46 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



me was a hunchbacked pine, the sport of every 

 mocking wind that harried this rough coast, 

 and in its bent branches sat five ravens. They 

 croaked, but did not fly, satisfied to watch me 

 as I squirmed over the rocks towards the black 

 beast with a throat sac. In coloring and shape 

 they were like crows, yet I knew they were not 

 crows ; something in the shape of the head was 

 different; they did not treat me as crows would 

 have done. I felt that they were strangers. 



When I reached the last rock which could by 

 any chance shield my body from the cormorant, 

 I raised my head very slowly until my eyes came 

 upon a level with the rock's upper surface. 

 About twenty feet away, clasping with its hide- 

 ous feet the last rock left naked by the tide, sat 

 the shag. It seemed to me that it might be a 

 bittern which, having offended against the gods, 

 had been condemned to leave its beloved meadows 

 and thickets, whispering rushes and perfumed 

 grasses, in order to pass ages upon the shores of 

 a sobbing ocean in which it should find no peace 

 and no abiding-place. Its garb looked as sack- 

 cloth and ashes might well look after a thorough 

 soaking in salt water. When it craned upwards 

 its skinny neck and panted, it reached the climax 

 of its loathsomeness, for the livid sac pulsated 

 under its distressed breathing. I had watched 

 the horrid fish-eater long enough, so, rising to my 



