MODERN CLIFF-DWELLERS 



uttered a joyous shout, we saw an apparition of red 

 and gray cliffs, and Bird Rock emerged from the 

 mist like a grim fortress, less than half a mile away. 

 On top of the precipice that rose sheer from the 

 ocean were a light-house and other buildings; along 

 its sides were lines of black and white that I knew 

 were birds upon their nests. 



Flying before the wind, the Rock seemed to 

 rise right upon us. The air was now clear and the 

 sun bright. Gannets, Kittiwakes, Murres, Auks 

 and Puffins were passing and repassing about us, 

 flying to and from the cliffs. Then we rounded 

 the north-east corner of the Rock, about a gunshot 

 out from it, looking up in amazement at the swarms 

 of birds that almost filled the air, or clustered in 

 masses upon the narrow ledges of the cliff. It 

 seemed to me like a busy street of a great city, with 

 its tall buildings, in and out of which the crowds 

 surged, only that all the windows were doors, and 

 it was rather alarming to see people falling in 

 showers out of the tenth or twentieth-story win- 

 dows. The words of the Psalmist came to me as 

 impressively descriptive " Who are these that fly 

 as doves to their windows?" 



Our approach was noted from the lighthouse 

 above. The British ensign flying from the top of 

 the flag-staff was dipped in our honour, and sharp 

 rose the crash of the dynamite bomb salute. " Let 

 go," came the shout from above, as we rounded the 

 north-west corner. Down went our anchor in 

 response. We both took snapshots of the cliff, then 

 hurried into the dory, where our baggage had 

 already been put, and were rowed shoreward. The 



53 



