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THE AUSTRALIAN MUSEUM MAGAZINE. 



or the zoologist's speci- 

 men tank. The midget 

 beauties that dwell among 

 the corals, of course, 

 were never netted. To 

 see them we had to wait 

 for low tide, wade knee 

 deep, and find a pool 

 where coral masses could 

 be broken easily. From 

 the fragments, if we were 

 lucky, the little fishes ap- 

 peared, to dart away like 

 flying splinters of many- 

 colored glass . There were 

 crabs, too, in vivid scar- 

 let ; but neither crusta- 

 ceans nor fishes were love- 

 lier than big anemones 

 and the mantles of Tri- 

 dacnas. All the rain- 

 bow's colors are seen on a coral reef. 



THE SWIFTLETS' CAVE. 



" You must see the Swiftlets' Cave," 

 my host declared. The launch was 

 out of action — " engine trouble " — '- 

 so we had to make the trip to the rocky 

 landing-place, on the island's weather- 

 side, in a dinghy. Not a comfortable 

 pull, when we left the shelter of 

 Brammo Bay, and switchbacked over 

 heaving seas. It was worth while 

 though. You see, folk who have 

 visited this famous nesting jilace of the 

 grey-rumped swiftlet {CollocaUa fran- 

 cica) number barely a score. It was 

 a privilege to be taken there by the 

 discoverer. 



The cave, though close to the water's 

 edge, is deep in jungle growth, and one 

 might search for hours without lo- 

 cating it, though aware of its near 

 vicinity. '" The Beachcomber "" found 

 the swiftlets' colony in this gloomy 

 cave (which is not entered by man with 

 ease) through the excited fluttering 

 of birds that he could not see. The 

 nests were fastened to the " roof " 

 with a semi-transparent substance, 

 secreted by the builders. There were 

 more than fifty of these strange, shallow 

 nurseries ; many contained one pearl- 

 white egg ; the others were empty, 

 in some cases not completed. 



I had read of this cave in My 



Amongst the Island's bird visitors was the Sacred Kingfisher 

 (Halcyon sanctus). 



[Photo.— C. Barrett. 



Trojiic Isle, and the star item of my 

 Dunk Island programme was to pay it a 

 visit. Only an ardent naturalist can 

 know what joy I had in reaching the 

 cave, and peering up at the swiftlets' 

 primitive nests. Discomforts of the 

 dinghy voyage, the landing on wave- 

 swept rocks, and the scramble among 

 great boulders in the jungle, were less 

 than trifles now. I was weary and limp 

 with heat, and had lost fragments of 

 skin in breaking a path to the cave ; 

 but never, in Birdland outings, have I 

 felt happier than I did in that silent, 

 gloomy spot, walled and roofed with 

 rock. 



Doubtless, for many years, the cave 

 will keep its secret from all but natur- 

 alists, and other folk Avho go on pil- 

 grimage to Dunk Island determined to 

 " see everything." How will they find 

 it, I wonder. I could not be confident 

 of locating it myself, without a long 

 search in the jungle. 



Mr. Banfield once captured a swiftlet 

 on her nest, placing a hand gently over 

 her. She fluttered for a few moments, 

 and became quiet again. Returned to 

 the nest, she settled down, showing no 

 fear. The breeding season had not 

 commenced at the time of my visit, 

 and no birds were seen near the cave. 

 But often, from the bungalow, I had 

 watched swiftlets skimming high over 

 trees on the hill-side. Their nests 



