A HUNT FOR HOATZINS 113 



beneath. At this there arose a monstrous hiss- 

 ing and a whistle of wings, and a cloud of black 

 vultures descended with a rush and roar from 

 surrounding roofs and trees. 



While watching and photographing them, I 

 saw an antithesis of bird-life such as I had 

 never imagined. The score of vultures fought 

 and tore and slid about in the black noisome 

 mud exposed by the low tide. Sometimes they 

 were almost back downward — fairly slithering 

 through the muck to seize some shred of fish, 

 hissing venomously; and at last spreading filthy, 

 mud-dripping pinions to flap heavily away a few 

 paces. In disgust at the sight and sound and 

 odor, I started to turn back, when in the air 

 just above the fighting mass, within reach of 

 the flying mud, poised a hummingbird, clean 

 and fresh as a rain-washed blossom. With cap 

 of gold and gorget of copper, this smallest, 

 most ethereal, and daintiest of birds hung bal- 

 anced just above the most offensive of avian 

 sights. My day threatened to be one of emo- 

 tion instead of science. 



Berbice vouchsafed one more surprise, a mem- 

 ory from the past which appeared and vanished 

 in an instant. One of the most delightful of 



