Among the Water-Fowl 



feet off. A few of them flew, as I crawled out to 

 their nests, but the rest sat indifferent, knowing 

 that the ledge sloped so much that no man would 

 have the hardihood to reach them. The great 

 creatures were going and coming, some of them 

 bringing bunches ot sea-weed in their bills to repair 

 their nests, perhaps pillaged of material by their 

 neighbours. Each had its single very large dirty 

 white egg, usually in a fair snug nest ot weed, 

 but occasionally the egg was upon the bare rock. 

 Probably the lining was to be added later. 



After supper I arranged quarters in the cellar 

 for developing plates, and went to work on those I 

 had exposed during the afternoon. As the darkness 

 gathered, even there indoors, I could hear one sort 

 of bird-note, all the other members of the colony 

 having apparently relapsed into silence and slumber 

 for the night. It was a funny little twittering or 

 chattering, that seemed to come from all directions, 

 and I recognized, from descriptions, the song — it 

 almost deserves that name — of the Leach's Petrel. 

 They evidently were flying about, and, alter my 

 work was done, I went out to investigate. It was 

 pitch dark, however, and I could see nothing of 

 them, so I retired to secure needed rest. All 

 night, in dream, I seemed to be crawling out on 

 dangerous ledges after birds, and trying to save 

 myself from falling. 



We were up early the next morning, and out 

 before breakfast for a look at the birds. The 

 weather was cloudy and windy, though there was 



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