142 



THE BIRDS OF lONA AND MULL. 





of black necks swimming away to windward. A few are within 

 reach, and — piff, puff! — shoot 'em down is the word — no quarter 

 given to them now. 



Lastly, we may visit one of the caves, as the swell of the 

 Atlantic has sunk into a calm slumber, and will allow us to 

 venture into it without danger to the boat. At the first alarm 

 a string of birds pours forth, almost into our faces ; still many 

 remain sitting on the high shelters, even though we enter the 

 cave and re-fire repeatedly, creating a most dreadful din and 

 briuging down splinters of the rock from the lofty vaulted roof. 



