24 THE VICTORIAN NATURALIST. [Vol. XXV. 



Just before dawn I noticed the petrels leave the rock and fly 

 seawards. The Prions seemed to have no difficulty in rising off 

 their rookery, but the Mutton-birds had to leap off the cliff ere 

 they could get their wings into motion sufficiently to suspend 

 them in the air. The penguins, tumbling and waddling, 

 descended the cliffs and departed also. Some, however, preferred 

 to camp for the rest of the day under huge boulders close to the 

 water's edge, where it was damp and cool. Then the pale grey 

 of the approaching day kissed the horizon, and after dawn the 

 gleaming shafts of light from the rising sun shot up through the 

 hideous darkness of the night, stabbing it to death, and then a 

 new day was born — the day before Christmas. Refreshed by a 

 dip in a pool of clear sea-water and by an early breakfast, I set 

 out for the rookeries, and secured some good photographs of 

 Lawrence Rock's avine inhabitants, although there was a stiff 

 breeze blowing, necessitating the camera being tied down to 

 prevent it being blown over the cliffs. Out in the offing the 

 snow-white sails of the Countess once again hove in sight. As 

 she bore down to the islet in the face of a rising sea, her cut- 

 water made the waves spurt out in a continuous shower of spray 

 on either side. 



The boat's arrival was exceedingly welcome, since I desired to 

 get to the Cormorants' rookery on the other section of the islet, 

 separated from the main mass of Lawrence Rocks by a deep, 

 treacherous, surf-swept channel. With great difficulty the dinghy 

 was brought close in to the edge of the reef, over which the surf 

 was now breaking in an alarming manner, the white foam swirling 

 knee-deep as the luggage was carried across, and was thrown to 

 the boatmen, who had to be very careful that the backwash did 

 not swamp their small craft. With a run and a leap I once more 

 landed in the dinghy, then the rope attached to the kedge anchor 

 was hauled upon, and the dinghy, battling her way through the 

 rough seas, which momentarily threatened to engulph her, was 

 drawn out to the Countess, which was labouring heavily on her 

 anchor line. As we rose on the crest of the wave, first one then 

 the other sprang into her. The boatmen informed me that the 

 pilot of Pordand, under whose fatherly care I had placed myself, 

 had given orders that we were to return to the port immediately, 

 as heavy weather was approaching. In such a contingency it 

 would probably be impossible to get me off the rocks, and I 

 would more than likely have to remain on them several days. 

 Besides, it was clearly impossible to land me at the Cormorants' 

 rookery through the waves that were now dashing upon it. So 

 reluctandy I acquiesced, and the prow of the Countess was turned 

 for home, and with a strong breeze behind us the sheltered waters 

 of Portland were safely reached. 



