206 Mr. A. Newton on the Birds of Spitsbergen. 



and Rotches, if that were possible, than those I have previously 

 attempted to describe. I do not think any part of them could 

 be scaled by man ; indeed, were it otherwise, the Foxes would, 

 no doubt, make their way as well to the ledges containing the 

 eggs and young, and inflict dire destruction on the rising gene- 

 ration. It is fear of the Foxes, I believe, that induces these 

 birds in Spitsbergen, instead of dispersing along the coast, to 

 crowd together in such a wonderful manner, wherever secure 

 ledges can be found, even though they be, as they often are, at 

 so inconvenient a distance from the sea as five or six miles. 

 On landing in this valley, some Reindeer were seen close by ; 

 and while my friends set off in pursuit of them, I strolled along 

 a little brook that here has its exit. Three old Burgomasters, 

 gravely holding a coroner's inquest on the body of a deceased 

 comrade, and about as many Purple Sandpipers were the only 

 birds that enlivened the land. But overhead continuous strings 

 of Guillemots and Botches were perpetually passing up the 

 valley to their homes, from which, of course, proceeded the 

 ceaseless murmuring roar of thousands of bird-voices, but here 

 modulated by the distance, and almost drowned by the babbling 

 of the brook upon which I was poring. Lit up by the northern 

 sun, for it was now getting on towards midnight, I could see 

 their white under-surfaces twinkling like stars against the brown 

 cliffs, as train after train, in long succession, sped on. It 

 required some exercise of faith to feel assured that they were 

 birds, and not " the gay motes that people the sunbeams." By- 

 and-by came some Fulmars, of an inquiring disposition, wheel- 

 ing past me, and then large flocks of Kittiwakes (for these birds 

 also breed in the adjacent lofty cliffs) returned from their 

 foraging expeditions ; and as, beating up against the gale, they 

 found a man lying in their line of flight, their well-known alarm- 

 cry of "pick-me-up,'' "pick-me-up," brought the echoes out of 

 the rocks. Later on, I saw some of my friends making their 

 way to the boats, and then it was decided that we should encamp 

 at once where we were. So the tent was pitched, drift-timber 

 collected for a most cheering fire, and after supper we all turned 

 in, and, notwithstanding the cold, had a good sleep, while the 

 west wind was driving the ice up the sound, and piling it on 



