IN AUDUBON'S LABRADOR 



there, that of Gilbert Jones. This man, now 

 in his eighty-third year, came here from Bra- 

 dore Bay some forty years ago and he has 

 reared a family of six sons and many grand- 

 children. His father was the squatter of Bra- 

 dore Bay about whom Audubon has written 

 so interestingly. Beyond his house to the 

 eastward loom up the cliffs of Cape Whittle, 

 rising from deep water to a height of one hun- 

 dred and fifty feet. We sailed so close that 

 it seemed a simple matter to toss a pebble — 

 or clam as in our case — against the rocks, but 

 distances under these circumstances are par- 

 ticularly deceptive as we found by experi- 

 ence. The rocks were brown and red, daubed 

 in places with great splotches of white where 

 cormorants were nesting. The captain said 

 that in former years the whole cape looked 

 from a distance like an iceberg, but the birds 

 are now nearly all driven away. Fishing- 

 schooners for years have been in the habit of 

 sailing close inshore and the men have dis- 

 charged their guns at the poor birds, for the 

 brutal pleasure of seeing them fly off in terror 

 and fall wounded into the sea. There were only 

 fifteen or twenty nests on these cliffs, where up 



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