At length Weymouth found one with three eggs; and, a few moments after, two more.

I had some doubt about the eggs being good so late in the season.

There were plenty of empty nests about, looking as if there had been a brood raised already.
These were doubtless second nests of pairs that had lost their first nests from the depredations of falcons, ravens, or perhaps foxes.

To settle the point, we broke an egg: it looked sound.

Weymouth then filled his cap with them.
_Boom!_ While climbing down to our muskets, I startled a canvas-backed duck sitting on a nest of eleven eggs.