gannets leaving north bird rock 
CHAPTER IX 
TO BIRD ROCK IN AN OPEN BOAT 
Come on, sir ; here 's the place: stand still. How feaipul 
A nd dizzy V is to cast one’s eyes so low. 
Shakespeare, “ King Lear.” 
O NE short experience of such a miracle of nature as 
Bird Rock is as tantalizing as a glimpse into Para¬ 
dise. Ever since the famous rock, with its beetling 
cliffs and whirring multitude of sea-fowl, faded from my sight 
four years ago on that dark evening, angry with the threat 
of storm, it has periodically risen before my imagination. 
Again I could seem to hear the crash of the surf against the 
cliffs, the varied voices of the birds forming with it a grander 
symphony than any human orchestra could play. It was only 
a question of time when I must return, especially as there was 
another and impelling motive to enforce this desire. Since 
