The IVaier-fowl of the Pacific Coast 547 



ing call of the quail rang from the sumac on 

 Coronado Beach. From the long wharf you 

 could see the divers catch fish in the clear 

 water beneath, while canvas-backs and mallards 

 merely swam out of your way. Snowy pelicans 

 fishing in revolving chains cut the water and rose 

 in air, little terns dived from on high in all direc- 

 tions, while gulls of every kind drifted about your 

 head or sat lazily on the piles to inspect you. 

 But it* was not the shag or merganser that 

 floated everywhere on the untroubled waters, or 

 the frigate-bird so softly sailing over the blue 

 mirror that then knew nothing of sewers, that 

 attracted your attention. The eye was quickly 

 riveted on acres of black dotted with white that 

 lay far out upon the water in strict exclusiveness, 

 and from which came a muffled " wah — 00k " like 

 the distant babel of frogs. No sign did these 

 dark dots give of any communion with the rest 

 of the feathered tribes, and they especially dis- 

 dained all those silly enough to allow man to look 

 at them. 



Out in the ocean thousands more were riding 

 the lazy swell of the kelp, but all as quiet as those 

 in the bay. Not a wing was raised on either 

 water unless you were weak enough to think you 

 could shoot one from a boat. Then, long before 

 you were within reach with the best gun, they 

 rose with the quickness of ducks and spun away 



