Coolidge, went off this morning after an early breakfast to a place called Port Eau, eighteen miles distant, to try to procure some Esquimaux dresses, particularly moccasins. I felt glad when the boat which took them across the bay returned, as it assured me they were at least on terra firma. I do not expect them till to-morrow night, and I greatly miss them. When all our party is present, music, anecdotes, and jokes, journalizing and comparing notes, make the time pass merrily; but this evening the captain is on deck, Coolidge is skinning a bird, and I am writing that which is scarcely worth recording, with a horridly bad patent pen. I have to-day drawn three young Shore Larks, Alauda alpestris, the first ever portrayed by man. I did wish to draw an adult male, in full summer plumage, but could not get a handsome one. In one month all these birds must leave this coast, or begin to suffer. The young of many birds are full-fledged, and scamper over the rocks; the Ducks alone seem backward, but being more hardy can stay till October, when deep snows drive them off, ready or not for their laborious journey. I saw this afternoon two, or a pair, of the Phalaropus hyperboreus;[1] they were swimming in a small fresh-water pond, feeding on insects, and no doubt had their nest close by, as they evinced great anxiety at my approach. I did not shoot at them, and hope to find the nest or young; but to find nests in the moss is a difficult job, for the whole country looks alike. "The Curlews are coming;" this is as much of a saying here as that about the Wild Pigeons in Kentucky. What species of Curlew, I know not yet, for none have been killed, but one of our men, who started with John and party, broke down, and was sent back; he assured me that he had seen some with bills about four inches long, and the body the size of a Wild Pigeon. The accounts given of these Curlews border on the miraculous, and I shall say nothing
- ↑ Brown or Northern Phalarope.
