The Audubon Reader (55 page)

Thursday, June 6
. We left the wharf of Eastport about one o’clock p.m. Everyone of the male population came to see the show, just as if no schooner the size of the
Ripley
had ever gone from this mighty port to Labrador. Our numerous friends came with the throng, and we all shook hands as if never to meet again. The batteries of the garrison and the cannon of the revenue cutter saluted us, each firing four loud, oft-echoing reports.
Captain Coolidge accompanied us, and indeed was our pilot, until we had passed Lubec. The wind was light and ahead, and yet with the assistance of the tide we drifted twenty-five miles down to
Little River during the night, and on rising on the morning of June 7 we were at anchor near some ugly rocks, the sight of which was not pleasing to our good captain.

June 7
. The whole morning was spent trying to enter Little River, but in vain; the men were unable to tow us in. We landed for a few minutes and shot a
Hermit Thrush, but the appearance of a breeze brought us back and we attempted to put to sea. Our position now became rather dangerous, as we were drawn by the current nearly upon the rocks; but the wind rose at last and we cleared for sea. At three o’clock it became suddenly so foggy that we could not see the bowsprit. The night was spent in direful apprehensions of ill luck; at midnight a smart squall decided in our favor, and when day broke on the morning of June 8 the wind was from the northeast, blowing fresh, and we were dancing on the waters, all shockingly seasick, crossing that worst of all dreadful bays, the
Bay of Fundy. We passed between the
Seal Islands and the
Mud Islands; in the latter the
Stormy Petrel breeds abundantly;
their
nests are dug out of the sand in an oblique direction to the depth of two or two and a half feet. At the bottom of these holes, and on the sand, the birds deposit their pure white eggs. The holes are perforated, not in the banks like the Bank Swallow, but are like rat holes over the whole of the islands. On
Seal Islands the Herring Gull breeds as abundantly as on
Grand Menan, but altogether
on trees
. As we passed Cape Sable, so called on account of its being truly a sand-point of some caved-in elevation, we saw a wrecked ship with many small crafts about it. I saw there the
Foolish Guillemot and some
Gannets. The sea was dreadful and scarcely one of us was able to eat or drink this day. We came up with the schooner
Caledonia
, from Boston for Labrador; her captain wished to keep in our company, and we were pretty much together all night and also on Sunday.

June 9
. We now had a splendid breeze, but a horrid sea, and were scarce able to keep our feet or sleep. The
Caledonia
was very near to us for some time, but when the breeze increased to a gale and both vessels had to reef, we showed ourselves superior in point of sailing. So good was our run that on the next morning, June 10, we found ourselves not more than thirty miles from Cape
Canseau, ordinarily called Cape Cancer. The wind was so fair for proceeding directly to Labrador that our captain spoke of doing so, provided it suited my views; but anxious as I am not to suffer any opportunity to escape of doing all I can to fulfill my engagements, I desired that we should pass through what is called the
Gut of Canseau
, and we came into the harbor of that name at three of the afternoon. Here we found twenty vessels, all bound to Labrador, and of course all fishermen. We had been in view of the southeastern coast of Nova Scotia all day, a dreary, poor, and inhospitable-looking country. As we dropped our anchor we had a
snowfall, and the sky had an appearance such as I never before recollect having seen. Going on shore we found not a tree in blossom, though the low plants near the ground were all in bloom; I saw azaleas, white and blue violets, etc., and in some situations the grass really looked well. The
Robins were in full song; one nest of that bird was found; the White-throated Sparrow and
Savannah Finch were also in full song. The Snow Bunting was seen, and we were told that the
Canada Grouse was very abundant, but saw none. About a dozen
houses form this settlement; there was no Custom House officer, and not an individual who could give an answer of any value to our many questions. We returned on board and supped on a fine codfish. The remainder of our day was spent in catching
lobsters, of which we procured forty. They were secured simply by striking them in shallow water with a gaff-hook. It snowed and rained at intervals, and to my surprise we did not observe a single seabird.

June 11
. The Great Black-backed
Gull is so superior both in strength and courage to
Fulmars,
Lestris
, or even
Gannets, to say nothing of Gulls of all sorts, that at its approach they all give way, and until it has quite satiated itself none venture to approach the precious morsel on which it is feeding. In this respect, it is as the Eagle to the Vultures or Carrion Crows. I omitted saying that last night, before we retired to rest, after much cold, snow, rain, and hail, the
frogs were piping in all the pools on the shore, and we all could hear them clearly, from the deck of the
Ripley
. The weather today is beautiful, the wind fair, and when I reached the deck at four a.m. we were underway in the wake of the whole of the fleet which last evening graced the harbor of Canseau, but which now gave life to the grand bay across which all were gliding under easy pressure of sail. The land locked us in, the water was smooth, the sky pure, and the thermometer was only 46°, quite cold; indeed, it was more grateful to see the sunshine whilst on deck this morning, and to feel its warmth, than I can recollect before at this season. After sailing for twenty-one miles, and passing one after another every vessel of the fleet, we entered the
Gut of Canseau, so named by the Spanish on account of the innumerable Wild Geese which in years long past and forgotten resorted to this famed passage. The land rises on each side in the form of an amphitheater, and on the Nova Scotia side to a considerable height. Many
appearances
of dwellings exist, but the country is too poor for comfort; the timber is small, and the land very stony. Here and there a small patch of ploughed land, planted, or to be planted, with potatoes, was all we could see evincing cultivation. Near one house we saw a few apple trees yet without leaves. The general appearance of this passage reminded me of some parts of the
Hudson River, and accompanied as we were by thirty smaller vessels, the time passed agreeably. Vegetation about as forward as at Eastport; saw a
Chimney Swallow, heard some
Blue Jays, saw some
Indians in a bark canoe, passed
Cape Porcupine, a high, rounding hill, and
Cape George, after which we entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

From this place, on the 20th of May last year, the sea was a complete sheet of ice as far as a spy-glass could inform. As we advanced, running parallel with the western coast of
Cape Breton Island, the country looked well at the distance we were from it; the large, undulating hills were scattered with many hamlets, and here and there a bit of cultivated land was seen. It being calm when we reached
Jestico Island, distant from Cape Breton about three miles, we left the vessel and made for it. On landing we found it covered with well-grown grass sprinkled everywhere with the blossoms of the wild strawberry; the sun shone bright, and the weather was quite pleasant.
Robins,
Savannah Finches,
Song Sparrows,
Tawny Thrushes, and the American Redstart were found. The
Spotted Sandpiper was breeding in the grass and flew slowly with the common tremor of their wings, uttering their
wheet-wheet-wheet
note to invite me to follow them. A
Raven had a nest and three young in it, one standing near it, the old birds not seen.
Foolish Guillemot and
Black Guillemot were breeding in the rocks, and John [Woodhouse Audubon] saw several
Great Blue Heron flying in pairs, also a pair of
Red-breasted Mergansers that had glutted themselves with fish so that they were obliged to disgorge before they could fly off. Amongst the plants the wild gooseberry, nearly the size of a green pea, was plentiful, and the black currant, I think of a different species from the one found in Maine. The wind rose and we returned on board. John and the sailors almost killed a
seal with their oars.

June 12
. At four this morning we were in sight of the
Magdalene Islands, or as they are called on the chart, Amherst Islands; they appeared to be distant about twenty miles. The weather was dull and quite calm, and I thought the prospect of reaching these isles this day very doubtful and returned to my berth sadly disappointed. After breakfast a thick fog covered the horizon on our bow, the islands disappeared from sight, and the wind rose sluggishly and dead ahead. Several brigs and ships loaded with lumber out from Miramichi came near us, beating their way towards the Atlantic. We are still in a great degree landlocked by Cape Breton Island,
the highlands of which look dreary and forbidding; it is now nine a.m. and we are at anchor in four fathoms of water and within a quarter of a mile of an island, one of the general group; for our pilot, who has been here for ten successive years, informs us that all these islands are connected by dry sandbars, without any other ship channel between them than the one which we have taken, and which is called Entree Bay, formed by
Entree Island and a long, sandy, projecting reef connected with the main island. This latter measures forty-eight miles in length, by an average of about three in breadth; Entree Island contains about fifteen hundred acres of land, such as it is, of a red, rough, sandy formation, the northwest side constantly falling into the sea, and exhibiting a very interesting sight.
Guillemots were seen seated upright along the projecting shelvings in regular order, resembling so many sentinels on the lookout. Many
Gannets also were seen about the extreme point of this island. On
Amherst Island we saw many houses, a small church, and on the highest land a large cross, indicating the Catholic tendency of the inhabitants. Several small schooners lay in the little harbor called
Pleasant Bay, and we intend to pay them an early visit tomorrow. The wind is so cold that it feels to us all like the middle of December at Boston.

Magdalene Islands, June 13
. This day week we were at Eastport and I am sure not one of our party thought of being here this day. At four this morning we were seated at breakfast around our great drawing table; the thermometer was at 44°; we blew our fingers and drank our coffee, feeling as if in the very heart of winter, and when we landed I felt so chilled that it would have been quite out of the question to use my hands for any delicate work. We landed between two great bluffs that looked down upon us with apparent anger, the resort of many a
Black Guillemot and noble
Raven, and following a tortuous path, 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 patience, 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 shirt, the very appearance of which set me shivering. The woman was dressed in coarse French homespun,
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. At a venture, I addressed her in French, and it answered 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. She was a plain, good woman, I doubt not, and the wife of an industrious fisherman. We walked through the woods and followed the road to the church. Who would have thought that on these wild islands, among these impoverished people, we should have found a church; that we should have been suddenly confronted with a handsome, youthful, vigorous, black-haired, black-bearded fellow in a soutane as black as the Raven’s wedding-dress, and with a heart as light as a bird on the wing? Yet we met with both church and priest, and our ears were saluted by the sound of a bell which measures one foot by nine and a half inches in diameter, and weighs thirty pounds; and this bell may be heard a full quarter of a mile. It is a festival day,
La Petite Fête de Dieu
. The chapel was illuminated at six o’clock and the inhabitants, even from a distance, passed in; among them were many old women who, staff in hand, had trudged along the country road. Their backs were bent by age and toil, their eyes dimmed by time; they crossed their hands upon their breasts, and knelt before the sacred images in the church with so much simplicity and apparent truth of heart that I could not help exclaiming, “This is indeed religion!” The priest,
Père Brunet, is originally from Quebec. These islands belong or are attached to Lower Canada; he, however, is under the orders of the Bishop of Halifax. He is a shrewd-looking fellow, and if I mistake not, has a dash of the devil in him. He told me there were no reptiles on the island, but this was an error; for while rambling about, Tom Lincoln, Ingalls, and John saw a snake and I heard frogs a-piping. He also told me that black and red foxes and the changeable hare, with rats lately imported, were the only quadrupeds to be found except cows, horses, and mules, of which some had been brought over many years ago and which had multiplied, but to no great extent. The land, he assured us, was poor in every respect—soil, woods, game; that the seal fisheries had been less productive these last years than formerly. On these islands,
about a dozen in number, live one hund
red and sixty families, all of whom make their livelihood by the cod, herring and mackerel fisheries. One or two vessels from Quebec come yearly to collect this produce of the ocean. Not a bird to be found larger than a
Robin, but certainly thousands of those. Père Brunet said he lived the life of a recluse and invited us to accompany him to the
house where he boarded and take a glass of good French wine.

During our ramble on the is
land we found the temperature quite agreeable; indeed, in some situations the sun was pleasant and warm. Strawberry blossoms were under our feet at every step and here and there the grass looked well. I was surprised to find the woods (by woods I mean land covered with any sort of trees, from the noblest magnolia down to dwarf cedars) rich in
Warblers, Thrushes,
Finches,
Buntings, etc. The
Fox-tailed Sparrow breeds here, the
Siskin also. The
Hermit and
Tawny Thrushes crossed our path every few yards, the
Black-capped Warbler flashed over the pools, the
Winter Wren abounded everywhere. Among the water birds we found the
Great Tern very abundant and shot four of them on the sand ridges. The
Piping Plover breeds here—shot two males and one female; so plaintive is the note of this interesting species that I feel great aversion to killing them. These birds certainly are the swiftest of foot of any water birds which I know, of their size. We found many land snails and collected some fine specimens of
gypsum.