The Marbled Murrelet 



But there are those who enjoy the conflict of the storm even more 

 than we. Above the whining of the waters and the crashing of the prow, 

 come shrill exultant cries, Meer - meer, meer - meer. The Murrelets are 

 in their element, and they shriek to each other across the dancing waters 

 like Tritons at play. Perhaps association will partly account for it, but 

 somehow the note of the Marbled Murrelet seems of itself to suggest 

 piping gales and rugged cliffs beset by pounding surf. It is the articulate 

 cry of the sea in a royal mood. And not a thousand Murrelet voices are 

 required to transport the hearer to Alaska forthwith. 



Save in summer, the Murrelets appear chiefly in pairs, and it is 

 interesting to note the harmony of action in the case of mated birds. They 

 sit upon the water, usually abreast, from one to four feet apart, and in 

 flight they maintain the same relation. In rising from the water they do 

 not patter, after the fashion of the grebe, but burst out by a sudden effort. 

 They do not, however, always succeed in getting quickly under way, for 

 they sometimes bump along over the surface like a skipping stone, and 

 are even quite baffled if they are called upon to clear an unusually high 

 wave. Once a-wing, however, they vibrate the pinions with extreme 

 rapidity and appear to move like winged bullets. 



Because so agile, they are often quite venturesome, and the pursuit 

 of fish is sometimes carried on before a wharf-load of beholders. About 

 the docks of one of the navy-yards these birds are especially fearless. They 

 look like little men-of-war themselves, as they lie at anchor on the surface 

 of the water; but when they get news from below by wireless, they are 

 off like a flash, down, down into the cool green depths. They do not 

 swim under water, but fly rather. At first one may see the wing-strokes, 

 incisive, rapid; then only the quickly disappearing white of the bird's 

 nether parts is visible; and lastly, a slowly rising line of bubbles which 

 mark the first dozen feet or so of the diver's course. When surprised at 

 close quarters by a steamship, the bird oftener escapes by diving than by 

 flight, and so confident is he of his powers in this regard that he tarries 

 to indulge the last possible moment of curiosity before going below. 



The nesting of the Marbled Murrelet is one of the most fascinating 

 mysteries in the annals of the West. The presumption was that eggs 

 would be found on rocky islets in burrows, quite after the fashion of the 

 Ancient Murrelet; but all such claims are now discredited. The only 

 indubitable egg was taken by George G. Cantwell, May 23rd, 1897, 

 from the oviduct of a female shot by a Haida Indian boy. The older 

 Indians, when questioned, affirmed their belief that the birds bred high 

 up in the mountains in hollow trees. The "hollow tree" touch is doubtful, 

 for no bird of this group could "dock" in a hole in a tree with sufficient 

 accuracy to guarantee a continuance of the race. But the mountain 



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