THE SUBMERGED TENTH 
surprised to find that I had secured, not a Duck, 
but a Horned Grebe. This was my first successful 
wing-shot from a boat, and no wonder I remem- 
ber it. More often, under similar circumstances, it 
has been the large fellow—“< Ting-tang,” as the 
gunners name it—that I have observed. 
A mental picture such as the above inevitably 
has Loons in it, as a natural part of the scene. 
Though Grebes and Loons may not actually flock 
together, they have enough in common to make it 
proper to class them alike with “the submerged 
tenth ;” and as my thought turns toward Loons, my 
personal acquaintance with them for over twenty 
years unfolds itself in picturesque panorama, 1n two 
main lines of association. One has to do with: 
wooded lakes, and a great bird floating well out on 
the glassy surface, or exhibiting its marvellous 
powers of swimming and diving; the other brings 
Wpipicturesof the sea.)\4uIn one of these it asilate 
autumn. I am lying flat on my face, peering over 
a ridge of sand, on the Massachusetts shore just 
below “Indian Hill,” and watching a great Loon 
Hoating just off the beach, not twenty yards away, 
utterly unconscious of my presence. In another it 
is early winter, and I am strolling along the blufts 
of Scituate. A number of Loons, with Ducks of 
several sorts, are fishing out at the beginning of a 
line of heavy breakers. A big comber is advanc- 
ing. Surely it will overwhelm that Loon that 
Hoats quietly there in its course, facing approaching 
danger. Just as the wall of water reaches the bird, 
39 
