AMID SPRUCES AND SEA-GIRT ROCKS 177 
to the steam foghorn building, located just up from a very 
rough, rocky shore. This is a cobble-stone beach, composed 
of rocks rounded by the action of the waves, varying from 
the size of a man’s head to that of a haystack. Resting upon 
the tops of the larger ones were groups of these curious birds, 
about the size of small ducks, enjoying the sunshine. Their 
plumage is entirely black, except for a large oval patch of 
white on each wing, which shows very conspicuously whether 
they are sitting or flying. Other parties of them are out on 
tl;: water, a few rods offshore. They ride easily on the 
swells, which, after passing them, break as surf upon the 
rocks. Their food is flsh, which they secure by diving. One 
by one they plunge and disappear, remaining under water 
for as much as a minute at a time. No doubt they improve 
these moments of submersion, for they appear well-fed and 
plump enough. After a spell at fishing or playing about 
in the water, they will start to fly, sometimes singly, some¬ 
times the whole party at once. Their wings beat very rapidly 
and they pass the rock almost like bullets, their bright car¬ 
mine feet and legs dangling conspicuously behind. Often, 
when I sat quietly among the rocks watching them, they 
would alight one after the other upon some boulder quite 
close to me, and then step about, turning this way and that 
to look me all over, not so much in fear as in curiosity. 
Their legs are set so far behind them that they walk almost 
erect, like penguins or murres. When they have satisfied 
themselves, they squat or lie down, others coming to join 
them from time to time, till there are a dozen or more in 
the party. 
No one would call them communicative. The only sound 
they make is a shrill, rather faint whistle, which is not aud¬ 
ible at any great distance. Perhaps they make up for this 
comparative muteness by their varied and expressive gestures. 
