THE SUBMERGED TENTH 



beautiful Assowompsett, in the largest lake in 

 Massachusetts. Nearly always I can find the 

 Horned Grebe, often the Dabchick, and occasion- 

 ally the larger species, though the latter here pre- 

 fers salt water. The Grebes usually migrate in 

 flocks, unless it be the Dabchick, but on alighting 

 in a lake they scatter about searching for food. So, 

 as I run out on the first tack, I am apt soon to see 

 a solitary Grebe of some sort, paddling about. 

 Pretending not to see it, I work the boat well to 

 windward, and then, with extended sail, which 

 serves to hide me, bound along at a rapid rate, 

 almost directly toward the bird. The approach is 

 so sudden that the Water-witch seems for the 

 moment to lose its self-possession, and swims first 

 one way and then the other. And now we are so 

 close that the Grebe in fright feels that it must do 

 something, so it does what is most natural, dives. 

 Instantly I lufT the boat, and as likely as not the 

 bird will soon emerge almost alongside, thinking to 

 have come up far behind the moving boat. Hardly 

 are its eyes above water than it sees me, and dives 

 again so quickly that often I only hear the splash 

 and see the swirl of the water where it went down. 

 This time it will swim a long way, raising only its 

 bill now and then above the water for a breath of 

 air, so I run the boat off before the wind in search 

 of another bird. 



If it is quite windy, the Grebe can sometimes 

 be made to fly. The start is a very entertaining 

 affair. Having very small wings, it is hard for it to 

 get out of the water, though, when once started, it 

 flies easily and swiftly, with rapid beats of the 



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