A " CLOUD " OF BIRDS. 81 



tressed with slanting piles of rocky fragments. 

 The ramparts, crenelated iri some places, had 

 mouldered away in others ; and one fancied he 

 saw, in the rents and scars of the giant pile, the 

 marks of the shot and shell which had wrought its 

 ruin. Thousands of white gulls, gone to their 

 mighty roost, rested on every ledge and cornice of 

 the rock ; but preparations were already made to 

 disturb their slumbers. The steamer's cannon was 

 directed towards the largest vault, and discharged. 

 The fortress shook with the crashing reverbera- 

 tion ; then rose a wild, piercing, myriad-tongued 

 cry, which still rings in my ears. With the cry 

 carne a rushing sound, as of a tempest among the 

 woods ; a white cloud burst out of the hollow arch- 

 way, like the smoke of an answering shot, and, in 

 the space of a second, the air was filled with birds 

 thicker than autumn leaves, and rang with one 

 universal clanging shriek. The whirring, rustling, 

 and screaming, as the birds circled overhead, or 

 dropped like thick scurries of snowflakes on the 

 water, was truly awful. There could not have 

 been less than 50,000 in the air at one time, while 

 as many more clung to the face of the rock, or 

 screamed from the depth of the vaults. It was 

 now eleven o'clock, and Svcerholt glowed in fiery 

 bronze lustre as we rounded it the eddies of re- 

 turning birds gleaming golden in the nocturnal 



