49. EIDER-DUCK.
Mr. Shepherd thus describes his visit to Vigr, in the Isafjardardjup, one of the head-quarters of the eider-duck in the north of Iceland: “As the island was approached, we could see flocks upon flocks of the sacred birds, and could hear their cooings at a great distance. We landed on a rocky wave-worn shore, against which the waters scarcely rippled, and set off to investigate the island. The shore was the most wonderful ornithological sight conceivable. The ducks and their nests were everywhere in a manner that was quite alarming. Great brown ducks sat upon their nests in masses, and at every step started up from under our feet. It was with difficulty that we avoided treading on some of the nests. The island being but three-quarters of a mile in width, the opposite shore was soon reached. On the coast 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 make their nests in. Almost every compartment was occupied; and, as we walked along the shore, a long line of ducks flew out one after another. The surface of the water also was perfectly white with drakes, who welcomed their brown wives with loud and clamorous cooing. When we arrived at the farmhouse we were cordially welcomed by its mistress. The house itself was a great marvel. The earthern wall that surrounded it and the window embrasures were occupied by ducks. On the ground, the house was fringed with ducks. On the turf slopes of the roof we could see ducks; and a duck sat in the scraper.
“A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a chessboard (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed, and a hollow made), and all were filled with ducks. A windmill was infested, and so were all the outhouses, mounds, rocks, and crevices. The ducks were everywhere. Many of them 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 which would not allow her to take its eggs without flight or fear. When she first became possessor of the island, the produce of down from the ducks was not more than fifteen pounds’ weight in the year, but, under her careful nurture of twenty years, it had risen to nearly one hundred pounds annually. It requires about one pound and a half to make a coverlet for a single bed, and the down is worth from twelve to fifteen shillings per pound. Most of the eggs are taken and pickled for winter consumption, one or two only being left to hatch.”
Though not so important as the eider, the other members of the duck family which during the summer season enliven the lakes and swamps of Iceland are very serviceable. On the Myvatn, or Gnat Lake, one of their chief places of resort, the eggs of the long-tailed duck, the wild duck, the scoter, the common goosander, the red-breasted merganser, the scaup-duck, etc., and other anserines are carefully gathered and preserved in enormous quantities for the winter, closely packed in a fine gray volcanic sand.
The wild swan is frequently shot or caught for his feathers, which bring in many a dollar to the fortunate huntsman. This noble bird frequents both the salt and brackish waters along the coast and the inland lakes and rivers, where it is seen either in single pairs or congregated in large flocks. To build its nest, which is said to resemble closely that of the flamingo, being a large mound, composed of mud, rushes, grass, and stones, with a cavity at top lined with soft down, it retires to some solitary, uninhabited spot. Much has been said in ancient times of the singing of the swan, and the beauty of its dying notes; but, in truth, the voice of the swan is very loud, shrill, and harsh, though when high in the air, and modulated by the winds, the note or whoop of an assemblage of them is not unpleasant to the ear. It has a peculiar charm in the unfrequented wastes of Iceland, where it agreeably interrupts the profound silence that reigns around.
The raven, one of the commonest land-birds in Iceland, is an object of aversion to the islanders, as it not only seizes on their young lambs and eider-ducks, but also commits great depredations among the fishes laid out to dry upon the shore. Poles to which dead ravens are attached, to serve as a warning to the living, are frequently seen in the meadows; and the Icelander is never so happy as when he has succeeded in shooting a raven. This, however, is no easy task, as no bird is more cautious, and its eyes are as sharp as those of the eagle. Of all Icelandic birds, the raven breeds the earliest, laying about the middle of March its five or six pale-green eggs, spotted with brown, in the inaccessible crevices of rocks. Towards the end of June, Preyer saw many young ravens grown to a good size, and but little inferior to the old ones in cunning.
In the gloomy Scandinavian mythology the raven occupies a rank equal to that of the eagle in the more cheerful fables of ancient Greece. It was dedicated to Odin, who, as the traditional history of Iceland informs us, had two ravens, which were let loose every morning to gather tidings of what was going on in the world, and which on returning in the evening perched upon Odin’s shoulders to whisper the news in his ear; the name of one was Hugin, or spirit; of the other, Mumin, or memory. Even now many superstitious notions remain attached to the raven; for the Icelanders believe this bird to be not only acquainted with what is going on at a distance, but also with what is to happen in future, and are convinced that it foretells when any of the family is about to die, by perching on the roof of the house, or wheeling round in the air with a continual cry, varying its voice in a singular and melodious manner.
The white-tailed sea-eagle is not uncommon in Iceland, where he stands in evil repute as a kidnapper of lambs and eider-ducks. He is sometimes found dead in the nets of the fishermen; for, pouncing upon a haddock or salmon, he gets entangled in the meshes, and is unable to extricate himself. The skins of the bird, which seems to attain a larger size than in Great Britain, most likely from being less disturbed by man, are sold at Reykjavik and Akureyre for from three to six rix-dollars.
