is raging furiously around our vessel. My reason for not writing at
night is that 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 powers would
abandon me; my neck, my shoulders, and, more than all, my fingers,
were almost useless through actual fatigue at drawing. Who would
believe this?--yet nothing is more true. When at the return of dawn my
spirits called me out of my berth, my body seemed to beg my mind to
suffer it to rest a while longer; and as dark forced me to lay aside
my brushes I immediately went to rest as if I had walked sixty-five
miles that day, as I have done _a few times_ in my stronger days.
Yesternight, when I rose from my little seat to contemplate my work
and to judge of the effect of it compared with the nature which I had
been attempting to copy, it was the affair of a moment; and instead of
waiting, as I always like to do, until that hazy darkness which is to
me the best time to judge of the strength of light and shade, I went
at once to rest as if delivered from the heaviest task I ever
performed. 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. But I thank God
that I did accomplish my task; my drawings are finished to the best of
my ability, the skins well prepared by John. We have been to Paroket
Island to procure the young of the _Mormon arcticus_. As we approached
the breeding-place, the air was filled with these birds, and the water
around absolutely covered with them, while on the rocks were
thousands, like sentinels on the watch. I took a stand, loaded and
shot twenty-seven times, and killed twenty-seven birds, singly and on
the wing, without missing a shot; as friend Bachman would say, "Pretty
fair, Old Jostle!" The young men laughed, and said the birds were so
thick no one could miss if he tried; however, none of them did so
well. We had more than we wanted, but the young were all too small to
draw with effect. Nearly every bird I killed had a fish in its beak,
closely held by the head, and the body dangling obliquely in the air.
These fish were all of the kind called here _Lints_, a long slender
fish now in shoals of millions. How many must the multitude of
Mormons inhabiting this island destroy daily? Whilst flying they all
issue a rough croak, but none dropped the fish, nor indeed did they
let it go when brought to the earth. The _Larus marinus_ have now
almost all gone south with their young; indeed, very few Gulls of any
sort are now to be seen. Whilst on the island we saw a Hawk pounce on
a Puffin and carry it off. Curlews have increased in numbers, but
during two fair days we had they could not be approached; indeed, they
appear to be so intent on their passage south that whenever the
weather permits they are seen to strike high in the air across the
harbor. The gale is so severe that our anchors have dragged forty or
fifty yards, but by letting out still more chain we are now safe. It
blows and rains so hard that it is impossible to stand in the bow of
our vessel. But this is not all,--who, _now_, will deny the existence
of the Labrador Falcon?[234] 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 Havell's engraver. This bird
(both male and female) was shot by John whilst on an excursion 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. John shot
them on the wing, whilst they were in company with their two young
ones. The birds, one would be tempted to believe, had never seen a man
before, for these affectionate parents dashed towards the gunners with
fierce velocity, and almost instantly died from the effects of two
well-directed shots. All efforts to procure the young birds were
ineffectual; they were full grown, and as well as could be seen,
exactly resembled the dead ones. The whole group flew much like the
Peregrine Falcon, which indeed resembles them much in form, but
neither in size nor color. Sometimes they hover almost high in air
like a small Sparrow Hawk when watching some object fit for prey on
the ground, and now and then cry much like the latter, but louder in
proportion with the difference of size in the two species. Several
times they alighted on stakes in the sandbar at the entrance of Bras
d'Or River, and stood not as Hawks generally do, uprightly, but
horizontally and much like a _Lestris_ or a Tern. Beneath their nest
we found the remains of _Alca torda_, _Uria troile_, and _Mormon
arcticus_--all of which are within their reach on an island here
called Parocket Island--also the remains of Curlews and Ptarmigans.
The nest was so situated that it could not be reached, only seen into.
Both birds were brought to me in excellent order. No more is known of
this bird, I believe.
My evening has been enlivened by the two Italians from the "Wizard,"
who have been singing many songs to the accompaniment of John's
violin.
_August 11. At sea, Gulf of St. Lawrence._ We are now, seven of the
evening, fully fifty miles from the coast of Labrador. We left our
harbor at eleven o'clock with a fair breeze; the storm of last night
had died away and everything looked promising. The boats were sent
ashore for a supply of fresh water; John and Coolidge went after
Curlews; the rest of the crew, assisted by that of the "Wizard,"
raised the anchors, and all was soon in readiness. The bottom of our
vessel had been previously scraped and cleaned from the thousands of
barnacles, which, with a growth of seaweeds, seemed to feed upon her
as they do on the throat of a whale. The two Italians and Captain
Wilcomb came on board to bid us adieu; we hoisted sail, and came out
of the Labrador harbor. Seldom in my life have I left a country with
as little regret as I do this; the next nearest to this was East
Florida, after my excursions up the St. John's River. As we sailed
away, and I saw, probably for the last time, the high rugged hills
partly immersed in masses of the thick fog that usually hovers over
them, and knew that now the bow of our truly fine vessel was turned
towards the place where thou, my Lucy, art waiting for me, I felt
rejoiced, although yet far away. Now we are sailing in full sight of
the northwestern coast of Newfoundland, the mountains of which are
high, with drifted snow-banks dotted over them, and cut horizontally
with floating strata of fogs reaching along the land as far as the eye
can see. The sea is quite smooth; at least I think so, or have become
a better seaman through habit. John and Lincoln are playing airs on
the violin and flute; the other young men are on deck. It is worth
saying that during the two months we have been on the coast of
Labrador, moving from one harbor to another, or from one rocky isle to
another, only three nights have we spent at sea. Twenty-three drawings
have been executed, or commenced and nearly completed. Whether this
voyage will prove a fruitful one remains to be proved; but I am
content, and hope the Creator will permit us to reach our country and
find our friends well and happy.
_August 13. Harbor of St. George, St. George's Bay, Newfoundland._ We
have been running, as the sailors say, till five this evening, when we
anchored here. Our way here was all in sight of land along the
northwest shores of Newfoundland, the highest land we have yet seen;
in some places the scenery was highly picturesque and agreeable to the
eye, though little more vegetation appeared than in Labrador. Last
night was a boisterous one, and we were all uncomfortable. This
morning we entered the mouth of St. George's Bay, about thirteen
leagues broad and fully eighteen deep. A more beautiful and ample
basin cannot easily be found; not an obstruction is within it. The
northeast shores are high and rocky, but the southern ones are sandy,
low, and flat. It took us till five o'clock to ascend it and come to
our present anchorage, in sight of a small village, the only one we
have seen these two months, and on a harbor wherein more than fifty
line-of-battle ships could safely ride, the bottom being of clay. The
village is built on an elongated point of sand, or natural sea-wall,
under which we now are, and is perfectly secure from every wind but
the northeast. The country as we ascended the bay became more woody
and less rough. The temperature changed quite suddenly, and this
afternoon the weather was so mild that it was agreeable on deck, and
congenial even to a southerner like myself. We find here several small
vessels engaged in the fisheries, and an old hulk from Hull, England,
called "Charles Tennison"; she was lost near this on her way from
Quebec to Hull some years ago. As we came up the bay, a small boat
with two men approached and boarded us, assisting as pilots. They had
a barrel of fine salmon, which I bought for ten dollars. As soon as
our anchors touched bottom, our young men went on shore to try to
purchase some fresh provisions, but returned with nothing but two
bottles of milk, though the village is said to contain two hundred
inhabitants. Mackerel are caught all round us, and sharks of the
man-eating kind are said to be abundant just now, and are extremely
troublesome to the fishers' nets. Some signs of cultivation are to be
seen across the harbor, and many huts of Mic-Mac Indians _adorn_ the
shores. We learn the winter here is not nearly as severe as at Quebec;
the latitude of this place and the low, well-guarded situation of the
little village, at once account for this; yet not far off I see
patches of snow remaining from last winter. Some tell us birds are
abundant, others that there are none; but we shall soon ascertain
which report is true. I have not slept a minute since we left
Labrador. The ice here did not break up so that the bay could be
navigated till the 17th of May, and I feel confident no one could
enter the harbors of Labrador before the 10th of June, or possibly
even later.
_August 14._ All ashore in search of birds, plants, shells, and all
the usual _et ceteras_ attached to our vocations; but we all were
driven on board soon, by a severe storm of wind and rain, showing that
Newfoundland has its share of bad weather. Whilst on shore we found
the country quite rich compared with Labrador, all the vegetable
productions being much larger, more abundant, and finer. We saw a
flock of House Swallows that had bred about the little village, now on
their passage southwest, and all gay and singing. I forgot to say that
two days since, when about forty miles out at sea, we saw a flock of
the Republican Swallow. I saw here the Blue yellow-eyed Warbler, the
Fish-Hawk, several species of Sparrows, among them the Lincoln's
Finch, the Canada Titmouse, Black-headed ditto, White-winged
Crossbill, Pine Grosbeak, Maryland Yellow-throat, Pigeon Hawk, Hairy
Woodpecker, Bank Swallow, Tell-tale Godwit, Golden-eyed Duck,
Red-breasted Merganser, three Loons,--of which two were young and
almost able to fly; the Spotted Sandpiper, and a flock of Tringas, the
species of which could not be ascertained. We spoke to some of the
native Indians to try to engage them to show us the way to the
interior, where we are told the Small, or True Ptarmigan abounds, but
they were too lazy even to earn money. Among the plants we found two
varieties of rose, and the narrow-leaved kalmia. Few supplies can be
obtained, and a couple of small clearings are all the cultivated land
we have seen since we left the Magdalene Islands. On returning to our
vessel, I was rowed on the roughest sea I have ever before encountered
in an open boat, but our captain was at the helm and we reached the
deck safely but drenched to the skin. The wind has now abated, and I
hope to draw plants all day. This evening a flock of Terns, twenty or
thirty with their young, travelled due south; they were very clamorous
and beat against the gale most beautifully. Several Indians came on
board and promised to go to-morrow after Hares.
_August 15._ We have had a beautiful day; this morning some Indians
came alongside; they had half a Reindeer or Caribou, and a Hare which
I had never seen before. We took the forty-four pounds of fresh meat
and gave in exchange twenty-one of pork and thirty-three of
ship-biscuit, and paid a quarter of a dollar for the Hare, which
plainly shows that these Indians know full well the value of the game
which they procure. I spent a portion of the day in adding a plant to
my drawing of the Red-necked Diver, after which we all went on shore
to the Indians' camp across the bay. We found them, as I expected, all
lying down pell-mell in their wigwams. A strong mixture of blood was
apparent in their skins, shape, and deportment; some indeed were
nearly white, and sorry I am to say that the nearer to our own noble
selves, the filthier and lazier they are; the women and children were
particularly disgusting. Some of the former, from whom I purchased
some rough baskets, were frightfully so. Other women had been out
collecting the fruit called here "baked apple" [_Rubus chamaemorus_].
When a little roasted it tastes exactly like baked apple. The children
were engaged in catching lobsters and eels, of which there are numbers
in all the bays here; at Labrador, lobsters are rare. The young
Indians simply waded out up to their knees, turned the eel grass over,
and secured their prey. After much parley, we engaged two hunters to
go as guides into the interior to procure Caribou and Hares, for which
they were to receive a dollar a day each. Our men caught ninety-nine
lobsters, all of good size; the shores truly abound in this valuable
shell-fish. The Indians roast them in a fire of brushwood, and devour
them without salt or any other _et ceteras_. The Caribous are now "in
velvet," and their skins light gray, the flesh tender, but the animal
poor. The average weight when in good condition, four hundred pounds.
In the early part of March the Caribou leave the hills and come to the
sea-shore to feed on kelp and sea-grasses cut off by the ice and cast
on the shore. Groups of many hundreds may be seen thus feeding. The
flesh here is held in low estimation; it tastes like poor venison. I
saw to-day several pairs of Cayenne Terns on their way south; they
flew high, and were very noisy. The Great Terns passed also in vast
multitudes. When the weather is stormy, they skim close over the
water; if fair, they rise very high and fly more at leisure. The
Tell-tale Godwit is now extremely fat, extremely juicy, extremely
tender, and extremely good. The _Parus hudsonicus_ is very abundant;
so is the Pine Grosbeak, but in a shocking state of moult. The _Kalmia
angustifolia_[235] the natives say, is an antidote for cramp and
rheumatism. I was on the point of bidding thee good-night, when we all
were invited to a ball[236] on shore. I am going with the rest out of
curiosity.
_August 16._ The people seemed to enjoy themselves well at the ball,
and John played the violin for them till half-past two. I returned on
board before eleven, and slept soundly till the young men hailed for a
boat. This morning has been spent drawing a kalmia to a bird. The
young men went off with the Indians this morning, but returned this
evening driven back by flies and mosquitoes. Lincoln is really in
great pain. They brought a pair of Willow Grouse, old and young; the
latter had no hairy feathers yet on the legs. They saw Canada Jays,
Crossbills, Pine Grosbeaks, Robins, one Golden-winged Woodpecker, many
Canadian Titmice, a Martin Swallow, a Kingfisher (none in Labrador),
heard a Squirrel which sounded like the Red Squirrel. The country was
described as being "up and down the whole way." The moss almost as
deep as in Labrador, the morasses quite as much so; no tall wood, and
no hard wood. The lads were all so fatigued that they are now sound
asleep.
_August 17._ We would now be "ploughing the deep" had the wind been
fair; but as it was not, here we still are _in statu quo_. I have
drawn a curious species of alder to my White-winged Crossbill, and
finished it. I had a visit from an old Frenchman who has resided on
this famous island for fifty years; he assured me that no Red Indians
were now to be found: the last he heard of were seen twenty-two years
ago. These native Indians give no quarter to anybody; usually, after
killing their foes, they cut the heads off the latter, and leave the
body to the wild beasts of the country. Several flocks of Golden
Plovers passed over the bay this forenoon; two _Lestris pomarina_ came
in this evening. Ravens abound here, but no Crows have been seen. The
Great Tern is passing south by thousands, and a small flock of Canada
Geese was seen. A young of the Golden-crested Wren was shot, full
grown and fledged, but not a sign of yellow on the head. A _Muscicapa_
(Flycatcher) was killed which probably is new; to-morrow will tell. I
bought seven Newfoundland dogs for seventeen dollars; now I shall be
able to fulfil my promises to friends. The American Bittern breeds
here, and leaves in about two weeks hence.
_August 18._ At daylight the wind was fair, and though cloudy, we
broke our anchorage, and at five were under way. We coasted
Newfoundland till evening, when the wind blew a gale from the
southwest, and a regular tempest set in. Our vessel was brought to at
dusk, and we danced and kicked over the waves all evening, and will do
so all night.
_August 19._ The storm still continues, without any sign of abating;
we are still at anchor, tossed hither and thither, and withal
sea-sick.
_August 21._ To-day the storm ceased, but the wind is still so adverse
that we could make no port of Newfoundland; towards this island we
steered, for none of us wished to return to Labrador. We tried to
enter the Strait of Canseau, but the wind failed us; while the vessel
lay becalmed we decided to try to reach Pictou in Nova Scotia and
travel by land. We are now beating about towards that port and hope to
reach it early to-morrow morning. The great desire we all have to see
Pictou, Halifax, and the country between them and Eastport, is our
inducement.
_August 22._ After in vain attempting to reach Pictou, we concluded,
after dinner, that myself and party should be put ashore anywhere, and
the "Ripley" should sail back towards the Straits of Canseau, the wind
and tide being favorable. We drank a glass of wine to our wives and
our friends, and our excellent little captain took us to the shore,
while the vessel stood still, with all sails up, awaiting his return.
We happened to land on an island called Ruy's Island, where,
fortunately for us, we found some men making hay. Two of these we
engaged to carry our trunks and two of the party to this place,
Pictou, for two dollars--truly cheap. Our effects, or rather those we
needed, were soon put up, we all shook hands most heartily with the
captain--to whom we now feel really attached--said farewell to the
crew, and parted, giving three hearty cheers. We were now, thanks to
God, positively on the mainland of our native country, and after four
days' confinement in our berths, and sick of sea-sickness, the sea and
all its appurtenances, we felt so refreshed that the thought of
walking nine miles seemed like nothing more than dancing a quadrille.
The air felt deliciously warm, the country, compared with those we
have so lately left, appeared perfectly beautiful, and the smell of
the new-mown grass was the sweetest that ever existed. Even the music
of the crickets was delightful to mine ears, for no such insect does
either Labrador or Newfoundland afford. The voice of a Blue Jay was
melody to me, and the sight of a Humming-bird quite filled my heart
with delight. We were conveyed a short distance from the island to the
main; Ingalls and Coolidge remained in the boat, and the rest of us
took the road, along which we moved as lightly as if boys just out of
school. The roads were good, or seemed to be so; the woods were all of
tall timber, and the air that circulated freely was filled with
perfume. Almost every plant we saw brought to mind some portion of the
United States; in a word, all of us felt quite happy. Now and then, as
we crossed a hill and looked back over the sea, we saw our beautiful
vessel sailing freely before the wind, and as she gradually neared the
horizon, she looked like a white speck, or an Eagle high in air. We
wished our captain a most safe voyage to Quoddy. We arrived opposite
Pictou in two hours and a half, and lay down on the grass to await the
arrival of the boat, enjoying the scenery around us. A number of
American vessels were in the harbor, loading with coal; the village,
placed at the upper end of a fine bay, looked well, though small.
Three churches rose above the rest of the buildings, all of which are
of wood, and several vessels were on the stocks. The whole country
appeared in a high state of cultivation, and looked well; the
population is about two thousand. Our boat came, we crossed the bay,
and put up at the "Royal Oak," the best house, and have had what
seemed to be, after our recent fare, a most excellent supper. The very
treading on a carpeted floor was quite wonderful. This evening we
called on Professor McCullough, who received us very kindly, gave us a
glass of wine, showed his fine collection of well-preserved birds and
other things, and invited us to breakfast to-morrow at eight, when we
are again to inspect his curiosities. The Professor's mansion is a
quarter of a mile out of town, and looks much like a small English
villa.
_August 23._ We had an excellent Scotch breakfast at Professor
McCullough's. His whole family were present, four sons and a daughter,
besides his wife and her sister. I became more pleased with the
professor the more he talked. I showed a few Labrador drawings, after
which we went in a body to the University, once more to examine his
fine collection. I found there half a dozen specimens of birds which I
longed for and said so; the Professor had the cases opened, the
specimens taken out, and he offered them to me with so much apparent
good will that I took them. He then asked me to look around and not to
leave any object which might be of assistance in my publication; but
so generous had he already proved himself that I remained mute; I saw
several I would have liked to have, but I could not mention them. He
offered me all his fresh-water shells, and any minerals I might
choose. I took a few specimens of iron and copper. I am much surprised
that this valuable collection is not purchased by the government of
the Province; he offered it for L500. I think it well worth L1,000.
Thou wilt say I am an enthusiast; to this I will reply--True, but
there are many more in the world, particularly in Europe. On our
return to the "Royal Oak" we were called on by Mr. Blanchard, the
deputy consul for the United States, an agreeable man, who offered to
do whatever he could for us; but the coach was almost ready, our birds
were packed, our bill paid, and the coach rolled off. I walked on
ahead with Mr. Blanchard for about a mile; he spoke much of England,
and knew John Adamson of Newcastle and other friends there. The coach
came up, and we said farewell. The wind had commenced to blow, and
soon rain fell heavily; we went on smoothly, the road being as good as
any in England, and broader. We passed through a fine tract of
country, well wooded, well cultivated, and a wonderful relief to our
eyes after the barren and desolate regions of rocks, snow, tempests,
and storms. We stopped to dine at four in the afternoon at a wayside
house. The rain poured down; two ladies and a gentleman--the husband
of one of them--had arrived before us in an open cart, or "jersey,"
and I, with all the gallantry of my nature, at once offered to change
vehicles with them. They accepted the exchange at once, but did not
even thank us in return. Shattuck, Ingalls, and I jumped into the open
cart when dinner was ended. I was seated by a very so-so Irish dame
named Katy; her husband was our driver. Our exchange proved a most
excellent one: the weather cleared up; we saw the country much better
than we could have done in the coach. To our surprise we were suddenly
passed by Professor McCullough, who said he would see us at Truro.
Towards sunset we arrived in view of this pretty, scattered village,
in sight of the head waters of the Bay of Fundy. What a delightful
sensation at that moment ran through my frame, as I realized that I
was within a few days of home! We reached the tavern, or hotel, or
whatever else the house of stoppage might be called, but as only three
of us could be accommodated there we went across the street to
another. Professor McCullough came in and introduced us to several
members of the Assembly of this Province, and I was handed several
pinches of snuff by the Professor, who _loves it_. We tried in vain to
obtain a conveyance for ourselves to-morrow morning instead of going
by coach to-night; it could not be done. Professor McCullough then
took me to the house of Samuel George Archibald, Esq., Speaker of the
Assembly, who introduced me to his wife and handsome young daughter. I
showed them a few drawings, and received a letter from Mr. Archibald
to the Chief Justice of Halifax, and now we are waiting for the mail
coach to proceed to that place. The village of Truro demands a few
words. It is situated in the middle of a most beautiful valley, of
great extent and well cultivated; several brooks water this valley,
and empty into the Bay of Fundy, the broad expanse of which we see to
the westward. The buildings, though principally of wood, are
good-looking, and as cleanly as those in our pretty eastern villages,
white, with green shutters. The style of the people, be it loyal or
otherwise, is extremely genteel, and I was more than pleased with all
those whom I saw. The coach is at the door, the cover of my trunk is
gaping to receive this poor book, and therefore once more, good-night.