Nov., 1905 | AMONG THE SEA BIRDS OFF THE OREGON COAST, PART IT 169 
left. The neighbors resented such behavior and pecked at the new arrival with 
their long, sharp bills, but on he pressed amid much opposition and complaint, 
until he reached his wife. They changed places, and he took up his vigil on the 
eggs. The wife, upon leaving the rookery, instead of taking flight from where she 
stood, went through the former proceeding, although in reverse order, much to 
the disgust of the neighbors. They made a vigorous protest, and sped the departing 
sister with a fusillade of blows, until she arrived at the edge of the ledge, where 
she dropped off into space. Others were coming and going and kept up an inter- 
esting performance for the onlooker from above. 
Then we went down and scaled all the birds from the ledge and watched them 
return. Almost before we got back into position, the first one pitched awkwardly 
in and lit on the edge. She sat for a little bit clucking and craning her neck. 
Then she hobbled up the rock past two eggs, bowing and looking around. On 
she went in her straddling gate, stopping and cocking her head on one side till I 
saw her pass eight or nine eggs. Finally she poked an egg gently with her bill, 
looked it over and tucked it under her leg. By that time, the ledge was half full 
of birds, all cackling, pecking at each other, and shuffling about looking among 
the eggs. It took almost half an hour for life in the colony to drop back to its 
normal stage. 
Two years later, when we sat and watched the some large rookery, there was 
hardly an egg to be seen. Where it was a little noisy during the days of incuba- 
tion, it was the triple extract of bedlam turned loose when the rnurres had young. 
We tried the same experiment of scaring the birds from the ledge and watched 
their return. The young kept up a constant squealing from the time the old 
birds left; a noise that had the penetration of an equal number of young pigs that 
had just been roped and gunney-sacked. When the first old hen returned and lit 
on the edge, she bowed elaborately and started calling in cries that sounded, ; t 
times, just like the bass voice of a man and varied all the way up to the cackling 
of an old chicken. After sitting there for five minutes, she straddled up a few 
steps and started in from the beginning again. Some of the young came waddling 
down to meet their parents, calling all the time in piercing screams. One crawled 
hurriedly down to get under the old murre’s wing, but she gave him a jab that 
knocked him clear off his feet, and sent him looking for his real mamma. She 
looked at two more that sat squealing, but passed them by and knocked anothea 
one sprawling out of her way. At last, a chick came up that seemed to qualify, for 
she let him crawl under her wing. The same thing seemed to be going on in every 
part of the ledge; I didn’t see an old bird that accepted a chick until after calling 
and looking around for from five to twenty minutes. If the difference in size, 
shape, and color helps the murre to recognize her own egg, then the great varia- 
tion in pitch, volume, and tone of the voice surely helps her to know her own 
child among so many others. 
Portland, Oregon. 
