The Cones Petrel 



until the sound of the phonograph has died out at the Wireless Station 

 and the gossiping keepers' wives have gone to bed; then steal forth with 

 a lantern and listen to the babel of the underworld. Lay your ear to a 

 stone wall, which marks some tumbledown Russian fort, and you will 

 hear the love song of dusky swains, gallants whose ancestors courted in 

 the neighboring rockslides before historic Russia was dreamt of, or ever 

 the Great Horde had left its steppes. The walls which support the zig- 

 zag pathway up to the old lighthouse, the oldest on the Pacific Coast, 

 are vocal with Petrel music; while out of the honeycombed base of the 

 tower itself come the same weird sounds. The whole island is a-titter 

 with Lilliputian music; but so tiny are the sounds that the ear scarcely 

 distinguishes individual notes at thirty feet; and the entire local chorus is 

 likely to be drowned out by the voice of a single Cassin Auklet youngster 

 yelling for its mother. 



On May 20th, 191 1, I pitched a lonely tent in a little level space just 

 east of Franconia beach. There was no wind, for once, so when my feath- 

 ered neighbors began to tune up at about nine o'clock in the evening, I 

 tiptoed over to a short rock wall which had served as a wind-break for 

 some crew of seal-hunters. The racket came from the lower courses of 

 rough masonry, and there seemed to be at least half a dozen birds "going 

 it" in close proximity. The sounds made by the Coues' Petrel are notice- 

 ably different from Beal's, of earlier knowledge, being lighter, sharper, 

 and much more varied in character. The "Petteretterell" note is sharpened 

 and obscured, insomuch that the imitative character of it is almost lost 

 to sight. In their burrows or crevices Coues' Petrels indulge a variety of 

 cooing and croaking, or chittering notes — love songs, undoubtedly. In 

 the open a sharp, saucy crowing note is often heard, a sort of challenge, 

 or look-at-me cry, which I surmise is uttered by the male only. It is 

 sometimes uttered a-wing, but more often when the bird is perched on 

 some trifling vantage point of rock. This note is wonderfully expressive; 

 and although it is pitch dark we can picture the little corporal strutting 

 or swelling in an endeavor to attract feminine attention. The little 

 fellow is wonderfully alert, too, at this time, and a quick pounce in the 

 dark usually drives away but does not capture the singer. 



Investigation of carefully-marked localities disclosed no birds on the 

 morrow. From this and other indications we concluded that the birds 

 spend only the nights of a certain courting season ashore. This is followed 

 by the customary honeymoon period of a week or ten days, during which 

 both birds remain ashore daytimes, the male probably feeding his mate with 

 the booty of a night foray. After the egg is laid only one bird attends it, 

 but this is as often as not the male, and it is probable that there is some 

 regular alternation of duties. 



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