The * Foul ' Petrel 373 



For a brief space, and before entering into the 

 family history and sea-going career of the tiny wee 

 wanderer I love so well, I must pay the compliment 

 of notice to an almost unique member of the family, 

 the Fulmar Petrel. Its front name indicates to those 

 conversant with Scottish idioms the prevalent cha- 

 racteristic of the bird. The word has been crudely 

 translated by the practical Americans into an un- 

 pleasant but entirely appropriate Anglo-Saxon equiva- 

 lent, Stinker. The reasons for this coarse cognomen 

 is self-evident ; the bird is really the skunk of the 

 feathered world ; and on the principle, I suppose, 

 that the more unpleasant the remedy the more certain 

 the cure, the islanders of St. Kilda seize the living 

 bird and squeeze from its throat a little oil, a table- 

 spoonful or so, which is considered to be an infallible 

 remedy for chronic rheumatism. I will not say that 

 the remedy is worse than the disease, but certainly 

 those using it deserve to get cured. It almost helps 

 one to understand the Chinese predilection for the 

 application of the moxa, a red-heated iron, to an 

 inflamed part for curative purposes. But Pennant, 

 that entirely unreliable but most delightful writer, 

 says, that no bird is of such value to the islanders 

 as this. It supplies them with oil for their lamps, 

 down for their beds, a dehcacy (!) for their tables, 

 and a medicine for their distempers. 



In the Southern Seas among whalemen it is 

 notorious as being the only bird which, in the midst 

 of waiting thousands, will fearlessly perch upon the 

 body of a dead whale, and begin tearing at the skin, 

 in the hope of getting an advance subscription to its 

 dinner fund. It comes down with a thud, and hence 

 the terrific threat of the Yankee whaling officer; 

 ' I'll 'light on ye like a Stinker on a carcase.' Not 



