FRESH EGGS. 401 



wreaking their fury on the ice of the harbor, into 

 which their Titan touch opened many a gaping 

 wound. 



June 28th. 



The storm subsiding this morning, a party got a 

 boat over the ice into the water, and, pulling to the 

 outer island, brought back the first fresh eggs of the 

 season. Those of the little tern or sea-swallow are 

 the most delightful eggs that I have ever tasted. 

 Those of the eider-duck are, like the eggs of all other 

 duck, not very palatable. Knorr lit upon a patch of 

 cochlearia which had just sprouted up around the bird- 

 nests of the last year, and no head of the first spring- 

 lettuce was ever more enjoyed. I had a capital salad. 

 The islands promise to give us all the eggs we want, 

 and we shall have little more trouble in getting them 

 than a housewife who sends to the farm-yard. The 

 ducks have plucked the first instalment of down from 

 their breasts, and Jensen has brought in a good-sized 

 bagful of it. The poor birds have been, I fear, robbed 

 to little purpose, and will have to pick themselves 

 again. Jensen tells me that, upon the islands near 

 Upernavik, where he has often gone for eider-down, 

 the male bird is sometimes obliged to pluck off his 

 handsome coat, to help out his unhappy spouse, when 

 she has been so often robbed that she can pluck no 

 more of the tender covering for her eggs from her 

 naked breast. 



June 30th. 



Another rain-storm, during which half an inch of 

 water has fallen. The temperature has gone down to 

 38°. The ice is loosening, and threatens to break up 

 bodily. 



26 



