IN THE SHETLANDS 61 
gently and gradually that one is hardly conscious of 
what they are about till one sees them no more. As 
much as any creature, I think, they “softly and 
silently vanish away.” Another habit which they 
have is shared by the cormorant and other sea-birds, 
and has often puzzled me. It is that of continually 
dipping their bills in the water and raising them up 
from it again, as though they were drinking, though 
that they should drink the salt sea like this, for hours 
at a time, seems a strange thing. What is the mean- 
ing of this action, which I have just seen a shag 
perform forty-six times in succession, at intervals of 
a few seconds, as if for a wager? And this was after 
having watched it doing the same thing for some time 
before. After the forty-sixth sip, as it were, this 
bird made a short pause, and then recommenced. Is 
this drinking, and, if not, what is it? The head and 
part of the bill are, each time, sunk in the water, so 
that, as the bird moves on, they plough it like the ram 
of a war-ship. Then, in a second or two, the head is 
raised, not so high indeed as in an unmistakable thirsty 
draught—which I do not remember at any time to 
have seen shags indulge in—but with much the action 
of drinking. The bill, it is true, is very little opened, 
hardly sufficiently so to be noticeable, but very little 
would allow of water entering it. But why should 
the bird drink like this? It cannot be that the salt 
water makes it more and more thirsty, for this, as 
with shipwrecked sailors, would produce evil conse- 
quences—probably death—but, of course, this is out 
of the question. 
