26 The Zoologist — January, 1866. 



October 19. A furious gale from the north, driving before it, hori- 

 zontally across the headland, perfect sheets of rain. At the north 

 landing-place the scene was magnificent, as the mighty resistless 

 waves came rolling in, line beyond line, white-crested to the very 

 horizon, while clouds of wool-like masses of foam were driven far up 

 the sides of the rugged cliffs, and, again caught and carried upwards 

 by the wind, drifting far inward across the promontory like gigantic 

 snow-flakes. In the midst of all this turmoil several ndble herring gulls 

 were hovering steadily over the bay, eagerly scanning the broken 

 water for any fragments of floating matter, their wings perfectly 

 motionless, and retaining their position seemingly with but little effort. 

 We had a rough walk of seven miles along the cliffs, and it was often 

 with the greatest difficulty that we kept on our legs. In crossing the 

 little valley which leads down to Thornwick Bay, I put up from 

 a patch of rushes close to the shore a shorteared owl, which went 

 sailing up the valley with a buoyant gull-like flight. During our walk 

 we found numbers of fieldfares and redwings crouched under shelter of 

 the turf-wall, which is here carried along the edge of the rocks: these 

 birds seemed incapable of facing the hurricane, which swept and 

 howled over the lofty Speeton Cliffs as if determined to level everything 

 before it: they would permit us to get within a very short distance 

 before rising, and then flutter forward under the walls. Woe to them if 

 they rose ever so little above the friendly shelter, for the wind whirled 

 them away literally like so many dead leaves. Even the rock pigeons, 

 strong as they are on the wing, were often baffled in getting down to 

 their sea cotes below : as they came in from the surrounding country 

 they would fly low, often almost skimming the ground, and taking the 

 shelter-side of any hedge-row in their line of flight to the coast. The 

 sheltered line of the Dane's Dyke plantations was a much-frequented 

 route. After clearing the edge of the cliffs, they nearly closed their 

 wings and went down head foremost for hundreds of feet, like a 

 cricket-ball falling, till level with the cave, when they would dash 

 suddenly in. Often when rising to the summit, the wind would catch 

 them, and they went drifting about across the face of the great lime- 

 stone-wall, looking exactly like fragments of sea-weed, torn off" by the 

 wind, and frequently driven over the top, utterly unable to stem the 

 force of the storm. We saw but few other birds during our walk, and 

 only one cormorant, which was flying rapidly right in the very teeth of 

 the gale, and at the height of about 500 feet above the sea. On our 

 return I nearly succeeded in capturing two pipits, so utterly confused 



