CHAPTER LXIII 



THE CORMORANT 



Or " Cormorel," as the fenmen call this cross-tempered 

 grotesque-bodied bird, pays occasional visits to the Broad- 

 land. You may see a herd of six or seven flying high from 

 the sea on a grey winter day, their flight away across the 

 sere marshes, resembling a bunch of geese ; but as they 

 draw near the cold glistening broad, where the stars are 

 reflected, you see their wing-beats are quicker, and recognise 

 the "cormorels," who have come to take in fresh water, and 

 perhaps a supply of fresh fish. 



But whenever they come in from the sea they seem rest- 

 less, moving from one broad to another, and even separating, 

 some solitary birds going a-fishing in the dikes, the banks 

 of which are spotted with coltsfoot, and wherein the fish are 

 filling with spawn. 



But rarely do they come in parties : perhaps it is because 

 they are so quarrelsome ; for if, on a bright day, you see a 

 party a-fishing, and two try to alight at once on one of the 

 posts marking the channel, they will begin to fight fiercely 

 with their powerful bills until one retires humiliated. More 

 generally they are seen alone. 



Mayhap some fine spring morning, as you sail across a 

 broad, gliding before the wind over the liquid planes, the 

 watchful cormorant, on a distant beacon, quietly looking at 

 the growing sail, shakes his wings, stretches his neck lan- 

 guidly, and once more plays the sentinel ; but as the white 

 sail comes over the water, he rises on his legs, throws up 

 his stiff tail contemptuously, and shoots a large dash of 



