130 THE BIRDS OF THE OUTER FARNES 



The nests are round, and built of dry seaweed. They 

 are about two feet across, or a few inches more, and 

 many of them not much less in height, and built with 

 great regularity, looking almost as if they were lengths 

 cut from a black marble column, slightly cupped at the 

 tops, and, curiously enough, stood out most of them 

 from the whitewashed platforms unspotted. 



The only other sign of life which we saw on the 

 Megstones did not detract from its lonely wildness. It 

 was a long-legged, thin, wild-looking Black Beetle, which 

 had been sunning itself on the hot rock nearest the 

 highest point. It rushed towards us, as if to attack, at 

 a great pace, and before we could catch or identify it, 

 threw itself over a precipice and escaped into a crack 

 at the bottom. 



The wind was fair for the shore, and as the water 

 lapped our bows the Megstone Rocks settled down fast, 

 lower and lower, into the sea behind us. The turrets 

 and battlements of Bamborough Castle, which seen 

 on end recalls the Normandy St. Michael's Mount, 

 separated themselves one by one from the block, and 

 sooner than we could have wished, we were landed 

 safely a mile or so from the village on a natural jetty 

 of rock, at the end of which we had watched the 

 evening before an Eider Drake addressing, with much 

 gesticulation, a party of Ducks. A few hours later 

 we were comfortably asleep, rushing through the night 

 to London. 



Of all the poor creatures whose fate it was to be 

 strangled or battered to death by Hercules, there was 



