AND OTHER BIRDS 27 



the burrow, this tremor became a poise, a poise 

 interpolated for an instant in the bird's yet swift 

 unwavering flight, and without apparent check 

 to the speed of the skyward climb, a miracle of 

 balanced flight. At last the bird would drop 

 with a plump through scrub, or rustle with a 

 run into tangles of vine. 



Most of these flying Petrels arrived without a 

 call of any sort. The Kuaka was quite silent; 

 the Mutton Bird was also quite silent on this 

 night, although later in the year, but even then 

 very rarelv, I have heard him call on the wing, 

 a call, I may say, entirely dissimilar to the "Te- 

 te-te" and* "burr" of the Petrel that during 

 December can be heard at night flying inland 

 over many parts of the east coast of the North 

 Island. 



From either the Parara or Titi Wainui 7 

 ghost-like in their pale blue plumage now almost 

 turned to white, came a rare "Zp-zp." 



About eight or nine o'clock there were 

 hundreds of thousands or, as I have computed, 

 millions, of birds on the island, the vast majority 

 of them being Kuaka. The air w r as gorged with 

 sound as when bees swarm or lambs bleat in 

 thousands together. Each species was calling its 

 own call, and singing its own song. The pre- 

 dominant sounds seemed to me to be "Ku-ku- 

 kia," endlessly repeated, and a long-drawn 

 "Koe-koe-oe-oe-o," with something of a wail in 

 it. I feel sure, however, there was no sadness 

 that night amongst the Petrels. The island was 

 like a fair, the eager arrivals running hither and 

 thither inspecting, rejecting, visiting, courting, 

 and chanting their subterranean lyrics. This 

 ceaseless eagerness and feverish activitv 



