August 10. I now sit down to post my poor book, while a heavy gale 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 chamæmorus]. 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.