The Marbled Murrelet 
But there are those who enjoy the conflict of the storm even more 
than we. Above the whining of the waters and the crashing of the prow, 
come shrill exultant cries, Meer - meer, meer - meer. The Murrelets are 
in their element, and they shriek to each other across the dancing waters 
like Tritons at play. Perhaps association will partly account for it, but 
somehow' the note of the Marbled Murrelet seems of itself to suggest 
piping gales and rugged cliffs beset by pounding surf. It is the articulate 
cry of the sea in a royal mood. And not a thousand Murrelet voices are 
required to transport the hearer to Alaska forthwith. 
Save in summer, the Murrelets appear chiefly in pairs, and it is 
interesting to note the harmony of action in the case of mated birds. They 
sit upon the water, usually abreast, from one to four feet apart, and in 
flight they maintain the same relation. In rising from the water they do 
not patter, after the fashion of the grebe, but burst out by a sudden effort. 
They do not, however, ahvays succeed in getting quickly under way, for 
they sometimes bump along over the surface like a skipping stone, and 
are even quite baffled if they are called upon to clear an unusually high 
wave. Once a-wing, however, they vibrate the pinions with extreme 
rapidity and appear to move like winged bullets. 
Because so agile, they are often quite venturesome, and the pursuit 
of fish is sometimes carried on before a wharf-load of beholders. About 
the docks of one of the navy-yards these birds are especially fearless. They 
look like little men-of-war themselves, as they lie at anchor on the surface 
of the water; but when they get news from below by wireless, they are 
off like a flash, down, down into the cool green depths. They do not 
swim under water, but fly rather. At first one may see the wing-strokes, 
incisive, rapid; then only the quickly disappearing white of the bird’s 
nether parts is visible; and lastly, a slovdy rising line of bubbles which 
mark the first dozen feet or so of the diver’s course. When surprised at 
close quarters by a steamship, the bird oftener escapes by diving than by 
flight, and so confident is he of his powers in this regard that he tarries 
to indulge the last possible moment of curiosity before going below. 
The nesting of the Marbled Murrelet is one of the most fascinating 
mysteries in the annals of the West. The presumption was that eggs 
would be found on rocky islets in burrows, quite after the fashion of the 
Ancient Murrelet; but all such claims are now- discredited. The only 
indubitable egg was taken by George G. Cantwell, May 23rd, 1897, 
from the oviduct of a female shot by a Haida Indian boy. The older 
Indians, when questioned, affirmed their belief that the birds bred high 
up in the mountains in hollow trees. The “hollow tree’’ touch is doubtful, 
for no bird ot this group could “dock” in a hole in a tree with sufficient 
accuracy to guarantee a continuance of the race. But the mountain 
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