D. P. INGRAHAM. 69 



winter of 1 893 that would have stood at least a foot higher 

 than that. 



Never yet when I have approached a wounded bird has 

 he made any resistance or show of fight. When broken- 

 winged or otherwise injured, and unable to escape, he in- 

 variably drops down and sticks his head under water. With 

 but two exceptions, I have never been able to drive a 

 wounded bird on to the land. 



One of the most interesting observations I made was during 

 my last year's work. We always called it the " dress 

 parade." We were watching a flock of 300 or more, standing 

 at rest some 400 yards from shore, and hoping that as the 

 night approached, they might commence to feed and work 

 near enough to shore to be reached. About an hour before 

 sunset a few birds commenced to feed, and soon a dozen or 

 two of the largest males began to march backward and for- 

 ward in the rear of the flock. Nearly every male soon 

 joined in this concourse. The line of the flock lay about 

 parallel with the shore, and the males took their position 

 directly in the rear, in a solid body. As though at a given 

 signal, every bird commenced to march, passed to the ex- 

 treme further end of the flock, and halted, making a great 

 noise, as if every bird in his loudest voice said, " Don't I 

 wear a splendid uniform t " After a moment's pause, all 

 faced about, marched back to the other end of the line, and 

 then cried again, "Ain't I a beautiful bird?" When 

 marching back and forth they moved in almost as perfect 

 order as a platoon of soldiers. Thus the parade continued 

 for nearly an hour, until one by one the birds dropped out 

 of the ranks and commenced to feed. 



