THE MANX SHEARWATER ON SKOMER ISLAND. 369 



helped us about two yards farther, and V.'s enthusiasm was 

 beginning to flag, but the defiant crows of the Shearwater 

 inside urged him on, and he kept at it. We were both extremely 

 warm (to use no stronger term), and rested ourselves for a 

 moment, listening to the loud cries of the bird in the hole, 

 which were more vigorous than ever, when we heard another 

 close by. It was 10.15 p.m. We had been following the first 

 Shearwater as if it was the only one in Skomer. " Try the 

 second one," said I; "it may be easier to reach." Ere we 

 could attempt anything we heard a third, a fourth, a fifth. 

 In twenty minutes the whole ground seemed alive with them ; 

 Shearwaters crowed in every hole, where half-an-hour pre- 

 viously there was a dead silence, save occasionally the "oh" of 

 a Puffin. 



Presently the sounds, which were at first rather deep down, 

 came nearer the entrances of the holes. It was quite dusk, yet 

 we distinctly saw the white breasts and under parts of the Shear- 

 waters as they fluttered out of the burrows. The crowing was 

 no longer confined to underground regions ; it soon began over- 

 head, and the swift swerving flight of Puffinus anglorum crossed 

 and recrossed our line of vision against the lighter parts of the 

 sky. Now every hole seemed to deliver up its occupant, and as 

 we went back to the tent, Shearwaters fluttered across the path 

 in dozens, everywhere making for the edge of the cliff, or for 

 some prominence from which they could rise. They were 

 crowing all the time, those overhead as well as those in the 

 holes. The air became alive with Shearwaters answering those 

 underground, the rush of their wings as they sailed past with 

 extraordinary swiftness would of itself have made a loud volume 

 of sound, but when the night-air was filled with their cries 

 in addition, it was indeed as if Bedlam were let loose. The 

 note is always the same, — " cuck-cuck-oo," — generally repeated 

 three times, and with a varying degree of loudness and of 

 harshness, or hoarseness, which is concentrated in the final "oo." 

 We lay down to sleep, but it was a mockery, for as the night 

 wore on, the noise became worse and at times awful, and the 

 maximum of intensity was reached about 11.30 p.m. The tent 

 was on a slope about 150 feet over the sea, and though rather 

 out of the track of the Shearwaters on their fluttering career 

 downwards, they repeatedly banged themselves with all their 



