THE FLAMINGO 



181 



the rookery. Single birds, or files of as many as fifty, were 

 almost constantly arriving and departing, coming from and 

 radiating to every point of the compass. 



Flamingos in flight resemble no other bird known to me. 

 With legs and neck fully outstretched, and the comparative- 

 ly small wings set half-way between bill and toes, they look 



as if they might fly backward or forward with equal ease. 

 They progress more rapidly than a Heron, and, when hur- 

 ried, fly with a singular serpentine motion of the neck and 

 body, as if they were crawling in the air. 



As noon approached, the birds disposed themselves for 

 sleep. The long necks were arranged in sundry coils and 

 curves, the heads tucked snugly beneath the feathers of the 

 back, and, for the first time, there was silence in the red city. 

 Suddenly one could never tell whence it came the honk- 

 ing alarm-note was given. Instantly, and with remarkable 

 effect, the snake-like necks shot up all over the glowing bed 

 of color before me, transforming it into a writhing mass of 



