EGGERS OF LABRADOR. 83
suspect her crew to be bent on the commission of some evil deed, let us
follow her to the first harbour.
There rides the filthy thing ! The afternoon is half over. Her crew
have thrown their boat overboard; they enter and seat themselves, each
with a rusty gun. One of them skulls the skiff towards an island for a
century past the 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, wheeling and screaming
over their enemies. Yet thousands remain in an erect posture, each
covering its single egg, the hope of both parents. 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 sitting 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 execrations. 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. Now they have regained
their filthy shallop ; they strip the birds by a single jerk of their feathery
apparel, while the flesh is yet warm, and throw them on some coals, where
in a short time they are broiled. The rum is produced when the guillemots
are fit for eating, and after stuffing themselves with this oily fare,
and enjoying the pleasure of beastly intoxication, over they tumble on the
deck of their crazed craft, where they pass the short hours of night in
turbid slumber.
The sun now rises above the snow-clad summit of the eastern mount.
oat ^ggnvnsa raitoo to •••
" Sweet is the breath of morn11 even in this desolate land. The gay Bunting
erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the
presence of his brooding mate. The Willow Grous on the rock crows
his challenge aloud. Each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its
pure petals ; the gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy
dew drops. On the Guillemot Isle the birds have again settled, and now renew
their loves. Startled by the light of day, one of the Eggers springs
on his feet and rouses his companions, who stare around them for a while,
endeavouring to recollect their senses. Mark them, as with clumsy fingers
they clear their drowsy eyes ! Slowly they rise on their feet. See
F 2
THE EGGERS OF LABRADOR.
THE distinctive appellation of Eggers is given to certain persons who
follow, principally or exclusively, the avocation of procuring the eggs of
wild birds, with the view of disposing of them at some distant port. Their
great object is to plunder every nest, whenever they can find it, no matter
where, and at whatever risk. They are the pest of the feathered
ribes, and their brutal propensity to destroy the poor creatures after they
have robbed them, is abundantly gratified whenever an opportunity presents
itself.
Much had been said to me respecting these destructive pirates before
I visited the coast of Labrador, but I could not entirely credit all their
cruelties until I had actually witnessed their proceedings, which were
such as to inspire no small degree of horror. But you shall judge for
yourself.
See yon shallop shyly sailing along;—she sneaks like a thief, wishing
as it were to shun the very light of heaven. Under the lea of every rocky
isle seme one at the tiller steers her course. Were his trade an honest
one, he would not think of hiding his back behind the terrific rocks that
seem to have been placed there as a resort to the myriads of birds that
annually visit this desolate region of the earth, for the purpose of rearing
their young, at a distance from all disturbers of their peace. How unlike
the open, the bold, the honest mariner, whose face needs no mask, who
scorns to skulk under any circumstances ! The vessel herself is a shabby
thing:—her sails are patched with stolen pieces of better canvass, the
owners of which have probably been stranded on some inhospitable coast,
and have been plundered, perhaps murdered, by the wretches before us.
Lock at her again !•—Her sides are neither painted, nor even pitched; no
they are daubed over, plastered and patched with stripes of seal-skins,
laid along the seams. Her deck has never been washed or sanded, her
hold—for no cabin has she,—though at present empty, sends forth an
odour pestilential as that of a charnel-house. The crew, eight in number,
lie sleeping at the foot of their tottering mast, regardless of the repairs
needed in every part of her rigging. But see! she scuds along, and as I