked by the fires. Two
men, who were ranging over the islands with
pails, had collected a hundred eggs in less than
an hour’stime. William Brewster described the
method used by these Indians in 1881: ‘They
skirt the shores in canoes, keeping as close
to land as the depth of water will permit.
Meanwhile their dogs scent about among the
trees quartering the ground like trained setters,
and when a nest is discovered announce the
fact by loud barking. The nests are usually
within a few rods of the water, and the scent
of the dogs is so keen that they rarely pass one.
If the sitting bird can be caught or shot the
opportunity is seldom neglected, for the half-
starved Indian neither knows nor respects con-
siderations of mercy, or, perhaps we should
call it policy, — which restrain more enlight-
ened sportsmen on such occasions. Proceeding
thus two men in a canoe will frequently ran-

803

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

sack twenty miles of coast-line in a single day
and find, probably, nearly every eider nest.
The result of this systematic persecution can-
not be doubtful or long delayed.”

M. Abbott Frazar, who was in southern
Labrador in 1884, said of this bird: “They
are persecuted with relentless energy by both
man and beast from the time they arrive up to
the time they leave, and the countless hoards
that once inhabited this coast are fast disap-
pearing, and it will not be long before the
Eider of Southern Labrador, like the Eider of
Grand Manan will be but a memory of the
past.”’

It is natural that the fishermen and Indians
should act thus, for eider eggs are delicious
eating and the flesh of the birds, at least of
the female and young, is equally palatable.
Both are generous in the amount of nourish-
ment furnished. But these people are killing
the goose that lays the golden egg, and the
time is not far distant, where such methods
prevail, before the eider will be no more.

There is no reason why the eider, which
furnishes the valuable eider-down of com-
merce, should not be made a source of consid-

304

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

erable income, without any reduction of its
natural abundance. The principle of conser-
vation can as well be applied to the eider as
to a forest. The conservation of the common
eider of Europe (Somateria mollissima), a spe-
cies that differs but very slightly from the
American bird, has been practiced for many
years in Iceland and Norway. The birds are
rigidly protected during the nesting-season
and offered every encouragement. They are
not allowed to be shot, and even the dis-
charge of a gun in their vicinity is forbidden
by law. Suitable nesting-sites are furnished
close to the houses and the birds become semi-
domesticated, losing all fear of man. The peo-
ple are allowed to take the eggs and down
during the first of the season, but the birds
are permitted to hatch out and rear a few
young in order to keep up the stock. The last
down is taken after the birds have left.

The following quotations from various au-
thors show what can be done in the conser-
vation of the eider and what a profitable and
pleasant business it may be made: ‘‘A per-
son,” says Horrebow,' ‘‘as I myself have wit-

1 Quoted by Nuttall.
305

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

nessed, may walk among these birds while they
are sitting, and not scare them; he may even
take the eggs and yet they will renew their
laying as often as three times.’”’ ‘“ According
to the relation of Sir George Mackenzie, on
the 8th of June at Vidée, the Eider Ducks,
at all other times of the year perfectly wild,
had now assembled in great numbers to nestle.
The boat, by which they approached the shore,
passed through multitudes of these beautiful
fowls, which scarcely gave themselves the
trouble to go out of the way. Between the
landing place and the Governor’s house, the
ground was strewn with them, and it required
some caution to avoid treading on the nests.
The Drakes were walking about uttering a
sound very like the cooing of Doves, and were
even more familiar than the common Domes-
tic Ducks. All round the house, on the garden
wall, on the roof, even in the inside of the house,
and in the chapel, were numbers of Ducks sit-
ting on their nests. Such as had not been long
on the nest generally left it on being approached;
but those that had more than one or two eggs
sat perfectly quiet, suffering us to touch them

! Travels in Iceland, p. 126. (Quoted by Nuttall.)
306

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

and sometimes making a gentle use of their
bills to remove our hands.”’

Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway quote from
C. W. Shepard, as follows: ‘‘The islands of
Vigr and Oldey are their headquarters in the
northwest of Iceland. In these they live in
undisturbed tranquillity. They have become
almost domesticated, and are found in vast
multitudes, as their young remain and breed
in the place of their birth. As the island (Vigr)
was approached, we could see flocks upon flocks
of the sacred birds, and could hear them coo-
ing at a great distance. We landed on a rocky,
wave-worn shore. It was the most wonderful
ornithological sight conceivable. The Ducks
and their nests were everywhere. Great, brown
Ducks sat upon their nests in masses, and at
every step started from under our feet. It was
with difficulty that we avoided treading on
some of the nests. On the coast of the oppo-
site shore was a wall built of large stones, just
above the high-water level, about three feet
in height, and of considerable thickness. At the
bottom, on both sides of it, alternate stones
had been left out, so as to form a series of
square compartments for the Ducks to nest in.

307

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

Almost every compartment was occupied, and
as we walked along the shore, a long line of
Ducks flew out, one after the other. The sur-
face of the water also was perfectly white with
Drakes, who welcomed their brown wives with
loud and clamorous cooing. The house itself
was a marvel. The earthen walls that sur-
rounded it and the window embrasures were
occupied by Ducks. On the ground the house
was fringed with Ducks. On the turf slopes of
its roof we could see Ducks, and a Duck sat
on the door-scraper. The grassy banks had
been cut into square patches, about eighteen
inches having been removed, and each hollow
had been filled with Ducks. A windmill was
infested, and so were all the outhouses, mounds,
rocks, and crevices. The Ducks were every-
where. Many were so tame that we could
stroke them on their nests, and the good lady
told us that there was scarcely a Duck on the
island that would not allow her to take its
eggs without flight or fear. Our hostess told
us that when she first became possessor of the
island the produce of down from the Ducks
was not more than fifteen pounds in a year,
but that under her careful nurture of twenty
808

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

years, it had risen to nearly a hundred pounds
annually. Most of the eggs were taken and
pickled for winter consumption, one or two
only being left in each nest to hatch.”

Burton, writing in 1875,! says that not even
a salute was permitted to be fired at Reykja-
vik for fear of frightening the eider, which was
there a “‘barn-door bird” and as ‘‘tame as
horse-pond geese.” He says “‘the turf is shaven
and hollowed to make the nests — and the
places are marked by pegs.”’

Slater ? says of the common eider that it is
“resident in large numbers; especially abun-
dant round the coast, strictly preserved by
law, and in consequence very tame. In Aku-
reyri, for instance, the old ducks with their
ducklings feed along the edge of the fjord
quite close to the houses and road, and take
no more notice of the passers-by than domes-
tic ducks would do — which is very pretty.
In winter they pack in immense flocks. The
eider-down is, of course, the property of the
owner of the land, and every inducement and
protection is given to the birds, as the down

1 Ultima Thule, or A Summer in Iceland.
2 Manual of the Birds of Iceland.. (1901.)

309

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

is a valuable article of trade.” Bernhard
Hantzsch ! says: “‘In consequence of the spe-
cial protection which man everywhere exer-
cises over them their numbers seem slowly to
increase.””

Nelson Annandale ? says: ‘‘The one offense
against the Icelandic bird-laws which a native
cannot commit with impunity is the slaughter
of the eider-duck.... What! is more impor-
tant than many laws, namely public opinion,
protects the species, and there seems to be a
sentimental interest in it.... Probably it is
due to the great tameness of the bird, which
appears actually to seek the vicinity of a hu-
man dwelling for its nesting place and to fre-
quent those parts of the coast which are more
frequented by man....The Icelandic eider-
farms are frequently situated on little islands
off the coast. Small circular or oblong erec-
tions of rough stones are made among the hum-
mocks, to protect the brooding ducks from
wind and driving rain... . All the seafowl in
these farms become exceedingly tame, as no
gun is allowed to be fired and every thing lia-

1 Beitrag zur Kenniniss der Vogelwelt Islands. (1905.)
2 The Faroes and Iceland. (1906.)

* 310

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

ble to disturb the ducks is carefully banished.
Those who know how to handle them can even
stroke the backs of the ducks as they sit on
their eggs... . On such farms there is a sep-
arate building or large room entirely devoted
to cleaning the down. The apparatus consists
of a series of oblong wooden frames, which °
may be either fixed in a horizontal position
or held in the hand. Their number and size
varies greatly, but in all cases the principle
is the same, depending on the tenacity with
which the down clings to anything on which
it is thrown, partly because of its lightness
and partly because of the structure of the indi-
vidual feathers which compose it. Along the
frames are stretched rather loosely, a number
of strings which may be either of twine or of
thongs of leather. The down is cast onto these
near one end, and a spatula of wood or bone
drawn briskly backwards and forwards over
the other end. The down still clings to the
strings, but all impurities, such as pieces of
seaweed or grass, small stones, or coarse feath-
ers, fall through to the ground.”

Newton! says: ‘‘Generally the eggs and

1 Dictionary of Birds. (1893-96.)
311

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

down are taken at intervals of a few days by
the owners of the ‘Eider-fold,’ and the birds
are thus kept depositing both during the whole
season; but some experience is needed to in-
sure the greatest profit from each commodity.
Every Duck is allowed to hatch an egg or two
to keep up the stock, and the, down of the last
nest is gathered after the birds have left the
spot. The story of the Drake’s furnishing
down, after the Duck’s supply is exhausted, is
a fiction. He never goes near the nest.” An-
nandale! says: ‘‘It was formally the custom
to take away all the down supplied by the fe-
male; but this practice was said to lead to great
mortality among the ducks through exhaus-
tion and nowadays each nest is generally rifled
only once before the eggs are hatched, and then
again after the young have left it.”

The same conservation of the eider exists
in Norway. Stejneger? says: “All along the
coast of Norway, where the bird is protected
by law throughout the year, the common ei-
der (Somateria mollissima), is now exceedingly
common and very tame. The inhabitants take

1 Op. cit.
2 Riverside Natural History.
312

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

great care of the breeding birds, which often
enter their houses to find suitable nesting-
places, and cases are authenticated in which
the poor fisherman vacated his bed in order
not to disturb the female eider, which had se-
lected it as a quiet corner wherein to raise
her young. In another place the cooking of a
family had to be done in a temporary kitchen
as a fanciful bird had taken up her abode on
the fireplace.”

When St. Cuthbert, that holy man, went to
live a lonely life on Farne Island, he tamed the
eiders and they are called St. Cuthbert’s ducks
even to this day.

Eider-down is not only extremely light and
elastic, but is also one of the poorest conductors
of heat. It is therefore an ideal substance for
preserving warmth and is the best material for
coverlets, puffs, cushions, etc. Its money-value
is considerable and there is always a demand for
it in the markets of the world.! The retail price
in Boston at the present time? of well-cleaned
Iceland or Norwegian eider-down is $14 a
pound. It is probable that each nest fur-

1 The down obtained from dead eiders, however, soon loses
its elasticity and is of little value.
2 1913.
313

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

nishes — as a very conservative estimate —
from an ounce to an ounce and a third of down,
therefore twelve to sixteen nests or breeding
females are needed for each pound. Burton
states that the annual supply of down in Ice-
land rose from two thousand pounds in 1806 to
seven thousand pounds in 1870. One can easily
understand the great value of this product even
if the producer receives only one half of the
retail price. He could count on at least fifty
cents a season for each breeding female in his
eider-fold.

Imagine the pleasure as well as profit that
could be obtained along the coast of Labra-
dor, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and Maine if
these birds were treated in the manner above
described and flocked and nested about the
habitations of man. Then, each dweller in suit-
able localities by the sea could have his own
flock of these beautiful birds — for the female
is as beautiful in her modest dress of shaded
and penciled brown as is the male in his strik-
ing raiment of jet-black and cream- and snow-
white, delicate sea-green and dark navy-blue.
The cooing notes, so long few or absent in many
places, would again resound over the waters,

314

CONSERVATION OF THE EIDER

and, best of all, to the practical-minded, the
birds would pay well for their protection by
gifts of eggs and of valuable eider-down.

How can the present senseless habit of de-
struction be stopped and this desirable state of
affairs brought about? As a preliminary step
in Labrador and Newfoundland I would sug-
gest that a few islands scattered along the coast
should be made bird reservations, and care-
fully guarded by one or two families who live on
or near the islands. These people should be al-
lowed to take the first set of eggs and down, as
well as the down left behind after the duck has
hatched out the second set and has left for the
season, but should not be allowed the use of
firearms, and their Eskimo dogs must be con-
fined during the nesting-season. In other words,
these people must not frighten the birds and
must treat them kindly. The object of the ex-
periment should be spread broadcast along the
coast with the request for fair play, so as to
restrain others from poaching and frightening
the ducks on the reservation.

The rapidity with which the birds will re-
spond to this treatment and the intelligence
they will display in the recognition of the safety

315

IN AUDUBON’S LABRADOR

spots will surprise the people. This is the case
wherever bird reservations are established. At
Ipswich, Massachusetts, the shores of a small,
protected pond are thronged with shore-birds
of many species which display almost no fear
of man, while on the neighboring beaches, where
they are shot, they are very wary. In the city
of Boston the Charles River Basin and Jamaica
Pond are the resorts of numerous ducks that
pay but little attention to the people, while in
the sea and ponds near by, where shooting is
allowed, the ducks show their usual wildness.

It is useless to pass laws if they are not ob-
served or if the sentiment of the community
is against them. This reform, which will be of
such great value to our northern seacoast, can
only be accomplished by education, and these
bird reservations with their eider-farms will be
one of the best means to that end.

THE END

APPENDIX

APPENDIX

For the opportunity to publish the following letters
from George C. Shattuck, Jr., from his father,
George C. Shattuck, from B. Lincoln, and from
Audubon himself, I am indebted to Dr. Frederick
C. Shattuck, the son of George C. Shattuck, Jr.,
who accompanied Audubon 6n his Labrador trip.

George C. Shattuck to George C. Shattuck, Jr., at
Bowdoin College
My Son, —

Yours of the 21st inst. has just arrived. I am
glad you have called on the Rev'd President and
thank him for the courtesy he extended toward you.
Tender him my respects when you may next see
him.

Since my last I have received the Birds of Amer-
ica by J. J. Audubon (vol. 1st) and a splendid work
it is too., $200 for the vol. & $20 for half binding in
Russia backs & corners. His Turkies, Eagles, Owls,
Hawks etc. etc. are magnificent! superb! transcend-
ent!

M. Audubon has imparted to me an invitation
for you to accompany him on the Labrador Coast
the coming summer— of course I thanked him.
He will be in Eastport the first of May. Your Lec-
tures will not have been finished at that time. Dr.

319

APPENDIX

Parkman! has recently obtained for him two new

subscribers. ... accept for your self the renewed
expression of love from your
Father,

G. C. SHATTUCK.
Boston, March 24, 1833.

George C. Shattuck to George C. Shattuck, Jr., at
Bowdoin College
My Son, —

Mr. Audubon called this evening and repeated
the invitation for you to accompany him in his or-
nithological excursion, to the Coast of Labrador. I
told him I should submit it to your option, that if
you had an ardent desire to go, I should not repress
it, and if you had no special desire to go, I would not
urge it. If you desire to accompany him, you may
raise funds by drawing on me at sight and selling the
bill. Mr. Audubon says that two hundred dollars
and coarse clothes are the necessary outfit. If you
conclude to go, settle up at Brunswick all your ac-
counts and start for Eastport. Audubon sails this
evening for Eastport & here he will remain about
ten days. You may take Bangor in your way. If
you have no strong desire to go on this expedition,
you will regulate your course in Maine before your
return as you may desire. Write me your wish by
next mail.

Your father,
Gero. C. SHATTUCK.

Boston, May 4, 1833.

1 Dr. George Parkman who was murdered by Dr. Webster
in 1849.

3820

APPENDIX

George C. Shattuck to George C. Shattuck, Jr., at
Eastport, Maine
My Son, —

... I have also sent you letter paper said to be
made of linen rags, both for your journal and for the
letters you may have occasion to write. I beg you
to make a daily record of what you may see, and to
write to me as opportunity may offer. Let your
journal be written in a legible hand writing. ...

Possibly you may visit Mr. Lincoln’s family at
Dennisville. ...

Boston, May 8, 1833.

Extract from letter of George C. Shattuck, Jr., to
his father

Eastport, May 9, 1833.

He [Mr. Audubon] insists much on a large jour-
nal in which he will make me write every night an
account of the day’s work, and then read it to him.
I shall have to work like a horse as he says. He
is going to charter a vessel for himself, which is to
move entirely as he directs. He has written to a
friend in Philadelphia to come on and join us, and
Tom Lincoln will probably go too. The advantages
will be very great, and I can not be too grateful to
you for the permission and means to go. We will
probably sail in about a fortnight, and will be ab-
sent two and a half or three months. In the mean
time I shall be in training, under the direction of Mr.
Chadbourne, and I am rejoiced I came on. I have
seen young Audubon also, and everything looks

-favorable for a season of interest and instruction.

321

APPENDIX

B. Lincoln to George C. Shattuck, Jr., at Eastport
BuRLINGTON, VT., 12th May, 1833.

... By all means go to Dennisville if you can —
perhaps my brother Tom may be invited to go too
— he is an old crony of Mr. Audubon. Whether he
could go or not I know not, but I should much like
to have him go. — he would be a fine companion
for you. ... Would to God I could go with you.
Will you not return by the way of Lake Champlain?

I do not know how your vegetable eating will do
in a country where men eat Fish — ‘‘feathers and
all.” I think you will find your health improved by
the cruise and you will to the day of your death
rejoice that you went....

George C. Shattuck to George C. Shattuck, Jr., at
Eastport
My Son, —

Yours of the 9th inst has been received. A double
barrelled gun with percussion locks, custom work,
and 10 Ibs of powder and five thousand caps have
been secured through the kindness of Mr. Hiram
Smith and are forewarded by the Packet Boundary
to Eastport. Mr. John Allen made the case for the
gun, and insisted that you should have wads and
ball and another pound of Mr. Ware’s best powder,
all of which you receive in the case with the gun.
The ammunition otherwise is put in a candle box
and directed to you, and with it the accompaniments
of the gun. Enclosed is a letter from Baltimore via
Brunswick. I have written to you twice at Eastport

322

APPENDIX

and sent you the books and some clothing by the
packet which sailed last Saturday....To Mr. &
Mrs. Chadburne tender my compliments and sin-
cere thanks for their kindness to my son.

To Mr. Audubon and to his son tender my best
regards, and accept for yourself a father’s blessing
from

Gro. C. SHATTUCK.

Boston, May 17, 1833.

George C. Shattuck, Jr., to his father
Eastport, May 22, 1833.

... This morning I have taken a long walk with
Mr. Audubon, notwithstanding the rain.

Mr. A. has made all arrangements for his vessel.
She is a schooner measures one hundred and six
tons, and is said to be a very fine sailor. He pays
three hundred and fifty dollars a month for her and
each of us is to pay three dollars a week for board.
We are to be victualled for five months, and among
the articles to be put on board are potatoes; rice;
beans; beef; pork; butter; cheese. We shall live like
princes. You can not expect us before the first of
October. Mr. A. says I must return to Boston with
him via Quebec. ...

George C. Shattuck, Jr., to his father
Eastport, May 26, 1833.

I must hasten to acknowledge the receipt of the
two boxes which arrived here in the vessel on Thurs-
day morning, but which on account of absence, I

323

APPENDIX

did not receive till last evening. The gun is just the
thing I wanted long and strong, the ammunition
and accoutrements are all of the first quality, nor
can I express too strongly my sense of obligation,
at these renewed instances of your kindness and
liberality.

I returned last evening from an excursion in the
revenue cutter Swiftsure to the island of Grand
Manan. This island is distant some twenty miles
from here, is ten miles long, three or four broad, and
belongs to his British majesty. We went on board
the vessel, Wednesday evening and the anchor was
weighed about three the next morning. We passed
along the western shore of the island, where we saw
steep precipices, sixty, a hundred, or even two hun-
dred feet high, offering a very rough reception to
any vessel driven upon it by a storm. We passed
round the northern extremity of the long island and
stopped in a small harbor of an island, two miles
east of Grand Manan. We went on shore, and
called at the house of the only inhabitant Mr.
Frankland, the governor of the island. We did not
find this man at home but afterwards met him,
when he expressed great pleasure at seeing us, and
gave us permission to wander over his island, and
to shoot as many birds, and take as many eggs, as
we might wish and could find. Accordingly we pro-
ceeded over the island. We soon saw gulls enough to
convince us that there were an immense number on
the island, and at the same time that they were very
shy. They flew over our heads in large flocks, but it
was very rarely that any one descended so low, as
to be within eighty yards, quite a long distance of

$24

APPENDIX

us. The island contains about two hundred acres, is
very well wooded, and yields a large quantity of
hay, and little else besides, except a few potatoes.
The road which we pursued was extremely wet and
muddy, but my long fishermans boots, made me at
home there. Our party consisting of eight, killed
twelve gulls, but found only one or two eggs. We
were too early for these birds generally had not
commenced, laying, and if we had waited three
weeks or a month, we should have found eggs in
abundance, and the birds much less shy. We ram-
bled about six hours or more, and then returning to
the vessel, we enjoyed very much the food set be-
fore us. After dinner John and myself went to work
to skin the birds and this task having been per-
formed, principally however by John, for as yet I
am not very expert at the business, we went on
shore, it being eight o’clock, to enjoy the fresh air,
and to meet Mr. A. who with the Captain of the
cutter, went on shore after dinner, to ramble round,
and to pay their respects to the governor. To the
governor’s house, accordingly, we proceeded, and
there we found our party, having taken tea, and
passed the evening there. Mr. Frankland is an old
man, a native of Yorkshire in England, whence he
came to this island some fourty odd years ago. He
retains the Yorkshire dialect, so that you would
know whence he came talking with him five minutes.
He is an intelligent, kind hearted old farmer, and I
was desirous to see more of him than I had oppor-
tunity. He was very hospitable to us, and his two
sons accompanied us on board our vessel, to serve
as guides to two collections of islands, called the

325

APPENDIX

two islands and the three islands which we were to
visit the next day. Having written my journal I
went to bed about half past ten, and so sound was
my sleep, that I did not hear the grating of the chain
when they weighed anchor, between eleven and
twelve that night, and I was much surprised to
learn the next morning, that we were lying in a dif-
ferent harbor. Having eaten an early breakfast, we
pushed ashore in two parties, one to each group of
islands. I accompanied Mr. Audubon to the three
islands, which we explored very thoroughly, finding
however scarcely any birds. Two of a species of
ducks called lords and ladies were killed by one of
our party, also a bird called a turnstone, and we saw
one bird very rare, called about here the sea goose,
which Mr. A. was very desirous to examine, but we
did not succeed in killing him. Returning on board,
we found that the other party had killed some eider .
ducks, and a few sea pigeons, but it was evident
that the ducks mostly had gone north, to their
breeding places. The same afternoon we returned
back to our former station, returned to the governor
his two sons, paid our parting respects, and contin-
uing on from six to ten miles further, stopped for the
night at long island harbor. We saw two or three
houses along the shore, and a couple of fishing ves-
sels. The next morning having taken an early
breakfast we were rowed ashore, and John and my-
self, spent three or four hours rambling through the
woods. We found some acres of cleared land around
the houses, hills quite high, and some most delight-
ful views. We could see from a cleared spot of land,
gently rising from the sea shore, the houses below,

$26

APPENDIX

and the seashore, and then the bay coming in, and
surrounded on three sides by the land. Another
party took a boat and coasted along the rocks.
They shot several sea pigeons, a most beautiful
bird, a white spot on their wings, the rest of their
plumage being black, or dark green changeable, and
varying as seen in different lights. As we had a very
fair breeze we accomplished our return very speed-
ily, stopping to get some young ravens. The nest in
which they were found was in the clefts of a very
steep rock, and one of the sailors descended to it, by
attaching a rope to a tree above and climbing down,
being obliged to shoot in afterwards, as the rock
over jutted considerably. The ravens were about
three weeks old, and the ugliest birds without ex-
ception that I ever saw. Mr. A. thinks of taking one
to Labrador, making a pet of it, and teaching it to
talk. It was five o’clock when we landed at East-
port, having had a very pleasant time. The weather
was as fine as we could have desired, and our ac-
commodations on board the cutter were very good.
The second lieutenant had been a warrant officer
on board the Hamilton with Captain Derby. Mr.
A. wished he had applied at Washington for this
vessel, to go to Labrador, and the officers told us,
they would have liked nothing better than such an
excursion.

Our vessel has not arrived from Baltimore, but is
expected every hour. She probably will come to day
or to morrow, and we shall sail on Thursday, or
Friday. Mr. A. is anxious to get off as soon as
possible. I am ready, with the exception of a few
articles, which I shall procure to morrow. I ex-

327

APPENDIX

pect to walk to Dennysville to day, and to return
to morrow.

If possible I shall send you a few lines just before
I sail. Any letters that come had better be retained
at home, for there can be no certainty that any
communication would reach me. I received your
last’ inclosing one from Brune on Wednesday. B.
tells me his brother has gone to the western coast of
South America, as supercargo to a vessel, where the
cargo is worth seventy thousand dollars. What an
undertaking for a young man only eighteen years of
age. The vessel belongs to a merchant in Balti-
more a friend of his fathers.

Do let me find a letter at Eastport on my return,
giving an account of whatever has happened during
my absence. It is mot with indifference, I assure you
that I contemplate, an absence of three months in
which I probably shall not hear a word from home.
But there is a God who orders all things for the
best, and in whose hands we all are. Let me then
again subscribe myself,

Your’s dutifully and affectionately
G. C.S., Jr.

George C. Shattuck, Jr., to his father
AMERICAN Hargor, LABRADOR, June 22, 1833.
As a vessel has just come into the harbor I will
prepare a letter giving some account of myself since
my last dates. Thursday June 6. at twelve oclock
our vessel was announced as ready, and our friends
who had come on board to bid us farewell, and
to look at our accommodations, informed that they

828

APPENDIX

must step ashore. We cast loose and as we pushed
off were saluted with four guns from the fort, and
four from the revenue cutter. The wind was dead
ahead but we beat down with the tide, and the
Captain of the cutter accompanied us till we were
_ steered clear of all difficulties, and were launched
out into the bay of Fundy. We kept on and by
night had beat down to Little river; a distance of
twenty or thirty miles, but the wind dying away,
we did not succeed in getting into the harbor. A
breeze sprung up about noon the next day, which
increased the next night, and Saturday afternoon
we steered round Cape Sable between the mud and
seal islands, rejoicing that we were clear of the bay
of Fundy with its confounded tides. We passed by
Halifax at a distance of thirty miles, and at night
spoke the schooner Caledonia from Boston bound
to the Labrador. Monday afternoon we made Can-
seau and as the wind was ahead for going through
the gut, we run into the harbor, where we found
several other vessels waiting contentedly for a fair
wind. There are a few inhabitants at this place,
who derive their support from the fishery, but the
land is poor and yields only a few potatoes. We
obtained however some milk and eggs, which sa-
vored very well, especially as we bad adieu to the lat-
ter when we pushed off from Eastport. The next
morning at four oclock we set sail again with a fair
wind, and crossing the bay were soon in the gut
of Canseau through which we had a most delight-
ful sail. This name is given to the passage between
Cape Breton island and Nova Scotia, a narrow
strait where you see distinctly both shores. The

329

APPENDIX

N. Scotia shore is the highest but the Cape Breton
shore appeared the greenest. Houses were scat-
tered along the banks, and we saw something like a
village at Ship harbor on the Cape Breton side. We
’ stopped at Jestico island just as we were getting
into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. We stopped also at
the Magdalen islands, and spent a day rambling
round. We stopped at Amherst island and found
a hundred and fifty families there with a Catholic
priest a Mounsieur Brulette from Quebec. These
men support themselves by fishing and the soil yields
afew potatoes. They are Canadian French, but the
merchant who resides there, sells them their goods
and buys their fish, is a native of Halifax, a shrewd
fellow, who has made his fortune. A few wild geese
breed in ponds but not on the part of the island
where we were. They have foxes, hares, rats, no
other wild animals. The next day we had a fair
wind, passed the bird rocks, where we saw Gannets
by thousands so thick, that the top of the rock
looked as if covered with snow, but were unable to
land on account of the surf. We passed Anticosti
and arrived at this place last Monday, having had
a very comfortable passage. We have been shooting
away here but have not come to the parts where
birds are most abundant. There are five vessels in
the harbor from Eastport, fishing for cod, and they
average about a thousand a man. Most American
vessels go farther north, but we have one here from
Newburyport, and one from Halifax Nova Scotia.
The fishermen are up every morning at half past
two work eighteen hours in the day, and sleep four.
The fishing is done in boats off from the shore,

330

APPENDIX

the fish are brought to the vessels, where they are
opened by one man, their heads cut off and guts
removed by another, whilst a third cuts out the
back bones, and throws them into the hold, where
two men are employed salting and packing them
away. Afterwards they take the fish out and dry
them. A Captain Billings from Eastport owns these
five vessels and is here with them. He is going
north, and expects in August to keep two vessels
for the mackerel fishery. They throw out pieces of
mackerel to toll the fish, put on bait to their hook
which lasts all day, and throw the fish on the deck
without touching hands to them. One man can
catch fourty in a minute. The fishing on this coast
is said to be better than off Newfoundland. The
country is very rough sterile covered with moss
and a few scraggy fir trees for forrests. You can not
conceive more fatiguing walking than over this
moss, and can be compared to wading through
snowdrifts. Our excursions will be made mostly in
boats. We start hence with the fair wind which
first blows.

Our party are all in excellent health and spirits. I
never enjoyed better health. We were sea sick some
days, and wished ourselves any wheres, but we re-
covered and our appetite returned most wonder-
fully sharpened. I have been obliged to give up my
experiment of a vegetable diet for the pilot bread
when eaten exclusively makes me very costive, and
whilst I was sea sick I lost my relish for potatoes.
Since we have been in this harbor we have lived on
codfish which are very nice and of which we all are
very fond.

331

APPENDIX

June 26.

The vessel by which I expected to have sent this
letter proved to be his majesty’s surveying schooner
Gulnare, commanded by Captain Bayfield of the
royal navy. They are taking a survey of this coast,
and making charts, which when completed will be
very thorough and accurate. They have already
passed one summer in this employment, and expect
to spend three or four more. A physician is on
board who is a good deal of a botanist; conchologist;
something of an ornithologist. Thus this coast has
been much more explored than we thought for, and
the field we expected to find unexplored has been
pretty well beaten. Mr. A. has been invited to dine
with Captain Bayfield, and actually ate roast mut-
ton on the coast of Labrador. He ascertained from
them that we are in Little Natashquam harbor,
Latitude 50° 12’, longitude 9° 23 east of Quebec;
61° 53’ east! of Greenwich. We are doing nothing
waiting for a west wind these last five days, for we
have explored the country very thoroughly, and
find almost nothing of interest. Snow and ice are
met with in sheltered spots every few steps, and as
we run down the coast we saw a good deal.

July 23.

I resume my pen, to inform you of my continued
health and happiness up to this date. We are now at
the great Mecatina, whence we sail for Bon esper-
ance by the first fair wind. We expect to find there
several vessels from Boston, and in some of them

1 Error for west.
332

APPENDIX

letters. We visited a port this morning where we
found a vessel loading for Quebec, and where we
were very glad to see Quebec papers, in which were
Boston dates to the twenty fifth of June.

Remember me to my friends, and be assured that,
my absence from home has not diminished my at-
tachment to it. My story I must tell when I get
there, and it now is impossible to tell when we shall
leave this coast.

Your’s most truly and affectionately

G. C.S., Jr.

We are in latitude 50° 43’: in longitude 59° 15,
and the mosquitoes so troublesome that I can
scarcely write.

Rec’d Montreal 25 Aug’t 1833 and forwarded by
your obdt. serv’t
H. Gates.

George C. Shattuck, Jr., to his father
Brapore, Latitude 51, Monday, August 5, 1833.

I send you a few lines by a vessel which sails to-
morrow for Mount dessert, and would thus assure
you that I am well, and in good condition. We ar-
rived in this port Friday July 24, having been out
one day and night from the port at which I ad-
dressed you a letter, which you probably have re-
ceived. Our cruise is nearly terminated for with the
first fair wind which may blow next week, we move
homewards. On our way we stop at Newfoundland,

333

APPENDIX

and at Pictou on Prince Edward’s island,! so that we
shall reach Eastport sometime in the first week of
September. How much I have improved by my op-
portunities, must be left to your judgement, when
we meet, as I hope we shall, some six weeks hence.
We have not found Labrador, the country that the
fishermen would have us believe. I expected to have
obtained many curious specimens in comparative
anatomy, but we have seen no quadruped larger
than a rat. We have found no new plants, though
we have looked closely over all the ground. Birds
are much less plenty than we had been taught to
expect them. Mr. Audubon has obtained much
valuable information, and we all are glad that we
have seen this country, for no description can con-
vey a just idea of it. Labrador was not made for
white men, and it is to be wished that it had been
left in the possession of those whom God placed
there. We have travelled over the country very
thoroughly, and can bid adieu to Labrador without
regret. If I was to come here again, I should wish to
spend here the winter and the spring, as the quad-
rupeds of the country, such as reindeer, bears, foxes,
hares, are to be seen only in this season. In the
summer they retire into the interior, no one knows
where. We have heard one bear, but could not ob-
tain a sight of him, though we sought his acquaint-
ance eagerly. Mosquitoes, and gnats are in greater
abundance than any thing else.

I have written to Dr. Mussey 2 an account of what
I have seen, but have not descended to particulars

1 Pictou is in Nova Scotia.
2 Dr. Reuben Dimond Mussey.

334

eg en a, eee
—_ ext ray gear, ee

[A TINISOVA]

b
gy re a ee baporae “ag
ze

Coe Lice A Freon pry 0

APPENDIX

here, as I expect to read you my journal! when I
return.

Remember me affectionately to all friends, and
accept for yourself assurances of gratitude and
affection from

Your Son,

G. C.S. Jr.

John J. Audubon to George C. Shattuck
New York, Sep’ 9", 1836.
My Dear Doctor Shattuck, —

I have great pleasure whilst I am informing you
of my safe return to America, accompanied by my
son John; and also in appraising you that I have
brought over for you, a Ladies Watch handed to
me at London by the Order of my Young Friend
Your Son George. — Shall I keep this watch until
I go to Boston in a few weeks, or shall I forward it
to you by some one, willing as I am to deliver the
same safely into your hands?

George was with us at London but a few days, he
was quite well, and well doing at Paris, when I left
England. Our Worthy Friend Doc’ Parkman had
safely reached Havre, and I left my Wife and Victor
quite well. — please to let me hear from you very
soon, and believe me ever with the highest senti-
ments of respects & esteem

Your Friend & Servant
Joun J. AUDUBON.

1 Dr. F. C. Shattuck has no knowledge of this journal.
335

APPENDIX

John J. Audubon to George C. Shattuck
New York, July 5, 1837.

My Dear Friend, —

I write to you to inform you of my return here,
and also to inform you that I will leave for Liverpool
on the 16th Instant, accompanied by my Son John
and his Wife, late Miss Bachman of Charleston. —

I have this day drawn a check on the Atlas Bank
of Boston for the amount you deposited in that in-
stitution on my account in Jan. 7 last Favour of
Nicholas Berthond Esq. or order. Say Six hundred
and Fifty nine Dollars.

Now my Dear Friend will you have the goodness
to write to me, and to inform me from whence the
above amount was collected by you; so as to enable
me to Balance, or at least to credit the proper par-
ties in my books? —

My late Journey & Voyage westward has prouved
a very trying one to my body & nerves — I have
lost 15 pounds weight, and have not been as well as
if under your care and roof — I however think that
I am recruiting apace, and most sincerely Hope
that I will see you and your Dear Family in about
18 months; when I now calculate that my Work will
have been finished, delivered and settled for in
England. — Where is George and how is he? Where
is our worthy friend Doct Parkman and family? I
am quite in the Dark as regards the answers which
I trust you will give me to these querries, and beg
of you to transmit them, with an account of your
Health &c at your earliest Convenience.

My last dates from London are to the 20 of May,

336

APPENDIX

when my beloved Wife and Son Victor were quite
well. — My Publication was also going on quite
well; but alas! The present commercial and mone-
tary revolution has caused me to lose a good number
of the Subscribers through whose Support, I did
hope to realize a few Thousand Dollars to comfort
and supply with the wants of our later days my
Beloved Wife and my poor Self. Trusting however
and for ever in that Providence, and in the care of
him who supports us all, until called to his Bosom,
T hope to see yet a less clouded Sky than the one
hovering over our beloved Country at present, and
be permitted to end our lives in peaceful enjoyment
of health, and security of mind.

Offer my kindest, and most fervent wishes to your
Dear Family towards their health and Happiness,
Miss Lucy Included and believe me to be truly and
for life your most truly thankful, grateful and sincere

Friend and Servant
Joon J. AUDUBON.

To GreorGE C. SHATTUCK, Esq., M.D.
Boston.

Please to send word to my young friend Thomas
M. Brewer M.D.?! Winter Street, that I have writ-
ten to him this day. Have you received one hundred
Dollars from our Friend I. P. Davis? on account of
Daniel Webster? He was to pay that same on Jan.
7 last, on account of the latter’s subscription to the
Birds of America.

1 The ornithologist. He did not receive the degree of M.D.

until 1838.
2 The historian and a friend of Daniel Webster to whom

Webster dedicated the second volume of his works.

yan)
U)
hecatica Iniey

God,
er
SS ae
2 porn
SE
COA
S|
VFiitan,

THE 9
LABRADOR va 7
5 =
PENINSULA Vs og ot
The broken line indicates ae” Pan
qow? Le

AS,
% etreble Hill I.
Gre

the section of coast shown
in the large map

at Mecat ina I.

OO

NEWFOUNDLAND

i’ 4a
aw \
omy

4ynos

Variation) 29° 55'°W

AaWH>y

abpoy 5

Variation 28°00' W.

AUDUBON’S LABRADOR
The broken line shows Audubon's route; the solid line that of the author. Many of the islands along the coast are omitted for the sake of clearness

ANTICOSTI
ISLAND

INDEX

INDEX

Acadians, 12, 53, 81, 85, 139.

Acunishuan, 55.

Agriculture in Labrador, 279-
83.

Alder, Alnus incana, var.
glauca and A. viridis var.
mollis, 124, 151, 159.

Alexander. See Scotch lovage.

Allen, Dr. Glover M., 40, 204,
302.

American Harbor, 8, 45, 72,
328.

Anse a Malouin, 210.

Anse au Clair. See Anse clair.

Anse des Dunes, 240, 262, 263.

Anse Eclair, 256, 260. _

Anticosti Island, 34, 190, 330.

Audubon Island, 110.

Audubon, John James, 1, 7, 9,
10, 13, 22, 26, 47, 49, 68,
77, 89, 93, 97, 108, 120,
122, 130, 136, 153, 154,
157, 163, 166, 169, 174,
226, 234, 236, 237, 239,
270, 284, 293.

age, 15.

birth, 16.

character, 3.

fatigue, 15.

handicapped by ignorant
pilot, 13, 17, 22, 77, 174.

homesickness, 17.

hours of labor, 9, 14, 15.

interest in natural history,
18, 19.

journal, 79, 80.

letters from, 335-37.

seasickness, 16, 153.

Audubon, John Woodhouse,
2, 4, 25.

Audubon, Maria R., 3.

Audubon, Victor, 4, 335, 337-

Auk, Great, Plautus impennis,
190.

Razor-billed, Alca torda, 9,
13, 82, 89, 90, 116, I17,
125, 129, 138, 139, 140,
172, 223, 240, 243, 290,
294.

Baffin Land, 213.

Baie de Portage. See Mutton
Bay.

Baie du Lac Salé, 172.

Bake-Apple. See Cloudberry.

Balsam fir, Abies balsamea, 65,
69, 90, 150, 171, 175, 256,
257, 263.

Banding of birds, 98, roo.

Baneberry, red, Actea rubra,
252.

Bathing, sea, 76, 101, 160, 196.

Battle Harbor, 130.

origin of name of, 231, 232.

Bay of Chaleurs, 4, 190.

Bay of Fundy, 5, 25.

Bay of Seven Islands, 30, 31,

32.
Bay Johan Beetz. See Piashte
Bay.

341

INDEX

Bayfield, Capt., 11, 20, 78,
332.

Beach pea, Lathyrus marit-
imus, 60, 184.

Beaches, raised, 18, 63, 154-
56, 200, 211, 223, 250,
260.

Beachgrass, Ammophila arena-
ria, 81.

Bear, polar, Thalarctos marit-
imus, 168.

Bearberry, Arctostaphylos al-
pina, 262.

Beaver, Castor canadensis, 67.

Bec-scie. See Merganser, red-
breasted.

Bedstraw, sweet-scented, Gu-
lium triflorum, 252.

Beetz, Johan, 36, 64, 97.

’ black fox industry of, 36, 72.
character, 37.
collection of birds, 41.
family, 37.

garden, 39.
practical jokes, 58, 59.
table, 38, 39.
Bent, A. C., 36, 92, 108, 293,
303.

Beri-beri, 134, 277, 282.

Berthond, Nicholas, 336.

Big Coxipi River, 197.

Birch, alpine, Betula glandu-
losa and var. rotundifolia,
65, 123, 262.

white, Betula alba, 65, 142,
175, 211, 214,
. Bird conservation, 283-316.

Bird destruction, 175, 182,
283-94.

Bird reservations, 172, 296-
300, 315, 316.

Bird Rocks, 6, 7, 330.

Bird skins, 75, 128.

Birds, migrations, 30, 107; zes-
thetic value of, 105, 106;
dark plumage of Labra-
dor, 202.

Bjarne, Herjulfsson, 212.
Blackbird, Red-winged, Age-
latus pheniceus, 41.

Black grass,* 61.

Blais, Capt., 264, 265.

Blanche, Monseigneur Gus-
tave, 73.

Blanc Sablon, 24, 109, 190,
244-71.

forest trees of, 252-59.
geology of, 248-50.
origin of name, 249.

Blanc Sablon River, 249.

Blueberry, oval-leaved, Vac-
cinium ovalifolium, 226,
262.

Blue lumpfish, Cyclopterus
lumpus, 267.

Bog, 8, 65, 68, 69, 87, 90, 123,
124, 184, 225, 280.

Bonne Espérance, 21, 226,
232.

Bossé, Monseigneur, 167.

Botanical specimens, 75, 93,
129.

Boucher, Capt., 66, 67.

Boulders, poised, 121, 122,
158, 159, 195, 200.

Bowl, the, 154, 157.

Bradore, 22, 24, 174, 234-38,
264.

* The black grass of the New Eng-
land coast, Juncus Gerardi, has no
representative in Labrador, although

amnumber of plants there resemble
it superficially.

342

INDEX

Bradore Bay, 234-38.

Brant, Branta bernicla glau-
cogastra, 30.

Bras d’Or. See Bradore.

Brest, Port of, 190, 223, 224.

Brewer, Thomas M., 337.

Brewster, William, 185, 303.

Bryant, Henry G., 180, 181.

Burroughs, John, 205.

Cabot, W. B., 204, 228.
Cambrian rocks, 36, 130, 248.
Campbell, Jere, 266.
Canadian Geological Survey,

27.

Canned rabbit, 39, 270.

Cape Cod, possible site of Vin-
land, 214, 216, 221.

Cape Mecattina, 162, 163.

Cape Thiennot, 190.

Cape Whittle, 118, 121, 136,
291.

Capelin, Mallotus villosus, 39,
183, 270, 273, 274.

Caribou, Cabot's barren
ground, Rangifer articus
cabott, 204.

woodland, Rangifer caribou,

150, 204.

Cart-tracks, 263, 264.

Cartier, Jacques, 47, 189-92,

232, 242, 253.

Cartwright, Capt. George,
134, 140, 235, 245, 279,
280, 281.

Cascapedia, S.S., 27.
Cat-in-the-Wheel Inn, 121.
Charts, 11, 78, 79, 143.
Chateau Bay, 38, 107, 248.
Chevalier de St. Paul, 227.
Chevalier, Louis David, 227.

Chevalier, Louis Owen, 227,
228.

‘Chevalier’'s Settlement, 226,

227, 228.

Chickadee, Labrador, Penthes-
tes hudsonicus nigricans,
202.

Chicoutai. See Cloudberry.

Chimney-Head Passage, 210.

Citronella ointment, 177.

Clark City, 30.

Clintonia, Clintonia borealis,
252. :

Cloudberry, Rubus Chame-
morus, 12, 69, 183.

Coacoacho Bay, 111.

Cod, Gadus callarias, 84, 132,
265-68,

Cod-fishing, 84, 131, 132, 133,
168, 265-68.

Cod-liver oil, manufacture of,
246, 247, 272, 273.

Cods’ tongues, 272.

Cod-traps, 131, 132, 208, 265,
266.

Comeau, Napoleon A., 28, 63.

Compass, variation of, 159.

Conservation in Labrador,
134, 274-316.

Cook-room, 245.

Coolidge, Joseph A., 2, 3,
4,7-

Codperative stores, 146.

Cormorant, Common, Phala-
crocorax carbo, 119.

Double-crested, Phalacro-
corax auritus, 13, 101-06,
IlI-I4, 119-21.

Cormorants, as food, 102.

destruction of, 103.

food of, 103, 104.

343

INDEX

Cornel, dwarf, Cornus cana-
densis, 252.

Cornel, Northern dwarf, Cor-
nus suecica, 12.

Corner, Dr. George W., 209.

Corte Real, 232.

Céte Nord, 35.

Cotton-grass,Eriophorum Cha-
missonis, E. callitris, E.
angustifolium, and others,
65, 69.

Courtemarche, Legardeur de,
224.

Courtship of Black Guillemot,
140, 141.

Cow-parsnip, Heracleum lana-
tum, 246.

Cranberry, mountain, Vac-
cinium Vitis-Idea var.
minus, 53, 54, 65, 183,
184, 211, 217-21, 262.

Creighton, J. G. Alwyn, 179.

Crépes, 77.
Cross Harbor, 154.
Cross, the, on Matchiatik

Island, 127, 128.
Crowberry. See Curlew-berry.
Cumberland Harbor, 188, 189.
Curlew, Eskimo, Numenius

borealis, 23, 107.

Hudsonian, Numenius hud-

Sonicus, 107.
Curlew-berry, Empetrum ni-

grum, 23, 65, 155, 211,

218, 231, 262, 270.
Currant, Ribes triste and R.

prostratum, 279.

Daly, Prof. Reginald, 159, 185,
204.
Darby River, 138.

Davis, I. P., 337.
Dawson, Dr.
224.
Deane, Ruthven, 3, 4, 18.
Dikes, 205, 206.
Dog-fish, Squalus acanthias,
267, 274.
Dog-food, 103, 222.
Dog-sledging, 78, 133, 174-
Dogs, Eskimo, 54, 133, 147-
‘50, 152, 168, 169, 222.
chorus, 152.
‘nature, 147-49.
objections to, 149, 150.
origin, 54.
value, 133, 149.
Duck, Black, Anas rubripes
tristis, 43, 44, 184, 185.
Eider. See Eider.
Golden-eye, Clangula clan-
gula americana, 88, 177,
178.
Harlequin, Histrionicus his-
trionicus, 326.
Labrador, Camptorhynchus
labradorius, 22.
Lesser Scaup, Marila affinis,

Samuel E.,

41.
Lords and ladies. See Duck,
Harlequin.
Pied. See Duck, Labrador.
Duke’s Island, 188.

Eastport, I, 5, 25.

Eel-grass, Zostera marina, 30.

Eggers, 10, IOI, 182, 283-93.

Eggs, destruction of incu-
bated, 285, 290.

Eider, Somateria dresseri, 9,
44, 45, 60, 89, 96, 97, 139,
175, 182, 289, 301-16.

344

INDEX

conservation of, 301-16.
destruction of, 289, 290,
302-04.
down of, 44, 305-15.
local names of, 301.
European, S. mollissima,
305.
Northern, S. mollissima bo-
realis, 302.
Elder, Capt. Sam, 266.
Elevation of coast, 61-64,
88, 121, 154, 183, 249,
250.
Ellis Bay, 34.
Emerton, J. H., 69, 183.
Emery, Capt., I, 4.
English Point, 80.
Ernest, cook, 77, 135, 183.
Eskimos, 215.
former distribution of, 231,
232.
numbers of, 33.
Esquimaux Island, 230, 231.
Point, 35, 36, 231.
River, 227-29.
Eudist Brotherhood, 73, 261.
Eye of the buck, 181.

Férland, Abbé, 169.
Fernald, Prof. M. L., 211, 213,
217, 251-55, 257.
Fiards, 205.
Fiords, 204, 205.
Fir, Balsam. See Balsam Fir.
Fish, business, 244-47, 330,
331.
fertilizer, 274, 275, 276, 281.
licenses, 295.
Fishing-room, 245. *
Fishing season, 132.
Flatey Book, 212.

Flies, 16, 20, 47, 70, 86, 177,
195, 269.
Flounder, 274.
Flour, white, 281, 282.
Fly, black, Simulium, 47, 269.
Flycatcher, Yellow-bellied,
Empidonax flaviventris,
42, 50, 51, 158.
Olive-sided, Nuttallornis bo-
realis, 42.
Fog, 238, 239, 260, 270.
Forest trees at Blanc Sablon,
252-59.
dimensions of, 252, 257, 258.
Forest vegetation, 252, 254,
255, 256.
Forbes, J. D., 204.
Forman, Jim, 81.
Fort Pontchartrain, 224.
Forteau, 24, 245.
Fox, black, Vulpes fulvus, 36,
133, 208, 277.
red, Vulpes fulvus, 277.
Fox Island, 144.
Frankland, Mr., 324, 325.
Frazar, M. Abbott, 108, 136,
286, 304.
Fur-bearing animals raised in
captivity, 36, 277-79.
Furs, 21, 57, 102, 166, 179, 197.

Gagnon, Abbé, 161.

Galibois Islands, 131.
Galibois, Jean-Baptiste, 127.
Galibois, Joe, 131, 138.
Gallichon brothers, 172.
Gallix, Pére, 70.
Game-wardens, 294.

Gannet, Sula bassana, 6, 234,

330.
Ganong, Prof. W. F., 189.

345

INDEX

Garden of M. Beetz, 39.
of Capt. Cartwright, 280,
281.
of Mr. Morrell, 247.
of Natashquan priests, 71.
of Donald Alexander Smith,
282.
Garnier, Pére, 70.
Gasoline engine. See Motor-
boats.
Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, 238.
Gill-netting, 266, 267.
Glacial boulders, 121, 122, 158,
159, 195, 200.
cirque, 172.
lunoid furrows, 185, 186.
scratches, 159.
Godbout, 28, 32.
Godde. See Auk, Razor-billed.
Godefroy, Jean, 227.
Godefroy de St. Paul, Jean
Amador, 227.
Godwin, Pilot, 6, 7.
Goose, Canada, Branta cana-
densis, 30, 330.
Gosling, W. C., 231, 232.
Grain rouge. See Mountain
Cranberry.
Grand Bay, 45.
Grand Manan, 324.
Grand Romaine River, 83.
Granitic rocks, 99, 110, 130,
185, 230, 248, 249.
Grant, Edwin G., 244.
Grape, Northern fox, Vitis
labrusca, 214-22.
Grape-vines, 216, 219.
Grassy Island, 211.
Great Island, 176.
Great Mecattina Island, 167,
172.

Greenland, 212, 216.
Greenly Island, 245, 265.
Gregory, G. W., 205.
Grenfell, Dr. W. T., 144-47,
210, 226.
coéperative stores, 146.
hospitals, 143, 144, 146.
industrial stations, 145.
mission, 145, 146.
mission fleet, 146, 147.
work of, 147.
Grenfell Shoals, 188.
Grouse, Ruffed, Bonasa umbel-
lus togata, 190.
Spruce, Canachites cana-
densis, 19, 225, 226.
Guano, 111, 282, 283.
Guillaume, mate, 76, 77, 135.
Guillemot, Foolish. See Murre.
Guillemot, Black, Cepphus
grylle, 125, 129, 139, 140,
141, 172, 182, 188, 211,

294.
Gulf of St. Lawrence, 17, 31,
153.
Gull, European mew, Larus
canus, 136.
Great black-backed, Larus
marinus, 44, 65, 82, 93,
94, 96-100, III, 172, 175,
21I, 291.
Herring, Larus argentatus,
44, 82, 211.
‘Kumlien’s, Larus Kumlieni,

4I.
Ring-billed, Larus dela-
warensis, 135-37, 289.
Gull Cliff Island, 144.
Gull Island, 119, 136.
Gulls, destruction of, 290, 291.
Gulnare, schooner, 11, 20, 332.

346

INDEX:

Gyrfalcon, Black or Labrador,
Falco rusticolus obsoletus,
24.

Ha Ha Bay, 172.

Halifax eggers, 10, 286.

Hamilton Inlet, 197.

River, 180, 181.

Harbor of Canso, 5.

Hare, Dr. H. Mather, 29, 143.

Hare Harbor, 18, 154.

Harrington, 143, 144.

hospital, 143, 144.

Hawk, Pigeon, Falco colum-
barius, 88, 89.

Head of the Whale Islands,
160, 161, 162.

Hearn, Capt. J., 27, 28, 29.

Helluland, 213, 216, 220.

Herrick, Francis Hobart, 15.

Hesry, Pére, 161, 180, 240, 261.

Hill, James J., 35.

Hind, Henry Yule, 55.

Horse, the Natashquan
priests’, 71, 72.

Hospitals, Grenfell, 143, 144,
146.

Houses, summer, 222; winter,
133, 222.

Hovgaard, Prof. William, 212,
216, 219.

Huard, Abbé, 81, 160, 161,
164, 235, 244.

Hudson’s Bay Company, Io,
33, 46, 70, 83, 89, 176, 178.

Hunt, Edward, 270.

Hveiti, 213.
Ice, 87.
Iceberg, 22.

Iceland, 214, 305-13.

fle au Bois, 245, 255, 267.

fle Bayfield. See Sandy Isle.

Tle de la Providence, 160.

Tles Affligées, 172.

Indians, 10, 47, 53, 54-57, 83-

-85, 101, 167, 168, 182,
196, 228, 231, 302-04.
appearance, 56, 84.
camping-place, 54,83,84,198.
dogs, 54, 55, 83.
dress, 55, 56.
migration-routes, 57, 178,
179.
numbers of, 33.
photographing, 83, 84.
portage paths, 41, 44, 163,
178, 181, 194, 196-201.
race, 55.
religious rites, 57, 82.
sweat-house, I99, 200.

Ingalls, William, 2, 3, 18.

International Grenfell Asso-
ciation, 145.

Iris, blue, Zris versicolor and
Iris setosa, var. cana-
densis, 61.

Island of Birds, 242.

Isles of the Blest, 220.

Jack Nasty Passage, 232.
Jacques Cartier’s Harbor, 189,

190-92.

Jay, Labrador, Perisoreus
canadensis nigricapillus,
200, 203.

Jestico Island, 5.

Jigging for cod, 267, 268.

Job Brothers and Company,
Limited, 188, 244.

Joncas, Capt. A. Edmond, 36,
77-80, 108, 136, 163.

347

INDEX

Joncas, Richard, 46.

Jones, Mr., of Bradore, 22,
236, 237, 263.

_ Jones, Gilbert, 118.

Jones’s Point, 237.

Juliet Harbor, 141, 142.

Kakas, William, 33.
Kegashka, 81.
Kekarpoui Islands, 172.
Kenty Island, 161.

King George the Fifth Sea-
men’s Institute, 145.
Kinglet, Ruby-crowned, Re-

* gulus calendula, 158.
Kittiwake, Rissa tridactyla,
234.
Komatik, 78, 133.
Krekiber, 218.

Labrador, The, 32.
Labrador, Canadian, 32, 247,

292.
Labrador, Newfoundland, 32,
247, 292, 293.

Labrador Fur Company, 46.
Labrador Peninsula, area of,
31.
definition of, 31, 32.
population of, 33.
Labrador tea, Ledum gren-
landicum, 43, 60, 69, 155.
Labradorians, hospitality of,
133, 244.
Lake Island, 121.
Lake Misstassini, 259.
Lalo, Ambroise, 100.
Larch, Larix laricina, 69, 90.
Lark, Horned, Otocoris al-
pestris, 14, 21, 22, 91, 92,
129, 195.

Prairie horned, Otocoris al-
pestris praticola, 92.
Shore. See Lark, Horned.
Laurel, pale, Kalmia polifolia,
12, 65, 69, 88.
Laurentian, S.S., 66.
Laurentian Mountains, 65, 81,

87.
Laws, game, 294, 295.
Leatherleaf, Chamedaphne

calyculata, 69.
Leif, the son of Eric, 211-13.
Licenses, fish and game, 295.
Lichens, 65, 142, 150, 155,
158, 211, 230.
Limestone, Cambro-Silurian,
36, 130, 248.
Lincoln, B., letter from, 322.
Lincoln, Thomas, 2, 12, 16,
48, 50, 321.
Linnea, Linnea borealis var.
americana, 252.
Little, Dr. John Mason, Jr.,
145, 281.
Little Coxipi River, 193, 196.
Little Mecattina Island, 18,
20, 151, 153.
Little Natashquan River, 8, 9,
45, 47, 61, 70.
Little Shecatica River, 193,
194.
Liveyeres, 302.
Lobster, Homarus americanus,
276.
Lobster Bay, 210.
Lolo, Pierre, 84.
Long Point of Blanc Sablon,
240, 244, 261.
Loon, Gavia immer, 203.
Red-throated, Gavia stellata,
15, 123, 124.

348

INDEX

Lovage, Scotch, Ligusticum
Scoticum, 246.

Lungwort, Mertensia marit-
ima, 57.

Lydia Harbor, 210.

McDuff, Dr., 29.

McKinnon, Jacques, 172, 173.

Magdalen Islands, 5, 81, 190,
330.

Marconi Wireless Station, 38,
144.

Markland, 213, 216, 220.

Marmette. See Murre.

Maryland Yellow- throat,
Geothlypis trichas, 90.

Masur, 213.

Matchiatik Island, 125,
127.

Mecattina Harbor, 20, 166.

Meigle, S.S., 270.

Menier, Gaston, 34.

Menier, Henri, 34.

Merganser, Red - breasted,
Mergus serrator, 43, 206,
207.

Michaux, Pierre Jean-Bap-
tiste, 21, 166.

Michel, Leander, 167.

Migrations of water-birds, 30,
107.

Mineral wealth of Labrador,
283.

Mink, Putorius vison, 278.

Mission of St. Anne, 160,
161.

Misstassini Island, 121.

Misstassini Lake, 259.

Molony, M., 83.

Montreal, 27. 2

Morrell, Thomas, 247.

Mosquitoes, 16, 20, 47, 76,
110, 280, 333,'334-

Motor-boats, 188, 208, 211,
238, 292.

Mount Cartier, 238.

Mount St. John, 35.

Mountain Cranberry, Vac-
cinium Vitis-Id@a var.
minus, 53, 54, 65, 183,
184, 211, 217-21, 262.

Murre, Uria troille, 9, 13, 89,
III, 114-16, 139, 284, 290.

Briinnich’s, Uria lomvia,

117.

Ringed, Uria ringvia (=
U. troille), 115, 116.
Murres, destruction of, 284-

86, 290.
Muskrat, Labrador, Fiber
zibethicus aquilonius, 278.
Musquarro, 82.
Mussey, Dr. Reuben Dimond,

334.
Mutton Bay, 20, 163, 164.

Nadeau Island, 162.

Nansen, Fridtjof, 212, 218,
280.

Napetepi Bay, 210.

Napetepi Lake, 210.

Natashquan, history of, 72.

Natashquan, steamer, 66, 67.

Natashquan Harbor, 8, 63,
64, 332.

Natashquan River, 10, 42, 46,
54, 63, 80, 179.

Natashquan Village, 45, 46,
66, 72.

Netagamon River, 142.

Newfoundland, 25, 209, 210,
216.

349

INDEX

Newfoundland, Bishop of, 95.

Newfoundland fishermen, 121,
137, 156, 234, 235, 289,
293, 295.

Norsemen, 212-22.

North-West River, 178, 179,
282.

Notre Dame de Lourdes, 261.

Oakes, William, 23.
Observation, lack of, 60.
Old Fort, 222-26.

Old Fort Island, 222.

Old Post, 168, 172.

Olson, Julius E., 211.

Open seasons for game, 295.
Outard. See Goose, Canada.
Outer Island, 111.

Packard, Prof. A. S., 238.
Parkman, Dr. George, 320,
335, 336.
Partridge-berry. See Moun-
tain Cranberry.
Pashashiboo, 45.
Paul Nadeau Island, 183.
Perroquet. See Puffin.
Perroquet Island, 23, 239-

43.

Perroquet Islands, 81, 288.

Petrel, Wilson’s, Oceanttes
oceanicus, 234.

Pewee, wood, Myiochanes vi-
rens, 51.

Phalarope, Northern, Lobipes
lobatus, 326.

Piashte Bay, 36, 41, 44, 52.
Pinguicula, Pinguicula vul-
garis, 129, 130, 135.
Pipit, Anthus rubescens, 129,

130, 158, 195.

Pitcher-plant, Sarracenia pur-
purea, 69.

Plover, Killdeer, Oxyechus vo-
ciferus, 41.

Pointe au Maurier. See Seal-
Net Point.

Pointe des Monts, 32.

Pork cake, 269.

Porpoise, Phocena phocena,
106, 107, 233.

Port of Brest. See Brest, Port
of. é

Portage, Grand, 196-201.

Porter, Russell W., 180.

Potatoes, 71.

Poulailler, 136.

Poverty, 134.

Ptarmigan, Willow, Lagopus
lagopus, 15, 237.

Puffin, Fratercula arctica, 13,
24, 89, 234, 239-43, 288,
289.

destruction of, 242, 288,
289.
nesting-burrows of, 241, 289.

Pyrola, One-flowered, Moneses

uniflora, 252.

Quatachoo, 45.
Quebec, 28.
Quintal, 132.

Rail, Virginia, Rallus vir-
ginianus, 104.

Rapide Lessard, 174.

Raven, Corvus corax princi-
palis, 157, 175, 264, 327.

Redpoll, Acanthts linaria, 261.

Redstart, Setophaga ruticilla,
42, 43.

Reeves, A. M., 211.

350

INDEX

Reindeer, Rangifer tarandus,
149, 150.

Reindeer moss (lichen), 65, 69,
175, 183, 225.

Reservations, bird, 172, 296-
300, 315, 316.

Rigaud, Philippe de, 227.

Rigolet, La Grande, 183.

Rigolet, La Petite, 174-76.

Ripley, schooner, I, 4, 13, 18,
23, 74, 122, 163.

River as a guide, 195.

Robertson, Samuel, 21, 223,
224.

Robertson, Samuel, 3d, 168-71.

Robin, Planesticus migrato-
rius, 9, 184.

Robin, George, 203.

Robin, Louis, 189, 203.

Rocky Bay, 210.

Romaine, 83.

derivation of name, 83.

Romaine, Old, 13, 89, 96, 140.

Romaine River, 83, 86, 87,179.

Ross, Sir Charles, 86.

Sable Island, 27.
Saga of Eric the Red, 212.
St. Anthony, codperative
store, 146.
guest-house, 145.
hospital, 145.
industrial house, 145.
mission school, 145.
orphanage, 145.
St. Augustine Hudson’s Bay
Post, 176.
St. Augustine River, 178, 179-
81.
St. James River, 189, 191, 192.
St. John, Harold, botanist, 27,

75, 86, 92, 93, 124, 129,
135, 163, 177, 197, 201.

St. John River, 35.

Saint-Malo, Igo.

St. Mary’s Island, 80, 131.

St. Paul River, 21, 197, 227,
229.

St. Paul’s Bay, 228.

Salmon, Salmo salar, 35, 85,
103, 104.

Salmon Bay, 232.

Salmon fishing, 41, 45, 103,
104, 133, 140, 175, 228,
229.

Salt-marshes, 61, 62.

Sand-banks, marine, 63, 184.

Sand dunes, 81, 260, 262, 263.

Sandpiper, Least, Pisobia min-
utilla, 124, 125.

Spotted, Actitis macularia,
108, 109.

Sand-ridges, 88.

Sandstone, 240, 248-50.

Sandy Island, 182, 184.

Scoter, White-winged, Oide-
mia deglandi, 8.

Scurvy, 134, 277, 280.

Seal, gray, Halicherus grypus,
138.

Harbor, Phoca vitulina, 38,
133, 138.

Harp, Phoca grenlandica,
133, 138.

Sealing, 276, 277.

Seal-meat, 38, 39, 183, 277.

Seal-netting, 138, 168.

Seal-Net Point, 131, 135, 289.

Sea goose. See Phalarope,
Northern.

Sea-pigeon. See Guillemot,
Black.

351

INDEX

Sea Star, schooner, 36, 45, 74,
75, 131, 135, 162, 173, 195-
Sedge, Dewey’s, Carex dewey-
ana, 252.
Seebohm, Henry, 202.
Seven Islands, 33, 179.
Shag Island, 144.
Shaler, Prof. N. S., 260.
Shattuck, Dr. F. C., 319.
Shattuck, George C., Sr., let-
ter from, 319-23.
Shattuck, George C., 1, 4.
letters from, 323-35.
Shecatica Bay, 188, 189.
Shecatica Inlet, 189, 192, 193,
204.
Shecatica Island, 208.
Sheldrake. See Merganser.
Shooting, spring, 288.
Silver-weed,Potentilla pacifica,
61.
Skraelings, 215.
Sleeping-bag, 75, 76.
Smith, Donald Alexander. See
Strathcona, Lord.
Snipe, Gallinago delicata, 260.
Snow, I5I, 163, 165.
Snowberry, Chiogenes
pidula, 226, 252.
Soil formation, 65, 156.
Solomon-seal, dwarf, Maian-
themum canadense, 252.
Sparrow, Fox, Passerellailiaca,
9, 21, 47, 184, 202.
Lincoln's, Melospiza lincolni,
II, 12, 21, 26, 48-50,
260.
Song, Melospiza melodia,
48, 259, 260.
Swamp, Melospiza georgiana,
260.

his-

Tree, Spizella monticola, 91.

White-crowned, Zonotrichia
leucophrys, 21, 39, 175,
184, 195.

White-throated, Zonoiri-
chia albicollis, 30, 47, 184.

Sparr Point, 21, 168.

Species, value of, 104-06.

Sphagnum, 69, 88.

Spiders, 69, 70, 183.

Spitting habit, 209, 210.

Splitting-table, 85, 132.

Spring, Arctic, 9, 10, 165.

Spruce, black, Picea mariana,
65, 68, 69, 70, 81, 87, 90,
155, 175, 193, 257, 258,
263.

white, Picea canadensis, 66.

“ Squatters of Labrador, The,”
21, 166, 236.

Star-flower, Trientalis ameri-
cana, 252.

Storms, 8, 14, 17, 93-95-

Straits of Belle Isle, 31, 244,
255-

Strand wheat, Elymus are-
narius, 142,183, 211, 214,
262, 281.

Strathcona, Lord, 178, 275,
282.

Strathcona, S.S., 146, 188, 226.

Stumps at Blanc Sablon, 252-

59.

Subsidence of coast, 61, 62,
121, 158.

Sundew, Drosera rotundifolia,
129.

Sunrise, 153.

Sunset, 186, 187.

Swallow, Eave, Petrochelidon
lunifrons, 41.

352

INDEX

Sweet-gale, Myrica Gale, 69.
Swiftsure, Cutter, 324.
Syrinx, 87.

Tabatiére Bay, 167, 168.
Taverner, P. A., 103, 104.
Telegraph line, 132.
Temperature, 20, 25, 53, 68,
151, 171.
Tern, Caspian, Sterna caspia,
107, 108.
Common, Sterna hirundo,
44, 108.
Royal, Sterna maxima, 108.
Théberge, Abbé, 160.
Thrills in the pursuit of hob-
bies, 201, 202.
Thrush, Hermit, Hylocichla
guttata pallasi, 30.
Tickle, 230.
Tinker. See Auk, Razor-
billed.
Tishkatawaka, 63.
Toads, trilling of, 64.
Tommie, steam trawler, 266.
Trees, age of, 259.
Tremblay, Dr., 29.
Trinity, 28.
Triple Island, 82.
Trout, Salvelinus, 177, 203.
Trout fishing, 268, 269.
Trout River, 33.
Tuberculosis, 209, 210.
Tundra. See Bog.
Turnip-tops, 39.
Turnstone, Ruddy, Arenaria
interpres morinella, 326.
Tyrker Southman, 213, 218,
221.

Ungava, 31.

Vatergamashook, 199.

Vie toujours. See Lungwort.

Vignot, Alfred, 72.

Vignot, Charles, 72, 164.

Vignot, Paul, 72.

Vikings, 214.

| Vinber, 213, 216-22.

Vinland, 211-22.

Vinvio, 213, 219.

Violet, great-spurred, Viola
Selkirkit, 252.

Voyage, 245.

Wakefield, Dr. Arthur, 210.
Walrus, Odobenus rosmarus,
203.

Wapitagun, 90, 121.
derivation of name, 121.
Wapitagun Harbor, 13, 122,

123.
War news, 35, 38, 58, 164.
Warbler, Black and White,
Mniotilta varia, 42.
Black-poll, Dendroica Stri-
ata, 42, 43, 157, 175.
Black-throated green, Den-
droica virens, 42, 43.
Magnolia, Dendroica mag-
nolia, 42.
Tennessee, Vermivora pere-
grina, 30, 42, 51, 52.
Yellow, Dendroica estiva, 42.
Yellow palm, Dendroica
palmarum hypochrysea,42.
Wilson's, Wilsonia pusilla,
21, 86, 87.
Washsheecootai, 82, 113.
Watcheeshoo, 45, 59.
Waterfalls, 9, 41, 44, 45, 64,
65, 142, 194, 195.
Water-power in Labrador,283.

353

INDEX

Water thrush, Seiurus nove-
boracensis, 42, 194.

Webster, Daniel, 337.

West, Dr. J. H., 29, 143.

Whabby. See Loon,
throated.

Whale, sub-fossil, 64.

Whale factory, 30.

Wheat, 220.

Whistling for a breeze, 143.

Widgeon, European, Mareca
penelope, 41.

Wilcomb, Capt., 22.

Willson, Beckles, 178.

Windlasses for seal-nets, 138.

Wine-making of the Norse-
men, 217-22.

Red-

Winter, pleasures of, 133, 134.

Wizard, schooner, 22.

Wolf Bay, 117.

Wood, Col. William, 298.

Wood-piles, 222.

Wood-pulp, 30, 283.

Wren, Winter, Nannus hie-
malis, 21, 124.

Yankee Harbor, 131.
Yellow-throat, Maryland,
Geothlypis trichas, 90.

Zone, Arctic, 41, 90, 91, 130,
158, 193.
Hudsonian, 41,
193.

91, 158,

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