AN ALASKAN ISLAND. 15 



habits there was no sign of their having arrived. Nevertheless, 

 we land, pitch our tent, and wait until the close of that long 

 twilight which is found only in the far North ; and just as it 

 merges into the night we see a bat-like form flit by, and pres- 

 ently from somewhere in the gloom comes an abrupt and 

 starting kroo-kroo-coo, which is at once answered with a like 

 call, or with the nerve-destroying kwee-ke-ke-ke in a very high, 

 shrill key, the call note of the Leach's petrel. 



Presently we hear a whirr of wings in different directions, 

 then more voices, pitched in various keys, and before we are 

 fairly aware of it, both heaven and earth seem to vibrate with 

 rumbling noises and whirring wings. 



As we step out of our tent perfectly astonished at this sud- 

 den change, and move to the foot of a small knoll near by, 

 listening to the violent outburst of noises, a muffled sound 

 comes from right under our feet. We stoop and discover a 

 small burrow in the earth, and from it come the cooing love- 

 notes of a petrel, k-r-r-r, k-r-r-r. This is its home. 



From a somewhat larger burrow, only a few feet to our 

 right, comes another sound, and moving cautiously in this 

 direction we listen to the love-notes of Cassin's auklet, which 

 remind me of the sounds produced by a squeaky saw while 

 passing through a hard knot, somewhat like kwee-kew, kwee- 

 kew, which fortunately lasts only for three or four hours each 

 night. These noises, coming from hundreds of anklets and 

 thousands of petrels, become almost distracting, and effectually 

 banish sleep for the first few nights on the island. 



These, then, are some of our, murrelet's neighbors, but where 

 is he ? We listen in vain for some note of his, but hear none. 

 As we walk on a little distance among the tall grass of last 

 year's growth, we notice a small dark object flapping about, 

 and after a short chase we manage to capture it, and discover 



