THE DUSKY OUZEL 337 



correct other ornithologists' blunders and to clear up the 

 mysteries that they have left unsolved. 



The next birds that claimed my attention were some 

 small parties of thrushes, which were very wild, keeping 

 mostly to the forest, where I could not pursue them, but 

 at last I secured one as he was feeding on the steep bank 

 of the river where the snow had melted, and had the 

 pleasure of picking up a dusky ouzel (Merula fuscata), 

 a bird which I had never seen in the flesh before. The 

 call-note of these birds reminded me somewhat of that 

 of the redwing. 



Wagtails rapidly became very numerous, and were to 

 be seen running about close to the edge of the water, 

 sometimes perched on a little ice-floe, and coming inland 

 to the pools formed by the melting snow. They were 

 mostly the Indian form of the white wagtail, but I shot a 

 fine male yellow-headed wagtail, a bird whose acquaint- 

 ance I had first made on the banks of the Petchora. 

 Ducks were flying up the river at intervals, but none 

 came near enough for me to identify the species. I shot 

 a solitary Lapland bunting, a bird for which I had been 

 on the look-out for some time, as in the valley of the 

 Petchora it had been amongst the earliest arrivals. The 

 season was, no doubt, late, and this species breeds on the 

 tundra beyond the limit of forest growth, where winter 

 still reigned supreme. 



We had brilliant sunshine on the following day, the 

 5th of June, without a breath of wind. The snow was 

 thawing very fast. Ice came down the river slowly, but 

 the current was still up the Kureika. The water rose 

 considerably during the afternoon, and the Thames was 

 again afloat. The captain was busy putting ballast into 

 the fore part of the ship, so as to raise the stern as much 

 as possible out of the water. When this was done she 



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