THE SUBMERGED TENTH 
beautiful Assowompsett, in the largest lake in 
Massachusetts. Nearly always I can find the 
Horned Grebe, often the Dabchick, and occasion- 
ally the larger species, though the latter here pre- 
fers salt water. The Grebes usually migrate in 
flocks, unless it be the Dabchick, but on alighting 
in a lake they scatter about searching for food. So, 
as I run out on the first tack, I am apt soon to see 
a solitary Grebe of some sort, paddling about. 
Pretending not to see it, I work the boat well to 
windward, and then, with extended sail, which 
serves to; hide’ me, bound along ‘ata rapid rate, 
almost directly toward the bird. The approach is 
so sudden that the Water-witch seems for the 
moment to lose its self-possession, and swims first 
one way and then the other. And now we are so 
close that the Grebe in fright feels that it must do 
something, so it does what is most natural, dives. 
Instantly I luff the boat, and as likely as not the 
bird will soon emerge almost alongside, thinking to 
have come up far behind the moving boat. Hardly 
are its eyes above water than it sees me, and dives 
again so quickly that often I only hear the splash 
and see the swirl of the water where it went down. 
This time it will swim a long way, raising only its 
bill now and then above the water for a breath of 
air, so I run the boat off before the wind in search 
of another bird. 
If it is quite windy, the Grebe can sometimes 
be made to fly. The start is a very entertaining 
affair. Having very small wings, it is hard for it to 
get out of the water, though, when once started, it 
Hies easily and swiftly, with rapid beats of the 
S| 
