ii 4 MEMORIES OF MY LIFE 



different kinds. The stormy petrels make their nests 

 deep in beaches of shingle. An intelligent man 

 initiated me into the way of taking them. We crept as 

 silently as might be to where the twitterings could be 

 heard, and, having carefully located the spot, tossed 

 away the shingle as fast as we could, and usually found 

 the bird on its nest. Its oily smell is very strong and 

 rank. The popular belief is that if you cram a wick 

 between the beak and down the gullet of a dried-up 

 petrel and light it, the bird will burn like a lamp. 



The hardships of what was called deep-sea fishing 

 were great. It was conducted in open whale-boats 

 with six rowers, who were generally thirty-six hours 

 absent, and sometimes longer. In bad weather they 

 had to keep to their oars, and could get little or no 

 sleep all the time. I was told that on returning they 

 went half stupid to bed, and, partly awakening to 

 feed from time to time, slept for full twenty-four hours 

 on end. 



I could tell many tales of what I heard and saw, 

 such as that at one lighthouse (I think in North 

 Ronaldshay) the keeper, wishing to alleviate the 

 solitude of his life, cast about for a suitable pet. 

 That which he selected did credit to his genius. It 

 was a toad in a bottle, requiring no care, little if any 

 food, easily placed on any shelf, and always showing 

 its bright eye. 



When I finally left Shetland, which was after the 

 grouse season, I took as a present to my brother for 

 the large pool at Edstone, a crate full of many 

 different kinds of sea birds, which I was assured 

 would live in fresh water and pick up snails in the 

 garden, as tamed gulls do. The railway people put 



