CHAP, xv.] ROCK-PIGEONS. 123 



aperture on my hands and knees, which led into a large and 

 nearly tlark cave, said to be the abode of otters. Before 1 could 

 set fire to some dry fir-roots, which we brought with us, my dog 

 was barking furiously, some distance within the cave. We got 

 our light and went to examine what he had. By the tracks, he 

 had evidently cotne on an otter, who had made his escape into a 

 small hole which seemed to go into the very heart of the rocks, 

 and from which we had no chance of extracting him. This cave 

 was too damp for the birds, but was much marked with the foot- 

 steps of otters. Though the entry was so small, the cave itself 

 was both lofty and extensive. 



As we floated along the coast, stopping at the mouths of several 

 oaves, and occasionally landing, we put up several large flocks of 

 pigeons, and here and there cormorants and other sea-birds. On 

 one shelf of the rocks, far up above the sea, was the nest of the 

 raven. It was once inhabited by a pair of eagles, but is now quietly 

 tenanted by the raven. These birds had flown ; but both young 

 and old were flying about the tops of the cliff, croaking and playing 

 fantastic antics, as if in great astonishment at our appearance ; for 

 I fancy that they have very few visitants here. I tried a shot at 

 one with a rifle-ball, but only splintered the rock at his feet. 



Some of the caves were of great extent, and very full of pigeons, 

 old and young, several of which I killed. The birds were nearly 

 all blue ; here and there a sandy-coloured one, but no other 

 variety. Having made our way a considerable distance along the 

 coast, and the tide being now quite out, we landed on a green 

 spot of grass that stretched down between the rocks to the water's 

 edge. Above our heads, and in every direction, were heron-nests ; 

 some built in the clusters of ivy, and others on the bare shelves 

 of rocks. The young ones were full grown, but still in the nests, 

 standing upright and looking gravely at us. Though I thought 

 it a shame to make any of them orphans, I took the opportunity 

 of killing three fine old male herons, whose black feathers I 

 coveted much for my salmon-flies ; sitting quietly at the foot 

 of the rocks, I could distinctly see which birds were well supplied 

 with these feathers, as they flew in to feed their young over my 

 head. The feathers that are so useful in fly-dressing are the 

 black drooping feathers on the breast of the cock heron : neither 

 the young bird nor the hen bird has them. While resting my 



