22 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



her short tail propping her securely from be- 

 hind. 



On, up along the narrow back, or blade, of 

 the Rock, and over the peak, were the well- 

 spaced nests of the Brandt's cormorants, nests the 

 size of an ordinary straw hat, made of sea-grass 

 and the yellow-flowered sulphur-weed that grew 

 in a dense mat over the north slope of the top, 

 each nest holding four long, dirty, blue eggs or 

 as many black, shivering young; and in the low 

 sulphur-weed, all along the roof-like slope of the 

 top, were the nests of the gulls and the burrows of 

 the tufted puffins and the petrels. The cormo- 

 rants were the most striking figures of the sum- 

 mit, — all around the rock rim that dropped 

 sheer to the sea they stood black, silent, stat- 

 uesque. Everywhere were nests and eggs and 

 young, and everywhere were flying, crying birds 

 — above, about, and far below me, a whirling, 

 whirring vortex of wings that had caught me in 

 its funnel. 



So thick was the air with wings, so clangorous 

 with harsh tongues, that I had not seen the fog 

 moving in, or noticed that the gray wind of 

 Tillamook Bar had begun to growl about the 



