372 The Petrels 



Nov/ as far as the genesis of musk in land animals 

 is concerned I am unable to offer any opinion. But 

 the power of ambergris, the scent of sepia, the muski- 

 ness of Petrels and their eggs, are only to be referred 

 to one origin — the squid or cuttle fish in all his varieties, 

 and how numerous they are let Mr. Edgar Smith, the 

 erudite curator of the mollusca at South Kensington, 

 tell you — I cannot. Again and again I am conscience- 

 smitten at having ever said a word against the squid, 

 for at every turn in discussing the lives of the Deep- 

 Sea People aerial and marine, I find that without 

 the squid the other creatures simply could not be. 

 He is the basis, as it were, on which they are built. 

 This is most especially the case with regard to my 

 tiny friend the Stormy Petrel. So feeble, so small 

 is he, that any competition with the ordinary sea bird 

 in the universal struggle for food, or any capture 

 of fish in mid-sea, are alike out of the question. But 

 the languid Loligo, the little squid of an inch or so in 

 length, is always handy on the surface, easy of capture 

 by even so slight and weak a bird as the Stormy Petrel, 

 and in this way the latter little hungry creature is 

 fed. More times than I can remember I have seen 

 the little fellow in the midst of its dartings to and 

 fro in the wake of our flying ship, well on one side of 

 us, where it could not have been possible for anything 

 dropped from forecastle or galley to float, pause sud- 

 denly, and with fully stretched legs and quickly 

 fluttering wings reach down to the creaming surface, 

 and snatch something therefrom with a shrill cry 

 of satisfaction. That something was invariably a 

 little squid, a boneless succulent morsel created to 

 that end, without prevision or possibility of feeling 

 pain, and consequently perfectly happy even while in 

 process of transition into other forms of usefulness. 



