120 WILD WINGS 



of bird-flutes, and pairs of demure little Wilson's Plovers 

 ran pattering before me along the shingle. Some louder, 

 more incisive cries came from a couple of Oyster-catchers, 

 large and wary shore-birds that probably had young in the 

 vicinity. A mile or two farther along I began to approach a 

 flock of good-sized birds whose sooty black plumage showed 

 up with startling contrast against the dazzling glare of the 

 sand upon which they were resting. Presently they took to 

 wing and came dashing toward me like a pack of hounds in 

 full cry. Darting past, they revealed their white under parts 

 and great carmine bills, the lower mandible projecting be- 

 yond the upper one. This most singular bird is the Black 

 Skimmer. Were there nothing else picturesque in the land- 

 scape, these would suffice and would furnish inducement 

 enough for the trip down into old Virginia. 



About a dozen pairs of them were nesting at this particu- 

 lar spot. By threes and fours their rather large white eggs, 

 handsomely marked with black, were readily seen lying in 

 hollows in the dry sand above high-water mark. They make 

 no nest whatever, save to scratch out a little round depression, 

 which is similar to the numerous wallows where the birds 

 have been squatting to bask in the sun. A few hundred 

 yards beyond was another group of perhaps twenty nests, 

 and so these groups recurred, as I continued my way along 

 the seemingly endless beach. 



It was a lively and beautiful scene. Parties of Skimmers 

 were flying about in all directions, some across the sand, 

 other bands close over the surface of the ocean just outside 

 the white line of the lazily breaking surf. One moment they 

 would wheel and look like snowy terns, then immediately 

 they would become as black as crows, according as they 

 presented their lower or upper parts. But their cries ! Some- 

 times one would suddenly dash by me and utter, almost in 



