VOL. III.] Natural History of the Far allones. 155 



the California guillemot, which was fairly common. It would seem 

 from an examination of the dead bird as if the guillemot must be a 

 slow and clumsy flier, so small are the wings in proportion to the 

 size of the body; but, when once started in the air, they fly with 

 great swiftness, their sharply- pointed bodies cleaving the air like a 

 spear, and their compact little wings whirring at a great rate. They 

 were very tame, and allowed the boat to draw quite close before 

 making any attempt to escape. Some would then dive with an 

 impatient jerk, but the majority would start to fly. Apparently not 

 having the time nor energy to lift their bodies out of the water, 

 they would flap along on the surface, splashing and scuffling in a 

 ludicrously frantic manner. Occasionally some peculiarly energetic 

 individual would actually lift himself above the sustaining fluid and 

 essay to fly, but, apparently blinded in his hurry to escape, would 

 plunge directly at the first wave that happened to be slightly higher 

 than usual, and literally fall all over himself in the most awkward 

 manner imaginable. I noticed that whenever the bird dived the 

 wings were thrown out, as if to assist in swimming, instead of being 

 folded close to the body, as with most diving birds. Later observ- 

 ation confirmed the theory that the birds swim under water with 

 their wings more than with their legs, for they may frequently be 

 seen under water from the Farallon rocks using the wings in this 

 manner. Indeed, the form of the wing is curiously analogous to the 

 wing of a penguin, being shaped something like a flipper, and very 

 stiff and compact. It is, of course, only an analogy, the penguin's 

 wing being scaled, while the character of the guillemot's wing is 

 due to the feathers. It seems not improbable, however, that the 

 guillemot is gradually losing the power of flight, just as the great 

 auk lost it, in order to gain greater freedom in swimming under 

 water. Its difficulty in rising from the water and awkwardness in 

 falling back into it would seem to argue in favor of this view, in 

 spite of its swift flight in a gale of wind. 



In all this digression it must not be forgotten that the wind is 

 still blowing and our little craft tumbling about as it approaches the 

 bar in Golden Gate. An occasional Brandt's cormorant would flap 

 past, its long neck stretched far ahead of the clumsy black body, 

 as if trying its best to part company with so slow a companion. As 

 we get a little way out to sea, a large rock, slightly isolated from the 

 mainland, is noticed completely whitened with the guano of this 



