THE AMERICAN EIDER 381 
gray curtain. A mile from home the first flakes 
of the storm begin to seethe in the water along- 
side and in another minute every landmark is 
hidden—nothing to look upon but nearby waves 
and level lines of driving snow. If our guard- 
ians are disturbed at the prospect they give no 
sign, but pull steadily, keeping their course by 
the heavy wind which they know will hold from 
this quarter for some time. But the passen- 
gers, covering up no little anxiety under an air 
of indifference, are mightily pleased when 
finally they hear the thunder of the sea upon the 
rocks ahead. A short pull along the coast 
brings into view the dead oak which marks the 
harbor’s entrance, and soon the voyage is 
ended and we are at home with another shoot- 
ing experience to remember, and that, too, one 
which only New England’s winter season can 
give us. 
The Eiders gather into large flocks and fly 
out into the open sea for the night, coming in 
about daybreak to feed among the sunken reefs 
on the mollusks and shellfish which make their 
chief diet and abound in such places. This 
food, the staff of life to the seafowl, makes their 
flesh dark and to most people unpleasant in 
