204 BULLETIN 135, UNITED STATES NATIONAL MUSEUM 



the little one and pours into it the liquid, semidigested food; if the 

 young are older they may seize the parent's bill and struggle with her 

 until she delivers a good sized fish: sometimes the food is too large to 

 be swallowed entirely and the tail is left protruding from the young 

 bird's mouth until the lower end of it is digested. Often, with large 

 young, the fish is deposited on the nest to be picked up, which frequent- 

 ly results in its falling to the ground and adding to the delightful odors 

 of the rookery. The young have a very bad habit of voiding their 

 excrement and vomiting the contents of their crops, when frightened; 

 the investigator is quite likely to receive some very unpleasant shower 

 baths under such circumstances. It would be well for the observer 

 to wear an old hat and an old suit of clothes, which can be thrown 

 away or better still a complete suit of oilskins or overalls, which can 

 be washed as soon as he comes out of the rookery, else he may carry 

 home some unpleasant reminders. 



Provided one can stand the nauseating odors or does not mind 

 the filth, the briars and the insect pests, flies, mosquitos, and wood 

 ticks, it is an exceedingly interesting experience to visit the Sandy 

 Neck rookery in July. As he climbs to the crest of some command- 

 ing sand dune, he looks down upon a broad expanse of pines, mingled 

 with oaks and thickets of underbrush and vines. The scene becomes 

 a lively one, as hundreds of the gray, black-backed birds rise in great 

 clouds, circle over the rookery in a bewildering maze and then drift 

 away to settle in the tops of distant trees. The tops of the trees in the 

 rookery are dotted with hundreds of young birds in the brown Juve- 

 nal plumage, clearly outlined against the dark green of the pines; 

 they arc not yet able to fly but have climbed up out of the nests to 

 bask in the sunshine and see the outside world. As he walks down 

 into the rookery the excitement increases, the air is full of birds over- 

 head, the trees are full of scrambling and fluttering young and the 

 din of many voices adds to the pandemonium; the shrill piping notes 

 of the youngest birds, the "yip, yip, yip," or the "yak, yak, yak" of 

 the older young, and the various croaks antl squawks of the adults 

 create a volume of sound that is not soon forgotten. Alexander 

 Wilson (1832) has well likened it to 200 or 300 Indians choking or 

 throttling each other. 



The young birds remain in the nest, where their parents brood them, 

 or stand over them with wings partly spread to protect them from 

 the sun, until they are two or three weeks old; I believe that they 

 would remain in the nests a week or two longer, if they were left un- 

 disturbed. But at the age of two or three weeks, or when about 

 half or two-thirds grown, they are easily frightened from their nests 

 and climb out on the branches or even scramble and flutter from 

 tree to tree. They are awkward and ludicrous in appearance, but 

 they are usually quite successful in their efforts and more expert 



