268 THE FOOLISH GUILLEMOT. 



must lead you, good reader, as there we can with ease study the habits of 

 these birds. 



Stay on the deck of the Ripley by my side this clear and cold morning. 

 See how swiftly scuds our gallant bark, as she cuts her way through the 

 foaming billows, now inclining to the right and again to the left. Far in the 

 east, dark banks of low clouds indicate foul weather to the wary" mariner, 

 who watches the approach of a northern storm with anxiety. Suddenly the 

 wind changes; but for this he has prepared; the topsails are snugged to their 

 yards, and the rest are securely reefed. A thick fog obscures all around us. 

 The waters suddenly checked in their former course, furiously war against 

 those which now strike them in front. The uproar increases, the bark is 

 tossed on every side; now a sweeping wave rushes against the bows, the 

 vessel quivers, while down along her deck violently pour the waters, rolling 

 from side to side, seeking for a place by which they may escape. At this 

 moment all about you are in dismay save the Guillemots. The sea is 

 covered with these intrepid navigators of the deep. Over each tumultuous 

 billow they swim unconcerned on the very spray at the bow of the vessel, 

 and plunging as if with pleasure, up they come next moment at the rudder. 

 Others fly around in large circles, while thousands contend with the breeze, 

 moving directly against it in long lines, towards regions unknown to all, 

 save themselves and some other species of sea birds. 



The Guillemots pair during their migrations; — many of them at least do 

 so. While on my way toward Labrador, they were constantly within sight, 

 gambolling over the surface of the water, the males courting the* females, and 

 the latter receiving the caresses of their mates. These would at times rise 

 erect in the sea, swell their throats, and emit a hoarse puffing guttural note, 

 to which the females at once responded, with numerous noddings to their 

 beaux. Then the pair would rise, take a round in the air, re-alight, and seal 

 the conjugal compact; after which they flew or swam together for the season, 

 and so closely, that among multitudes on the wing or on the waves, one 

 might easily distinguish a mated pair. 



Not far from Great Macatina Harbour lie the Murre Rocks, consisting of 

 several low islands, destitute of vegetation, and not rising high from the 

 waters. There thousands of Guillemots annually assemble in the beginning 

 of May, to deposit each its single egg, and raise its young. As you approach 

 these islands, the air becomes darkened with the multitudes of birds that fly 

 about; every square foot of the ground seems to be occupied by a Guillemot 

 planted erect as it were on the granite rock, but carefully warming its 

 cherished egg. All look toward the south, and if you are fronting them, the 

 snowy white of their bodies produces a very remarkable effect, for the birds 

 at some distance look as if they were destitute of head, so much does that 



