THE PROBLEM OF THE SOARING BIRD. 59 
situations found on so varied a coast as that between Tampa Bay 
and the Capes of Florida, not only the habitual methods common 
to ordinary soaring flight, but the unusual ones, incidentally per- 
formed to meet some emergency, were witnessed. The birds also 
have periodic seasons of feeling, which puts them on behaviour 
that in a man would be thought idiotic. The months of February 
and March, the time of breeding, are prolific in these singular 
air-tumbling performances. They served to emphasize the com- 
plete difference between active and fixed wing-flight. 
Being informed by parties from Charlotte's Harbour that 
Sand-hill Cranes could be found there, I set out in search of 
them. An outside passage of thirty miles was required, which 
was safely made, and at nightfall I was among the Gasparilla 
Keys. The wind being favourable and the weather fair, I kept on 
the outer beach, and at length drifted through a pass with the 
swiftly running tide in company with innumerable Sharks, Por- 
poises, and fish, great and small, all headed for the bay. Rounding 
the point I threw over the anchor, and, enveloped in a blanket 
with face towards the stars, slept, as one who manages a small 
boat for twenty hours can sleep. About daylight I was awakened 
by the thumping of the mast against the limb of a stunted cedar- 
tree obliquely jutting from the bank, and while adjusting the 
trouble a well-known cry sounded far above in the air, which at 
once banished all desire to sleep. I knew the note quite well. 
It denoted the arrival of Sandhill or Whooping Cranes from the 
north. Twenty-five years before I had seen them on the western 
prairies lift themselves on fixed wings above the clouds, and I 
had no doubt but what the call proceeded from birds which had 
the evening before been in the region of the great lakes on our 
northern boundary. Before sunrise at least fifty had arrived, and 
were greeted by their comrades on the land in the interior of the 
Key. They came down in great circles from a height of not less 
than three miles, on tensely-stretched wings, until within two 
hundred feet of the earth, when they suddenly began a slow 
flapping, which continued to the ground. I had often seen them 
begin their migrations, but never before witnessed the ending. 
They would average a weight of ten pounds, with about eight 
square feet of wing-surface. In rising they slowly beat the air 
until a suitable elevation is reached, when they assume a fixed 
position, and continue their upward flight in great circles to a 
