AND OTHER BIRDS 27 



the burrow, this tremor became a poise, a poise 

 interpolated for an instant in the bird's yet swift 

 unwavering flight, and without apparent check 

 to the speed of the skyward climb, a miracle of 

 balanced flight. At last the bird would drop 

 with a plump through scrub, or rustle with a 

 run into tangles of vine. 



Most of these flying Petrels arrived without a 

 call of any sort. The Kuaka was quite silent; 

 the Mutton Bird was also quite silent on this 

 night, although later in the year, but even then 

 very rarely, I have heard him call on the wing, 

 a call, I may say, entirely dissimilar to the "Te- 

 te-te" and '"burr" of the Petrel that during 

 December can be heard at night flying inland 

 over many parts of the east coast of the North 

 Island. 



From either the Parara or Titi Wainui, 

 ghost-like in their pale blue plumage now almost 

 turned to white, came a rare "Zp-zp." 



About eight or nine o'clock there were 

 hundreds of thousands or, as I have computed, 

 millions, of birds on the island, the vast majority 

 of them being Kuaka, The air was gorged with 

 sound as when bees swarm or lambs bleat in 

 thousands together. Each species was calling its 

 own call, and singing its own song. The pre- 

 dominant sounds seemed to me to be "Ku-ku- 

 kia," endlessly repeated, and a long-drawn 

 "Koe-koe-oe-oe-o," with something of a wail in 

 it. I feel sure, however, there was no sadness 

 that night amongst the Petrels. The island was 

 like a fair, the eager arrivals running hither and 

 thither inspecting, rejecting, visiting, courting, 

 and chanting their subterranean lyrics. This 

 ceaseless eagerness and feverish activity 



