A LABRADOR SPRING 



though one greatly terrified fellow kept up the 

 flopping for three and three quarters min- 

 utes by the watch, they would give up the 

 struggle and dive, and their subaqueous de- 

 parture was probably more rapid than their 

 amphibious one. They reminded me of children 

 who are able to walk fairly well, but, when terri- 

 fied, forget their acquired art and return to a 

 primitive scramble on all fours. Diving by 

 loons, like walking on the hind legs by man, 

 is an art of comparatively late development. 



On this same 23d of May, as we steamed east 

 from Moisie, many flocks of old squaws or 

 long-tailed ducks flew about us, or, rising from 

 the water, mounted to a considerable height 

 and flew hither and thither as if they had not 

 yet made up their minds which way to go next. 

 In all there must have been over a thousand 

 of these beautiful ducks. The distance and 

 the noise of the steamer prevented our hearing 

 their voices, but they were doubtless as garru- 

 lous as usual, and from their talkativeness 

 they derive their names " old squaw." On 

 the eastern Labrador coast they are called 

 " hounds," a very appropriate name, for at 

 a distance, their voices sound like those of a 



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