Sooty Terns in Flight. 
ON LONELY BIRD'Kery 
By HERBERT K. JOB 
PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR 
UT in the Gulf of Mexico, sixty- 
five miles from Key West toward 
the setting sun, rise half a dozen 
barren sand-bars from the exquisite tur- 
quoise-blue waters. One of these, Gar- 
den Key, is a government fort and coaling 
station, another is the Loggerhead Key, 
our last outpost toward Cuba and Cen- 
tral America. Other islets are unten- 
anted, save when the great sea-turtles 
crawl; one alone, Bird Key, is preémpted 
by the birds. It would be hard to find a 
more desolate or isolated region. 
It was on a bright May afternoon that 
we reached the fort, whence we secured 
passage to Bird Key, a mile or so away, 
by the kindness of the lighthouse keeper 
who sailed us across in a small catboat 
with our skiff in tow. He left us, bag and 
baggage, upon a dilapidated little pier, 
alone among the birds. As we had ap- 
proached the islet, the chorus of shrill 
cries had grown louder and louder, and 
the fluttering of wings more and more 
apparent. Now they were rising into the 
air in countless swarms, with outcries that 
were almost overpowering in their shrill- 
ness and volume. We had to fairly shriek 
at one another to be heard at all. 
Bird Key has something of a history. 
Many years ago Audubon landed there 
and studied the great bird-colony. Dur- 
ing our Civil War the Key was used by the 
Confederates as a prison-camp. It is 
about an eighth of a mile long and per- 
haps one hundred yards wide, a mere 
sand-bar, pretty well overgrown with bay 
cedar bushes, from two to six feet high. 
