IN THE SHETLANDS 69 
gulped it up, with the water to help them ; though 
I can hardly think that they are compelled to act in 
this way. 
These little birds—old ocean’s pets, his darlings— 
seem to me to play at fighting. Whilst swimming 
together in little changing troops—for the numbers 
are always increasing or diminishing—they constantly 
approach one another in a threatening manner, the 
body raised in the water, the head held straight up, 
and the mandibles opening and shutting like a slender 
pair of scissors—a thoroughly warlike appearance. 
Yet it hardly ever ends in anything, nor does the 
threatened bird seem really alarmed. Generally, the 
threatener, as he comes alongside, subsides into quiet 
humdrum, or two birds, after circling round one 
another in this way, each almost on its own pivot, 
like a pair of whirligig corks, both quiet down. Each, 
whilst thus acting, will, at intervals, drop the head 
and sink the beak a little in the water—one of their 
most usual actions. Sometimes, indeed, the menacing 
bird may fly at the one he menaces, who ducks at 
the right moment; but what makes me think it 
more play than wrath is that, often, instead of flying 
right at him, he flies to beside him only, and both 
then swim together, looking the best of friends. 
Yet too much stress is not to be laid on this either, 
and certainly it can be ‘‘miching malicho” on occa- 
sions. Often, when one bird is attacked, all the 
others will dive and scurry about under the water, 
in the most excited manner, seeming to pursue one 
