IX 

 MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS 



"Up and down! Up and down! 

 From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, 

 And midst the flashing and feathery foam, 

 The stormy petrel finds a home." 



t and had been lost since early morn- 

 ing. I don't remember how many 

 miles we had made, but we had 

 climbed far up the hill of the sea to- 

 ward the second night, when across 

 our bows cut a little band of small, dark birds 

 with white rumps, which, veering, glancing down 

 the ragged waves, seemed to settle in the wake 

 of the ship. No one need be told that they were 

 petrels — Mother Carey's chickens; but what I 

 could hardly believe was that they were birds — 

 with webbed feet, to be sure — but birds with 

 wings, adrift here in the vast of the ocean, and 

 with nests and mates waiting for them along some 

 far-off rocky shore. They must have circled the 

 ship, for soon again they came keeling across our 



