106 
THE CONDOR 
Vol. XVIII 
The next day I saw presumably the same bird coming up the beach toward a 
cottage, head erect and tail trailing, walking with the mincing gait of a 
woman with high heels — a droll figure ! As he went along he would stop, 
spread out his wings and flap them hard, again and again, as if to get out 
the water. Once when resting he stood on one foot, his weight partly borne 
by his stiff tail, his head twisted around to rest on his well-filled pouch. When 
a man and a boy came along the lordly bird had no intention of making way, 
and the man shook his handkerchief at him. At this the affronted Cormorant 
flew off with an angry squawk and the man doubled up with laughter. An- 
other man, evidently amused by the bird’s assurance, clapped his hands to 
make him fly, and other people passed close by, looking at him curiously with- 
out disturbing him. 
But one morning as I walked along the beach, to my dismay and horror 
1 came on the pitiful body of a dead Cormorant, its bill tied up in bow knots ! 
Could this have been done in ghastly mirth while he was still alive? Had 
one of the most interesting characters of all the multitudes on the beach fallen 
victim to such barbarity ? An exhibition that I witnessed one Sunday made it 
seem possible. Scattered along in small groups down a mile of shore there 
must have been from a hundred and fifty to two hundred Godwits, when a 
man and a boy in bathing suits came down the beach, the man sending the 
child to pick up stones for him and throwing them wantonly at each group 
of the beautiful birds as he came to it. My lovely Godwits, which it seemed 
such a rare privilege to watch! With blood boiling 1 saw the pair go and 
come, for the man’s face was so hard there seemed no appeal. Good training 
he was giving his child ! The next morning one poor Godwit with dangling 
broken bill and another with a broken leg lying on the sand attested the 
prowess of man — his noble prowess ! 
Before this the beautiful waterfowl had been so rarely tame along the 
beach that they would walk down the shore ahead of me, and every day spent 
among them was a day of new and rare delights, of intimate pleasures. But 
now the hunting season opened and each day brought new ravages in the 
wonderful flocks. Just as the season opened, while I was watching a delight- 
fully tame group containing thirty Godwits, two Willets, a Gull, and two 
Surf-birds, enjoying their familiarity and their interesting ways, a smart type 
of city boy appeared, and taking a gun out of a case prepared to shoot my 
friends. As he was stdl within city limits I stopped him temporarily by call- 
ing his attention to the fact, but 1 knew it was only a short respite and my 
only hope for the birds was their apparent recognition of a gun. Two other 
boys with guns and bags came along later, outside of city limits. At their 
first shot all but one Surf-bird flew, and at the second shot he fell, flopping 
distressingly. Before the boy could get him the waves washed him out, out 
and in, their toy, a limp bundle of feathers ; a moment before instinct with 
life and individuality, a dauntless child of the sea, with power of wing and 
intelligence to carry him from pole to pole. When the poor wounded bird 
was picked up its sufferings were prolonged cruelly by the boy’s ignorance 
of the way to kill it. A Coot was found lying on the beach, doubtless dis- 
carded by some hunter who had no use for it — now half devoured by horrible 
creatures of death. 
In a few days the beach was like a Soldier’s Home, the shooting being 
kept up from early morning out on the marshes. One day on going up above 
