TOWNSEND AND ALLEN: LABRADOR BIRDS. 295 
raised. In less than half a century these wonderful nurseries will be 
entirely destroyed, unless some kind government will interfere to stop 
the shameful destruction.” And again at an island near Cape Whittle 
on June 28, 1833, Audubon found two eggers gathering the eggs of 
Murres. “They had collected eight hundred dozen, and expected to 
get two thousand dozen. The number of broken eggs created a fetid 
smell on this island, scarcely to be borne.” 
Among the episodes, published in his ‘‘ Ornithological biographies,” 
Audubon wrote a highly dramatic one on this subject, entitled, “The 
eggers of Labrador,” parts of which are here quoted. He describes 
a shallop with a crew of eight men. ‘There rides the filthy thing! 
The afternoon is half over. Her crew have thrown their boat over- 
board; 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 scream- 
ing 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 com- 
panions above, and hover in dismay over their assassins, who walk 
forward exultingly, and with their shouts mingling oaths and exe- 
erations. 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 light breeze enables them to reach another 
harbour a few miles distant, one which, like the last, lies concealed 
from the ocean by some other rocky isle. Arrived there, they re-act 
the scene of yesterday, crushing every egg they can find. For a week 
