_RAMBLES AMONGST BIRDS._
THE Reverend Mr. Smith must have felt surprised at the graphic manner
in which Edward described the birds of the district. The truth is,
that Edward, though he had acquired his principal knowledge from
observation, had also learnt something from books. Mr. Smith had lent
him such books as he had in his library, and also referred him to the
articles on Natural History in the _Penny Cyclopedia_. Although Edward
did not accept his friend’s advice as to the study of grammar, yet he
learnt enough for his purpose. It is not so much by recollecting the
rules of grammar that one learns to write, as by the careful reading of
well-written books. After that, grammar comes, as it were, by nature.
Besides, if a man feels keenly, he will be sure to write vividly. This
was precisely Edward’s position.
Mr. Smith thought it unfortunate that Edward’s contributions to Natural
History should be confined to the local newspaper. He asked permission
to send an account of his observations to a scientific journal. Edward
expressed his fears lest his contributions might not be found worthy
of notice. He was always shy and modest: perhaps he was too modest.
There are cases in which shyness is almost a misfortune. A man may
know much; but, because of his shyness, he declines to communicate his
information to others. He hides his secret, and nobody is the wiser for
his knowledge. He is too bashful. He avoids those who might be friendly
to him, and who might help him. Edward often stood in his own light in
this way.
[Sidenote: _OBSERVATIONS PUBLISHED._]
Mr. Smith, however, persevered. He obtained from Edward some notes of
his observations, and after correcting them, he offered to send them
to the _Zoologist_, and publish them under his own name. “I have no
doubt,” he said, “that the articles would be acceptable to the editor;
but, if you do not approve of this plan, I hope you will not for a
moment allow me to interfere with you. At all events, I trust that you
will have no objection to let the information be known to a much wider
circle of readers, and especially of zoologists, than are likely to
consult the pages of the _Banffshire Journal_.”
Edward at last gave his consent; and in the _Zoologist_ for 1850,[40]
Mr. Smith inserted a notice of the Sanderlings which had been shot
by Edward on the sands of Boyndie. In the following year Mr. Smith
inserted, in the same magazine, a notice of the spinous shark which
Edward had seen under Gamrie Head.[41] “In order,” says Mr. Smith,
“to determine whether it was the spinous shark or not, I sent Mr.
Edward the 39th volume of the ‘Naturalist’s Library,’ which contains an
account, by Dr. Hamilton of Edinburgh, of the Squalida, or family of
sharks, and in which there is a coloured engraving of this particular
shark. In reply, Mr. Edward observes—‘I have now no doubt whatever that
the animal discovered and examined by me was the Spinous Shark.’”
[Sidenote: _EDWARD DESCRIBED BY MR. SMITH._]
In another article, Mr. Smith described Edward in the following
terms:—“I have oftener than once made mention in the _Zoologist_ of
Mr. Thomas Edward, shoemaker in Banff, who is a zealous admirer of
Nature and an excellent preserver of animals. Occasionally he tears
himself, as it were, from the employment to which necessity compels
him, and slakes his thirst for the contemplation of zoological scenes
and objects by a solitary ramble amid the mountains and hills which
so greatly abound in the upper portion of the shires of Aberdeen and
Banff. Of some of his adventures during a ramble of this description,
he has sent me an account. This I consider so interesting, that I have
rewritten it, and now submit it for insertion in the _Zoologist_. The
facts, the ideas, and the reflections, are all his own, and in many
parts I have retained his own impressions. Upon the accuracy and the
minuteness of his observations, and upon his veracity of character, the
utmost reliance may at all times be placed.”
[Sidenote: _THE BEAUTIFUL HERON._]
The paper that follows consists of the description of a ramble,
extending over several days, in the hill districts near Noth and
Kirknie. It is not necessary to transcribe the whole paper; but we may
select the following passages as showing the keen observation as well
as the character of the man. Edward had entered a narrow glen, at the
bottom of which runs the burn called Ness Bogie. He was listening to
the voice of the cuckoo, and the _clap-clap_ of the ring pigeons, which
rose in great numbers, when an abrupt turn of the road brought him,
suddenly and unexpectedly, within a few yards of a beautiful heron:—
[Sidenote: _CRIES OF THE BIRDS._]
“I immediately stood still,” he says; “the upright and motionless
attitude of the bird indicated plainly that he had been taken by
surprise; and for the moment he seemed, as it were, stunned, and
incapable of flight. There he remained, as if fastened to the spot, his
bright yellow eye staring me full in the face, and with an expression
that seemed to inquire what right I had to intrude into solitudes
where the human form is so rarely seen. As we were thus gazing at each
other, in mutual surprise at having met in such a place, I observed
his long slender neck quietly and gradually doubling down upon his
breast. His dark and lengthened plumes were at the same time slightly
shaken. I knew by this that he was about to rise; another moment, and
he was up. Stretching his long legs behind him, he uttered a scream
so dismal, wild, and loud, that the very glen and hills re-echoed the
sound, and the whole scene was instantly filled with clamour. The
sandpiper screamed its _kittie-needie_; the pigeon _cooed_; the pipit,
with lively emotion, came flying round me, uttering all the while its
_peeping_ note; the moor-cock sprang with whirring wing from his heathy
lair, and gave forth his well-known and indignant _birr birr-bick_;
the curlew came sailing down the glen with steady flight, and added
to the noise with his shrill and peculiar notes of _poo-elie poo-elie
coorlie coorlie wha-up_; and, from the loftier parts of the hills, the
plovers ceased not their mournful wail, which accorded so well with the
scene of which I alone appeared to be a silent spectator. But I moved
not a foot until the alarmed inmates of the glen and the mountain had
disappeared, and solemn stillness had again resumed its sway.”
On the following day, while crossing the Clashmauch, on his way to
Huntly, Edward observed a curlew rise from a marshy part of the hill,
to which he bent his steps in hopes of finding her nest. In this,
however, he was disappointed; but, in searching about, and within a few
feet of the remains of a wreath of snow, he came upon a wild duck lying
beside a tuft of rushes. It may be mentioned that there had been a
heavy snowstorm which had forced the plovers and wild ducks to abandon
their nests, though then full of eggs, and greatly interrupted the
breeding season in the northern counties. Edward proceeds:—
[Sidenote: _THE MOTHERLY WILD DUCK._]
“As I imagined she was skulking with a view to avoid observation, I
touched her with my stick, in order that she might rise; but she rose
not. I was surprised, and, on a nearer inspection, I found that she
was dead. She lay raised a little on one side, her neck stretched out,
her mouth open and full of snow, her wings somewhat extended, and with
one of her legs appearing a little behind her. Near to it there were
two eggs. On my discovering this I lifted up the bird, and underneath
her was a nest containing eleven eggs; these, with the other two, made
thirteen in all; a few of them were broken. I examined the whole of
them, and found them, without exception, to contain young birds. This
was an undoubted proof that the poor mother had sat upon them from two
to three weeks. With her dead body in my hand I sat down to investigate
the matter, and to ascertain, if I could, the cause of her death. I
examined her minutely all over, and could find neither wound nor any
mark whatever of violence. She had every appearance of having died of
suffocation. Although I had only circumstantial evidence, I had no
hesitation in arriving at the conclusion that she had come by her death
in a desperate but faithful struggle to protect her eggs from the fatal
effects of the recent snowstorm.
[Sidenote: _BURIES THE WILD DUCK._]
“I could not help thinking, as I looked at her, how deep and striking
an example she afforded of maternal affection. The ruthless blast had
swept, with all its fury, along the lonesome and unsheltered hill.
The snow had risen higher, and the smothering drift came fiercer, as
night drew on; yet still that poor bird, in defiance of the warring
elements, continued to protect her home, and the treasure which it
contained, until she could do so no longer, and yielded up her life.
That life she could easily have saved, had she been willing to abandon
the offspring which Nature had taught her so fervently to cherish,
and in endeavouring to preserve which she voluntarily remained and
died. Occupied with such feelings and reflections as these, I know
not how long I might have sat, had I not been roused from my reverie
by the barking of a shepherd’s dog. The sun had already set,—the grey
twilight had begun to hide the distant mountains from my sight, and,
not caring to be benighted on such a spot, I wrapped a piece of paper,
as a winding sheet, round the faithful and devoted bird, and, forming a
hole sufficiently large for the purpose, I laid into it the mother and
the eggs. I covered them with earth and moss, and, over all, placed a
solid piece of turf; and having done so,—and being more affected than I
should perhaps be willing to acknowledge,—I left them to moulder into
their original dust, and went on my way.”
Having thus related an instance of maternal affection on the part
of the wild duck, let us cite a still more remarkable instance of
brotherly sympathy and help on the part of the common Tern (_Sterna
hirundo_), called Pickietars in the neighbourhood of Banff.
[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETARS._]
“Being on the sands of Boyndie one afternoon at the end of August, I
observed several parties of Pickietars busily employed in fishing in
the firth. As I was in want of a specimen of this bird, I loitered
about on the beach, narrowly watching their motions, and hoping that
some of them would come within range of my gun. The scene around was
of no common beauty. In the azure heaven, not a cloud was to be seen
as far as the eye could reach; not a breath of wind was stirring the
placid bosom of the firth. The atmosphere seemed a sea, as it were, of
living things; so numerous were the insects that hummed and fluttered
to and fro in all directions. The sun, approaching the verge of the
horizon, shot long and glimmering bands of green and gold across the
broad mirror of the deep. Here and there several vessels were lying
becalmed, their whitened sails showing brightly in the goldened light.
An additional interest was imparted by the herring-boats which were
congregating in the bay; their loose and flagging sails, the noise of
the oars, and the efforts of the rowers, told plainly enough that a
hard pull would have to be undergone, before they could reach their
particular quarters for fishing, in the north-eastern part of the firth.
[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETAR FISHING._]
“While I stood surveying with delight the extended and glorious
prospect, and witnessing with admiration the indefatigable evolutions
of the Terns in their search for food, I observed one of them break
off from a party of five, and direct his course towards the shore,
fishing all the way as he came. It was an interesting sight to behold
him as he approached in his flight,—at one moment rising, at another
descending,—now poised in mid-air, his wings expanded but motionless,
his piercing eye directed to the waters beneath, and watching with
eager gaze the movements of their scaly inhabitants,—and now, as one of
them would ever and anon come sufficiently near the surface, making his
attack upon the fish in the manner so thoroughly taught him by nature.
Quick as thought he closed to his side his outspread pinions; turned
off his equilibrium with a movement almost imperceptible; and, with a
seeming carelessness, threw himself headlong into the deep so rapidly
that the eye could with difficulty keep pace with his descent. In the
least space of time he would be seen sitting on the water, swallowing
his prey. This being accomplished, he again mounted into the air. He
halts in his progress. Something has caught his eye. He lets himself
down; but it is only for a little, for his expected prey has vanished
from his sight.
“Once more he soars aloft on lively wing; and having attained a certain
elevation, and hovering kestrel-like for a little with quick repeated
strokes of his pinions, he rapidly descends. Again, however, his
hoped-for victim has made its escape; and he bounds away in an oblique
direction, describing a beautiful curve as he rises without having
touched the water. Shortly after, he wings his way nearer and nearer
to the beach: onwards he advances with zigzag flight, when suddenly,
as if struck down by an unseen hand, he drops into the water within
about thirty yards of the place where I was standing. As he righted
and sat on the bosom of the deep, I was enabled distinctly to perceive
that he held in his bill a little scaly captive which he had snatched
from its home, and which struggled violently to regain its liberty. Its
struggles were in vain: a few squeezes from the mandibles of the bird
put an end to its existence.
[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETAR SHOT._]
“Being now within my reach, I stood prepared for the moment when he
should again arise. This he did so soon as the fish was despatched. I
fired, and he came down with a broken wing, screaming as he fell into
the water. The report of the gun, together with his cries, brought
together the party he had left, in order that they might ascertain the
cause of the alarm. After surveying their wounded brother round and
round, as he was drifting unwittingly toward the shore with the flowing
tide, they came flying in a body to the spot where I stood, and rent
the air with their screams. These they continued to utter, regardless
of their own individual safety, until I began to make preparations
for receiving the approaching bird. I could already see that it was a
beautiful adult specimen; and I expected in a few moments to have it
in my possession, being not very far from the water’s edge.
[Sidenote: _WOUNDED PICKIETAR RESCUED._]
“While matters were in this position, I beheld to my utter astonishment
and surprise, two of the unwounded Terns take hold of their disabled
comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and bear him
out seawards. They were followed by two other birds. After being
carried about six or seven yards, he was let gently down again, when
he was taken up in a similar manner by the two who had been hitherto
inactive. In this way they continued to carry him alternately, until
they had conveyed him to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which
they landed him in safety. Having recovered my self-possession, I
made toward the rock, wishing to obtain the prize which had been so
unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by
the Terns; and instead of four, I had in a short time a whole swarm
about me. On my near approach to the rock, I once more beheld two of
them take hold of the wounded bird as they had done already, and bear
him out to sea in triumph, far beyond my reach. This, had I been so
inclined, I could no doubt have prevented. Under the circumstances,
however, my feelings would not permit me; and I willingly allowed
them to perform without molestation an act of mercy, and to exhibit
an instance of affection, which man himself need not be ashamed to
imitate. I was, indeed, rejoiced at the disappointment which they had
occasioned, for they had thereby rendered me the witness of a scene
which I could scarcely have believed, and which no length of time will
efface from my recollection.”
[Sidenote: _CLOSENESS OF OBSERVATION._]
On another occasion, Edward exhibited the same closeness, minuteness,
and patience of observation, with regard to the Turnstone (_Strepsilas
interpres_), a bird which is an inhabitant of the sea-shore, and has a
wide geographical range, though it has rarely been seen on the shores
of the Moray Firth. In Edward’s ornithological excursions, it was
not so much his object to kill birds as to observe their manners and
habits. He very often made his excursions without a gun at all. In a
letter to the author, he observes—“In looking over my printed articles,
you will find a great number of notices of the habits and workings
of various species. I spent so much time in observation, that I had
little time to spare to write out the results. And what I did write,
did not seem to be much appreciated. Perhaps this is not to be wondered
at. It appears that the compilers of works on Natural History in this
country do not care for details of the habits of the animals they treat
of. They rather glory in the abundance of technical descriptions they
can supply. These may seem scientific, but they are at the same time
very dry. In fact, Natural History is rendered detestable to general
readers. We want some writers of the Audubon and Wilson class to render
Natural History accessible to the public at large.”
[Sidenote: _THE TURNSTONE._]
If Edward himself could have been rescued from his shoemaker’s seat,
we might probably have had the book which he indicates. He was full
of love for his subject; he was patient and persevering in his
observations; and, notwithstanding his great disadvantages, it will
be observed that his style of writing was vivid and graphic. With
respect to the Turnstone, which Edward described in 1850,[42] it does
not appear that any ornithological writer, excepting Audubon, had
particularly described it; although Edward had never read Audubon’s
work. The Reverend Mr. Smith observed—“It is consistent with my
knowledge that Mr. Edward has never read the account given by Audubon
of the habits of the Turnstone. I mention this as a proof, amongst
others, of the accuracy and minuteness with which he makes his
observations. He is the only European, so far as I have the means of
ascertaining, who has described the efforts which are put forth by the
bird in question in cases of difficulty, not only with its bill, but
with its breast also.” The following is Edward’s description of the
bird:—
[Sidenote: _DESCRIPTION OF TURNSTONE._]
“The Turnstone is a very interesting bird, from its peculiar form and
singular habits. It is a strong thick bird, with rather short thick
legs, long expanded toes, and full broad breast. Its bill is in the
form of an elongated cone, strong at the base, on the culmen rather
flattened, and with a curve inclining upwards towards the tip. The
habits of the bird are singular, more particularly with respect to the
method which it adopts to procure food,—which is, as its name denotes,
by turning over small stones in search of the insects beneath them, on
which it feeds. When the object which it wishes to turn over is too
large for the bill to do so, the breast is applied; and it would seem
that the birds are willing to assist each other, just as masons or
porters will do in turning over a stone or a bale of goods. I may here
take the liberty of mentioning an incident concerning the Turnstone
which came under my own observation.
[Sidenote: _OBSERVATION OF THE TURNSTONE._]
“Passing along the sea-shore to the west of Banff, I observed on
the sands, at a considerable distance before me, two birds beside a
large-looking object. Knowing by their appearance, that they did not
belong to the species which are usually met with in this quarter, I
left the beach and proceeded along the adjoining links, an eminence
of shingle intervening, until I concluded that I was almost opposite
to the spot where the objects of my search were employed. Stooping
down, and with my gun upon my back prepared for action, I managed to
crawl through the bents and across the shingle for a considerable way.
At length I came in sight of the two little workers, who were busily
endeavouring to turn over a dead fish which was fully six times their
size. I immediately recognised them as Turnstones. Not wishing to
disturb them, and anxious at the same time to witness their operations,
I observed that a few paces nearer them, there was a deep hollow among
the shingle, where I contrived to creep into unobserved.
“I was now distant from them about ten yards, and had a distinct and
unobstructed view of all their movements. In these there was evinced
that extraordinary degree of sagacity and perseverance which comes
under the notice only of those who watch the habits of the lower
creation with patience and assiduity, and which, when fully and
accurately related, is not unfrequently discredited by individuals
who, although fond of Natural History, seem inclined to believe that
everything in regard to animals must necessarily be false, or at least
the result of ignorance, unless it has been recorded in books which are
considered authorities on the subject.
“But to return: having got fairly settled down in my pebbly
observatory, I turned my undivided attention to the birds before me.
They were boldly pushing at the fish with their bills, and then with
their breasts. Their endeavours, however, were in vain: the object
remained immovable. On this they both went round to the opposite side,
and began to scrape away the sand from beneath the fish. After removing
a considerable quantity, they again came back to the spot which they
had left, and went once more to work with their bills and breasts, but
with as little apparent success as formerly. Nothing daunted, however,
they ran round a second time to the other side, and recommenced their
trenching operations with a seeming determination not to be baffled in
their object, which evidently was to undermine the dead animal before
them, in order that it might be the more easily overturned.
[Sidenote: _JOINED BY A BROTHER TURNSTONE._]
[Sidenote: _TURN OVER THE COD._]
“While they were thus employed, and after they had laboured in this
manner at both sides alternately for nearly half-an-hour, they were
joined by another of their own species, which came flying with rapidity
from the neighbouring rocks. Its timely arrival was hailed with evident
signs of joy. I was led to this conclusion from the gestures which
they exhibited, and from a low but pleasant murmuring noise to which
they gave utterance so soon as the new-comer made his appearance. Of
their feelings he seemed to be perfectly aware, and he made his reply
to them in a similar strain. Their mutual congratulations being over,
they all three set to work; and after labouring vigorously for a few
minutes in removing the sand, they came round to the other side, and
putting their breasts simultaneously to the fish, they succeeded in
raising it some inches from the sand, but were unable to turn it over.
It went down again into its sandy bed, to the manifest disappointment
of the three. Resting, however, for a space, and without leaving their
respective positions, which were a little apart the one from the other,
they resolved, it appears, to give the work another trial. Lowering
themselves, with their breasts close to the sand, they managed to push
their bills underneath the fish, which they made to rise to about the
same height as before. Afterwards, withdrawing their bills, but without
losing the advantage which they had gained, they applied their breasts
to the object. This they did with such force and to such purpose,
that at length it went over, and rolled several yards down a slight
declivity. It was followed to some distance by the birds themselves,
before they could recover their bearing.
“They returned eagerly to the spot from whence they had dislodged the
obstacle which had so long opposed them; and they gave unmistakable
proof, by their rapid and continued movements, that they were enjoying
an ample repast as the reward of their industrious and praiseworthy
labour. I was so pleased, and even delighted, with the sagacity and
perseverance which they had shown, that I should have considered myself
as guilty of a crime had I endeavoured to take away the lives of these
interesting beings, at the very moment when they were exercising, in
a manner so happily for themselves, the wonderful instincts implanted
in them by their Creator. When they appeared to have done and to be
satisfied, I arose from my place of concealment. On examining the fish,
I found it to be a specimen of the common cod. It was nearly three feet
and a half long, and it had been imbedded in the sand to the depth of
about two inches.”
One of Edward’s greatest pleasures was in rambling along the sea-shore,
to observe the habits of the sea birds. The multitude of birds which
frequent the shores of the Moray Firth are occasioned by the shoals of
herrings, which afford food not only for thousands of fishermen but
for millions of sea-birds. To show the number of birds that frequent
the coast, it may be mentioned that during the storm that occurred in
December 1846, Edward counted between the Burn of Boyne and Greenside
of Gamrie, a distance of about nine miles, nearly sixty of the Little
Auk, which had been driven ashore dead, besides a large number of
Guillemots and Razorbills. Numbers of these birds were also found lying
dead in the fields throughout the county.
[Sidenote: _THE LITTLE AUK._]
And yet the Little Auk has a wonderful power of resisting the fury
of the waves. “It is a grand sight,” says Edward, “to see one of
these diminutive but intrepid creatures manœuvring with the impetuous
billows of a stormy sea. Wave follows wave in rapid succession, bearing
destruction to everything within reach; but the Little Auk, taught
by Nature, avoids the threatened danger, either by mounting above
the waves or by going beneath them, reappearing unhurt as they spend
their fury on the shore. The eye for a time wanders in vain amongst
the turbulent surge, to catch another sight of the little sailor bird.
One unaccustomed to such a scene would be apt to exclaim ‘Poor little
thing! It is buried amidst the foam!’ Have a little patience. See,
there it is, once more, as lively as ever, and ready to master the
approaching billow. Its descent amongst the waves may have been merely
in search of food, for it is only betwixt the waves, whilst inshore
during a storm, that the bird can descend for that purpose. The bird is
known in our locality by the curious term of the ‘Nor-a-wa-wifie,’ from
the supposition that it comes from Norway.”
The rocky coasts along the east shore were the most attractive scenes
for our Naturalist. Not only the wildest scenery, but the wildest
birds, were to be found in that quarter. Gamrie Mohr and Troup Head
were especially favourite places. We have already described Edward’s
adventures near the former headland. Here is his description of his
visit to Troup Head:—
[Sidenote: _THE SEA-FOWL NURSERIES._]
“Sailing in a little bark, with a gentle breeze blowing, I had ample
opportunities of viewing the various birds as they approached, and as
they flew past. Passing in front of the several sea-fowl nurseries of
Troup, I beheld scenes truly magnificent—scenes which could not have
failed to create feelings of the deepest interest in a mind capable
of appreciating the sublime and beautiful workings of Nature. Having
landed at the most famed of these nurseries, in order to view the scene
with advantage—here, I thought, as I gazed at the white towering cliffs
which had laughed to scorn the angriest scowl of the most mighty wave
that ever spent its fury at their base, and defied the stormiest blast
from the icy North; where the largest gull in its midway flight appears
no larger than the smallest of its kind; where the falcon breeds beside
and in perfect harmony with the other inhabitants of the rocky cliffs;
where multitudes of birds, of various forms and hues, from the snowy
whiteness of the Kittiwake to the sable dye of the croaking raven, have
found a resting-place whereon to build their nests and deposit their
young;—here, I thought, as I was about to leave the busy throng—even
here, man, the noblest creature, though too often degrading himself
beneath the lowest of animals, might learn lessons of industry and
affection from these humble monitors of Nature.”
[Sidenote: _NEIGHBOURHOOD OF PENNAN._]
During breeding-time the clamour of the sea-birds is tumultuous, though
the lashing of the sea at the foot of the cliffs tends to a great
extent to lull their noise. But towards evening all becomes still
again. Edward frequently ascertained this by personal experience.
Being in the neighbourhood of Pennan one day, he went along the Head,
in order, if possible, to get a sight of the far-famed eagles of the
promontory. He was unsuccessful on the occasion. He had loitered by
the way, and the declining day at length warned him to leave the place
without seeing the coveted sight. His road westward lay along the
coast. With disappointed hopes he trudged along, scarcely thinking how
the hours were flying. At length it became dark as he approached the
broom braes of Troup. He found himself fairly benighted. At the same
time he was tired and weary. He had endured many outs and ins, ups and
downs, that day. His intention was to have gone to the house of his old
shopmate at Gardenstown, and spend the night. But now he felt, from
his worn-out condition, that it would have taken him nearly two hours’
walking to reach the place. He therefore determined to stay where he
was, or rather, to go down to a sleeping-place near Troup Head, to
ascertain how his feathered friends conducted themselves during the
night time.
[Sidenote: _SLEEPS IN HELL’S LUM._]
[Sidenote: _SEA-BIRDS AT NIGHT._]
His sleeping place was a very wild one. It was no other than Hell’s
Lum. He knew the place well. He had entered it both from the sea-side
and from the land-side. He had been in it in storm and calm, in clouds
and sunshine. And now he was about to spend the night in it. The
weather was, however, calm; the sea was like a sheet of glass; so that
he had little fear of getting a wetting during his few hours’ stay.
While in the “Lum,” he was at the back of the cliffs, and in close
proximity with the breeding places of the myriads of sea-fowl. It was
now the busiest part of the season. The birds had been very clamorous
during the day, but as night came on, their clamour ceased. With the
exception of a few screams,—while, perhaps, the birds were being
displaced in their nests,—the night was silent, though Edward kept
awake and listened for nearly the whole time.
But with the first glimmerings of daylight, and just as he was
beginning to move and to creep out of the pit, Edward thought that he
heard some of the birds beginning to whimper and yawn, as if ready for
another day’s work; and by the time he had rounded Crovie Head, he
beheld the cliffs alive, and the multitude of sea-birds again in full
operation.
[Illustration: THE RED HEAD OF PENNAN.]
FOOTNOTES:
[40] _Zoologist_, 1850 : 2915.
[41] _Zoologist_, 1851 : 3057.
[42] First in the _Banffshire Journal_, December 31, 1850; and
afterwards copied by Mr. Smith in the _Zoologist_, April 1851.