120 
WILD WINGS 
of bird-flutes, and pairs of demure little Wilson’s Plovers 
ran pattering before me along the shingle. Some louder, 
more incisive cries came from a couple of Oyster-catchers, 
large and wary shore-birds that probably had young in the 
vicinity. A mile or two farther along I began to approach a 
flock of good-sized birds whose sooty black plumage showed 
up with startling contrast against the dazzling glare of the 
sand upon which they were resting. Presently they took to 
wing and came dashing toward me like a pack of hounds in 
full cry. Darting past, they revealed their white under parts 
and great carmine bills, the lower mandible projecting be¬ 
yond the upper one. This most singular bird is the Black 
Skimmer. Were there nothing else picturesque in the land¬ 
scape, these would sufhce and would furnish inducement 
enough for the trip down into old \drginia. 
About a dozen pairs of them were nesting at this particu¬ 
lar spot. By threes and fours their rather large white eggs, 
handsomely marked with black, were readily seen lying in 
hollows in the dry sand above high-water mark. They make 
no nest whatever, save to scratch out a little round depression, 
which is similar to the numerous wallows where the birds 
have been squatting to bask in the sun. A few hundred 
yards beyond was another group of perhaps twenty nests, 
and so these groups recurred, as I continued my way along 
the seemingly endless beach. 
It was a lively and beautiful scene. Parties of Skimmers 
were flying about in all directions, some across the sand, 
other bands close over the surface of the ocean just outside 
the white line of the lazilv breaking surf. One moment they 
would wheel and look like snowv terns, then immediately 
they would become as black as crows, according as they 
presented their lower or upper parts. But their cries ! Some¬ 
times one would suddenly dash by me and utter, almost in 
