GUILLEMOTS, RAZORBILL, AND PUFFIN.
_Affinities and Characteristics—Changes of
Plumage—Guillemot—Brunnich’s Guillemot—Black
Guillemot—Razorbill—Little Auk—Puffin._
Few birds are more thoroughly marine in their haunts and their habits
than those which are included in the present chapter. They are
inseparably associated with the sea; they form one of the most
interesting features of marine life, whether in summer, when they crowd
in countless hosts at their breeding stations upon the cliffs and
islands, or in winter, when they spread themselves far and wide over the
waste of waters. From whatever point of view we study them, they are
intensely interesting birds.
The Auks, as they are collectively termed, form the small yet
well-defined family Alcidæ. Although the Auks are a specialised group,
systematists pretty generally agree in associating them more or less
closely with the Divers, the Grebes, the Gulls, and the Limicolæ. Auks
are web-footed birds, with no hind toe, with the legs placed far back,
and the bill subject to great variation in size, and in some species
presenting considerable change in appearance according to season. All
the Auks have comparatively short and narrow wings; in the recently
extinct Great Auk these were incapable of supporting the bird in the
air; and the tail is remarkably short, in some species being scarcely
perceptible under ordinary circumstances. The Auks are exclusively
confined to the north temperate and polar regions of the Northern
Hemisphere: and by far the greater number of species inhabit the
Northern Pacific. They number some thirty species. The prevailing
colours of the Auks are black and white; none of them are showy birds;
but some species are remarkable for their eccentric nuptial plumes, and
for the brilliancy of colour of the bill. The Auks are thoroughly
aquatic, and not adapted in any way for a terrestrial existence. They
swim well, dive with marvellous skill, and save during the incubation
period, pass most of their time on the sea. None of the species are
remarkable for any great migration flights; as a rule they wander little
from their high northern homes. They are all gregarious birds, breeding
in companies wherever possible. Some species undergo but little change
in their appearance between summer or winter plumage; others are more
remarkable in this respect. During the breeding period some species
resort to lofty cliffs washed by the sea; others burrow into the ground.
Many species make no nest whatever, but others form slight structures in
which to deposit their eggs. The young of the Auks are hatched covered
with down, assuming their first plumage in a few weeks. Adult Auks moult
in September; the difference in the colour of the plumage peculiar to
the pairing season, apparently being entirely due to a change in the hue
quite irrespective of a moult. The complete change from white to
brownish-black observed prior to the breeding season on the necks and
heads of Guillemots and Razorbills is very curious and interesting.
According to the observations of Herr Gätke, the shafts of the feathers
are the first portions in which the black appears; yet almost at the
same time this colour is seen in the form of minute specks on the lower
third of the feathers, quickly spreading into crescentic markings, and
ultimately covering the entire surface. Half a dozen species are
British. Of these, four breed more or less abundantly in our area, and
the other two are irregular winter visitors. The now extinct Great
Auk—the largest known representative of the family—formerly bred in
certain parts of the British Islands, but, alas, is now only known as a
fast receding tradition. We will now proceed to a short study of these
British Auks.
GUILLEMOT.
Of all the various sea birds that cluster on the cliffs of Albion this
species, the _Uria troile_ of most modern ornithologists, is by far the
commonest, and of the present family of birds the most widely
distributed. During summer it may be met with in colonies of varying
numbers, here and there on most of our rocky coasts, from the Scilly
Islands to the Shetlands, from Flamborough Head in the east to the
Blaskets in the west. Not, perhaps, so familiar to the sea-side wanderer
as the Gull, whose ærial habits bring it more frequently into notice,
the Guillemot, nevertheless, is a seldom absent feature of marine bird
life. It is gregarious and social at all times, but joins into greatest
companies during the season of reproduction. When the nesting season has
passed the birds spread themselves more generally along the coast and
out at sea, and it is at such times that they are most ubiquitous.
Between October and March the Guillemot may often be met with swimming
close in shore, in quiet bays, and especially in the neighbourhood of
fishing villages. On these occasions it is not particularly shy, and
will allow a sufficiently close scrutiny, but it is ever wary, diving at
the least alarm, and appearing again well out of danger. The Guillemot
swims well and buoyantly; it also dives with remarkable agility, and
obtains most of its food whilst doing so. The Guillemots are rarely seen
upon the land after the young have quitted their birthplaces; they spend
their entire time upon the sea, seeking shelter during rough weather in
bays or under the lee of headlands, but not unfrequently great numbers
perish in a gale, their dead bodies strewing the coast where the tide
has cast them ashore. Except during the breeding season the Guillemot
flies very little, but during that period it often feeds far from its
rocky haunts, and may then be seen, especially at eventide, flying in
little bunches, or in compact flocks, swiftly and silently just above
the waves, returning to them. The food of this bird is almost
exclusively composed of fish, especially such small species as pilchards
and sprats; it is also extremely partial to the fry of the herring and
the pollack. Few birds are more expert at catching fish than the
Guillemot; it dives after them, and chases them beneath the surface with
marvellous speed and unerring certainty. In this chase of fish it
sometimes comes to grief by getting entangled in the drift-nets. The
Guillemot is a remarkably silent bird. I have repeatedly been amongst
thousands of these birds, both at sea and on the rock stacks where they
breed, and the only sound I have ever heard them utter is a low,
grunting noise. My experience has been chiefly confined to the earlier
part of the breeding season, and the autumn and winter months. It would
appear, though, that when the young are partly grown the birds become
more noisy, for Gätke describes their cries at the breeding-stations as
a “confused noise of a thousand voices, the calls of the parent
birds—_arr-r-r-r_, _orr-r-r-r_, _err-r-r-r_, and mingled with these the
countless tiny voices of their young offspring on the face of the
cliff—_irr-r-r-idd_, _irr-r-r-idd_—uttered in timid and anxious
accents.” I should here remark that the Guillemot never flies over the
land, never flies inland from the rocks, but always when disturbed
unerringly makes for the sea, which is almost, if not quite, as much its
element as the air.
The actions of the Guillemot are interesting enough upon the sea, few
sights being prettier than a number of these birds busily engaged in
capturing their finny food; but the most attractive scenes in the life
of this bird are to be witnessed at its breeding places. Formerly these
were much more numerous than is now the case, especially in England, but
there, on the southern coast line notably so, many a large colony has
disappeared for ever, and many another has been sadly reduced in
numbers. The distribution of the Guillemot becomes much more local
during summer, the birds crowding in vast numbers to certain
time-honoured spots. Fortunately some of these still remain fairly
accessible to the lover of birds. One of the most famous breeding
stations is at the Farne Islands; another on the cliffs at Bempton;
whilst less noted places are in the Isle of Wight, the Scilly Islands,
and the coasts of Devon and Cornwall. The great number of local names by
which the Guillemot is known round our coasts speak to its former
abundance; Lavy, Marrock, Murre, Diver, and Willock—the latter
applicable to the young—may be mentioned as a few of the best known. The
birds congregate at their old accustomed haunts in Spring, with
remarkable regularity, often punctually arriving on the same day for
years in succession. At Heligoland, and certainly other places,
Guillemots return to their nesting places from time to time during the
winter, appearing in the morning for a little while, just as Rooks are
wont to do at the nest trees. The Guillemot rears its young on the face
of the lofty ocean cliffs, or on the flat tops of rock stacks. Cliffs
with plenty of ledges and hollows are preferred, and in such chosen
spots the birds crowd so closely that, at some stations, the wonder is
how each individual can possibly find room to incubate its egg, or even
secure a standing place in the general throng. There can be little doubt
that in such crowded spots as the “Pinnacles,” many of the eggs never
reach maturity. The Guillemot makes no nest of any kind, but lays its
single large pear-shaped egg on any suitable ledge, or in any available
hollow where it can be tolerably safe from toppling over into the sea.
There are few more stirring sights in the bird-world than a large colony
of Guillemots. I still retain the vivid impressions made upon my mind by
the vast hordes of these birds at St. Kilda, at the Farne Islands, and
elsewhere. Even whilst I write, I can once more see the struggling,
quarrelling, rowdy hosts of Guillemots that crowd the famous
“Pinnacles”; still see them pouring off in endless streams, headlong
into the water, as I prepared to scale their haunt. Once more memory
recalls and paints in vivid scene the beetling St. Kildan cliffs, with
their rows and rows of white-breasted Guillemots, sitting tier upon
tier, upwards and upwards towards the dark blue sky; my tiny boat
tossing like a cork on the wild Atlantic swell, and the countless swarms
of Guillemots swimming in the sea around me, hastening to the cliffs or
returning from them, beaten off by more fortunate possessors of a place.
The Guillemot lays a single egg, without making a nest of any kind for
its reception. If this egg be taken, however, the bird will lay a second
or a third, and advantage is taken of this fact by those persons that
gather them for a livelihood. The egg of no other known bird varies to
such an extraordinary extent as that of the Guillemot, whilst few, if
any, are more beautiful. Greens, browns, yellows, pale blues, and white,
form the principal ground colour; the markings, which take the form of
spots, blotches, streaks, and zones, are composed of browns, grays, and
pinks, of every possible tint. One variety is white, intricately laced,
netted, and streaked with pink; another is a beautiful green, streaked
in the same manner with yellow, light brown, or nearly black; others of
various ground colours are zoned with blotches, or marked with
fantastic-shaped spots and rings. Some eggs of the Guillemot closely
resemble those of the Razorbill, but may be distinguished by the
yellowish-white interior of the shell when held up to the light.
There has been much controversy as to the way in which the Guillemot
chicks reach the water from their lofty birthplace. Some writers assert
that the parent bird carries them down to the sea on its back; on the
other hand, Gätke maintains that the chicks tumble off the ledges into
the water, being enticed to do so by the old birds swimming on the sea
beneath the cliffs. He writes: “in its distress, the little chick tries
to get as near as possible to the mother waiting for it below, and keeps
tripping about on the outermost ledge of rock, often of no more than a
finger’s breath, until it ends by slipping off, and, turning two or
three somersaults, lands with a faint splash on the surface of the
water; both parents at once take charge of it between them, and swim off
with it towards the open sea. This is the only way in which I have seen
this change of habitat of the young birds accomplished, during some
fifty summers.” As soon as the young are sufficiently matured, the sea
in the vicinity of the breeding-stations is deserted, and the colonies
disperse far and wide. From this time forward, to the following
breeding-season, the Guillemot’s movements are to a certain extent
unknown. As Professor Newton justly asks,[4] What becomes of the
millions of Guillemots and other Auks that breed in northern latitudes?
The birds that are met with round the coasts of temperate Europe, and
elsewhere, bear no proportion whatever to the mighty hosts whose
position and movements remain unrevealed. At present the only feasible
explanation seems to be that the birds, during the non-breeding-season,
are scattered in quest of sustenance over many thousands of square miles
of water; in summer only is their vast abundance palpable, when all are
gathered into a comparatively small area.
In connection with the Guillemot mention should be made of the Ringed
Guillemot, the _Uria ringvia_ of Latham. It only differs from the Common
Guillemot in having a narrow white band round the eye, which is
prolonged into a streak for some distance behind and below it. It may be
seen breeding in company with the commoner form, and is not known to
differ in its habits. Whether it be a distinct species—as Gätke
states—or merely a variety of the Common Guillemot, as many naturalists
believe, still remains to be decided.
BRUNNICH’S GUILLEMOT.
This Guillemot, the _Uria bruennichi_ of Sabine and most modern writers,
is a very rare visitor to the British Islands, its home being in the
Arctic regions, from Greenland possibly to the Liakoff Islands, off the
coasts of northern Siberia. It deserves a passing notice, for it is
possible that it occurs in British waters more frequently than is
generally supposed. It is a perceptibly stouter bird than the Common
Guillemot, and has the base of the upper mandible pale gray. In its
habits and economy it is not known to differ in any special manner from
the better known species, of which it is the Arctic form.
BLACK GUILLEMOT.
This species, the Dovekey, or Greenland Dove, of northern mariners, the
Tysty of the Shetlanders, and the _Uria grylle_ of naturalists, is by
far the most local of the Auks that are indigenous to the British
Islands. During the breeding season it is only known to frequent one
English locality, the Isle of Man; but in Scotland it is pretty
generally distributed along the western and northern coasts, including
St. Kilda, the Orkneys, and the Shetlands. Its chief resorts in Ireland
are on the north and west coasts. The difference between the summer and
winter plumage of this little bird is most extraordinary. In spring it
assumes a rich black dress, glossed with green, except a patch of white
on the wings; in winter it is uniformly mottled black and white; the
legs and feet are bright coral red. With us the Black Guillemot is
strictly marine in its haunts, but in Spitzbergen it was found breeding
more than a mile inland—a habit very different from any it displays with
us. In its actions it very closely resembles its larger allies. Like
them it is an expert diver—I have seen it dive repeatedly at the flash
of a gun, and thus escape the shot. It is, on the whole, a more trustful
bird, often permitting a near approach, and frequently remaining on the
surface until the boat is about to pass over it, when it will dive and
reappear quite unconcernedly a short distance away out of danger. This
Guillemot often feeds quite close in shore. At St. Kilda I used to see
parties of this species every evening, fishing under the cliffs; but, on
the other hand, I have often met with them searching for food many miles
from land. The Black Guillemot is nothing near so gregarious as the
Common Guillemot, nor does it appear to wander so far from its breeding
places to feed. It is partially nocturnal in its habits in summer,
feeding well into the dusk, and during winter seldom comes upon the
land, sleeping out at sea. Although capable of flying swiftly, it always
prefers to escape danger by diving; it swims lightly, usually sitting
high in the water, but it has the power of sinking itself more than half
below the surface when apparently alarmed. Black Guillemots may often be
seen in strings, flying to and from a distant feeding place, hurrying
along close to the water, their short wings beating rapidly, and
rendered very conspicuous by the broad white bar. The food of this
Guillemot is largely composed of the fry of the herring and the
coal-fish, but other small fishes are eaten, as are crustaceans, and
various marine insects. I have never heard the Black Guillemot utter a
sound beyond a low grunting; but its note has been described as a
whining sound, that of the young birds being more shrill. In chasing its
finny prey under the water the Black Guillemot displays astonishing
powers, darting to and fro, aided by its wings and feet. During winter
these birds wander southwards, and then they may sometimes be seen off
our more frequented coasts.
The Black Guillemot retires to its breeding-stations in May. These are
situated, in our islands, on rocky headlands and islands, and on ocean
cliffs. Here its colonies are never very large, and often much
scattered. It very probably pairs for life, and resorts often to one
particular spot year after year. The bird deposits its eggs in a hole or
cranny of the cliffs, occasionally in the clefts amongst fallen rocks at
the foot of the precipice, or on rock-strewn downs sloping to the sea.
It makes no nest, and the eggs rest upon the bare ground or rock. The
Black Guillemot, and its allies, are remarkable for the fact that their
eggs are two or three in number; in all other members of the Alcidæ the
eggs never exceed one. This peculiarity has induced some systematists to
restrict the genus _Uria_ to the Black Guillemots alone. The Black
Guillemot lays two eggs, much smaller than, and not so pear-shaped as,
those of the Common Guillemot, cream, buff, or pale green in ground
colour, blotched and spotted with rich dark brown, paler brown, and
gray. The young chicks are said not to repair to the sea at so early an
age as those of the preceding birds; and to be soon deserted by their
parents after doing so, congregating in flocks by themselves.
RAZORBILL.
This bird, the _Alca torda_ of Linnæus and ornithologists generally, is
widely confused with the Common Guillemot, and many local names refer
indiscriminately to each—such as Murre, Marrot, and Diver. It is readily
distinguished from the Guillemots by its much deeper bill, crossed by a
white line at its centre, and by a narrow yet very conspicuous white
stripe, extending from the base of the bill to the eye. Otherwise, the
Razorbill closely resembles the Guillemot in appearance, both in its
summer and winter plumage. It is widely distributed round the British
coasts, breeding in most situations where the cliffs are sufficiently
suitable, but is much less abundant in the south, and is nowhere,
perhaps, so numerous as the Guillemot. During the non-breeding season it
becomes more generally scattered, and may then be met with, although
ever sparingly, in the seas round most parts of the British coastline.
Its actions in the water are almost precisely the same as those of the
Guillemot. Like that bird it may be seen swimming to and fro, sitting
highly and lightly on the water, often permitting a very close approach,
especially in districts where it is not much harassed by the shooter. It
dives with the same marvellous celerity as the Guillemot, pursuing its
prey through the water, often at a considerable depth, as readily as the
swallows chase an insect through the air. It is a very pretty sight to
watch the Razorbill in quest of food. This may often be done from the
summits of the cliffs, but certainly to better advantage from a boat, in
which the birds can be more closely approached, and consequently better
observed. A Razorbill in the water is a remarkably striking, if not an
actually pretty bird. He sits so lightly, riding buoyantly as a cork on
the swell, turning his head from side to side as the boat approaches,
swimming rapidly before it, and often nonchalantly dipping his head into
the water and throwing a shower over his upper plumage. The boat comes
too near at last, and the bird, with a scarcely audible or perceptible
splash, disappears into the water. Several moments afterwards he rises
again to the right or left, ahead or astern, and the salt spray rolls
off his plumage glinting like diamonds in the sun. Should fish be
plentiful the birds are diving and rising again incessantly, the time of
absence depending upon the depth descended or the length of the chase.
The Razorbill ever seems to use its wings with reluctance on these
occasions, always keeping out of harm’s way by diving or swimming. It is
capable of rapid flight though, and may often be seen in strings or
skeins, hastening along just above the waves to or from a favourite
fishing place. The Razorbill is gregarious enough during summer, but in
winter it is most frequently seen in small parties, or often alone. It
also goes some distance from land, where, should a gale overtake it,
great numbers often perish, as their dead bodies washed up on the coast
sadly testify. The food of the Razorbill is largely composed of fry,
especially of the herring, but many other small fishes are captured,
together with crustaceans and other small marine creatures. The bird, so
far as my experience extends, never seeks its food upon the shore, and
obtains most, if not all, of it by diving. The Razorbill is a remarkably
silent bird; the only sound I have ever heard it utter has been a low
grunting. This note is uttered both in summer and winter, on the rocks
as well as on the sea.
In May the Razorbill gives up its roaming, nomad life upon the sea, and
collects in numbers at the old-accustomed breeding-places. These are
situated on the ocean cliffs, such as contain plenty of nooks and
crannies being preferred to those of a more wall-like character. It is
possibly due to this that the Razorbill’s colonies are never so crowded
as those of the Guillemot, and that the birds are more scattered along
the coastline. There can be little doubt that the Razorbill pairs for
life. As a proof of this I have known a Puffin burrow resorted to
yearly, whilst eggs possessing certain peculiarities of form and colour
have repeatedly been taken from one nook in the cliffs, years and years
in succession. Like the Guillemot the Razorbill makes no nest, but lays
its single egg in a crevice or hole in the cliffs, or far under stacks
of rock, poised one upon another, where to reach it is an utter
impossibility. Like most birds that breed in such situations, the
Razorbill is much more loth to quit its egg than the Guillemot, often
remaining upon it until captured. When alarmed by man the birds may be
heard scrambling amongst the crevices, and uttering their grunting cries
of remonstrance.
The single egg of the Razorbill, though not displaying a tithe of the
variety observed in that of the Guillemot, is a remarkably handsome
object. The ground colour varies through every tint between white and
reddish-brown, and the handsome large blotches and spots are dark
liver-brown, reddish-brown, gray, or grayish-brown. No shade of green or
blue is ever apparent upon them externally, but the shells, when held up
to the light, have the interior of a clear pea-green tint—a character
which readily serves to distinguish them from such eggs of the Guillemot
that resemble them in external colour. If the first egg be taken the
bird will lay another, and this process may be repeated several times,
but on no occasion is more than one chick reared in the season. It is
said that the young of this species remain upon the cliffs for a much
longer period than the chicks of the Guillemot, and that they eventually
fly or flutter down to the sea, never revisiting the rocks. The parent
will sometimes dive with its offspring, just as the Little Grebe will
do.
LITTLE AUK.
This species, the Rotche of Arctic navigators, and the _Mergulus alle_
of ornithology, is but an irregular visitor to British seas during
autumn and winter, and as it seldom comes near the land under ordinary
circumstances, is not a very familiar bird to the seaside observer.
Exceptionally severe weather not unfrequently drives this little bird
far inland. In its general colouration the Little Auk closely resembles
the Razorbill, but it is less than half the size, and has a considerable
amount of white on the wings. This curious little species congregates in
incredible numbers at certain spots in the Arctic regions, to breed.
Beechey, at the beginning of the present century, records that he has
seen nearly four millions of these birds on the wing at one time.
Colonies of the Little Auk are known in Nova Zembla, Franz-Josef Land
(?), Spitzbergen, Grimsey Island (to the north of Iceland), and the
coasts of Greenland. Like all its larger allies, the Little Auk is
thoroughly pelagic in its habits, apparently only visiting the land to
breed, living on the sea for the remainder of the year. It is well
adapted for its lengthened sojourn upon the waters. It swims well and
buoyantly, sitting rather low, flies rapidly when inclined, dives with
as much ease as a fish, and sleeps quite safely and comfortably upon the
waves. Voyagers in the Arctic regions have met with flocks of Little
Auks at most times of the year, often far from land, and occasionally
crowding upon the masses of floating ice. All observers agree in
describing it as a somewhat noisy bird, and its specific name of _alle_
is said to resemble its ordinary note. There is scarcely a winter that
the Little Auk is not obtained in varying numbers off the British
coasts, more frequently, of course, in the northern districts, but under
ordinary circumstances it keeps too far off the land to be observed, and
occurs most plentifully during periods of continued storm. Where the
uncounted millions of Little Auks winter, that are known to breed in the
Arctic regions, washed by the Atlantic, is still an unsolved problem.
The few that are observed are as nothing in comparison with the numbers
that crowd at certain spots during summer. Perhaps it is because the
area of distribution is so wide in winter, and, comparatively speaking,
so restricted during summer. The food of the Little Auk consists largely
of minute crustaceans, and possibly of small fish. The bird is said to
resort to the vicinity of fishing fleets, to pick up the refuse thrown
overboard.
In May, the Little Auk resorts to the land to breed. It is eminently
gregarious, and some of its colonies consist of an almost incredible
number of birds. Curiously enough, its breeding places are not always by
the sea, some of them being situated a considerable distance from the
coast. Sloping rock-covered banks at the foot of the cliffs, seem to be
preferred to the cliff themselves. A favourite situation is on the
sloping ground below a range of cliffs, where the surface is covered
with stones and rock fragments that have, during succeeding ages,
crumbled from the precipices towering above. Here, in cavities, worn by
wind and storm, beneath large stones and rock fragments, or in various
hollows and holes under the fallen _débris_, the Little Auk deposits its
single pale greenish-blue egg, out of reach of the Arctic foxes that
prowl about the colony in quest of prey. The actions of the Little Auk
at its nesting colony, seem to be very similar to those of the Puffin
when breeding on slopes, as, for instance, on the island of Doon, one of
the St. Kilda group.
PUFFIN.
Of all the Auks the present species, the _Alca arctica_ of Linnæus, and
the _Fratercula arctica_ of modern ornithologists, is not only the best
known, but the most readily distinguished. The Puffin cannot readily be
mistaken for any other bird along the coast, his big brightly coloured
beak and comical facial expression, being never failing marks of his
identity. In the colour of its plumage the Puffin somewhat closely
resembles the Guillemot or the Little Auk, only the throat and the sides
of the head are white. The most striking feature in the Puffin is its
beak—a deep, laterally flattened, coulter-shaped organ, banded with
blue, yellow, and red, singularly grooved and embossed with horny
excrescences, although these latter are only assumed for the pairing
season, and are cast again when the breeding period is over! Unlike most
birds, therefore, the Puffin displays his wedding ornaments on his beak!
And this singular peculiarity appears to be common to various other
species, more distantly allied, yet undoubtedly of close affinity with
the English Puffin. Many local names have been applied to the Puffin in
consequence of its singular bill. Bottlenose, Coulterneb, and Sea
Parrot, may be mentioned as the most commonly used. Like most, if not
all, members of the Auk family, the Puffin is not seen much near the
land after the breeding season has passed. Indeed, it is very doubtful
whether the bird ever voluntarily seeks the coast after it leaves it in
early autumn with its young; continued gales and storms will
occasionally drive a bird even far inland, whilst rough weather often
causes it to perish at sea, its remains being sometimes washed up in
quantities. Its actions on the water are almost precisely the same as
those of the Guillemot and Razorbill. It is an adept swimmer, a
marvellous diver; it flies well and strongly, especially during the
summer, where I have seen it in swarms, drifting round and round the
highest peaks of its island haunt on apparently never-tiring-wing. At
the summit of the cliffs its powers of flight may often be witnessed to
perfection. At St. Kilda, I have watched it gracefully poising itself in
the air, its narrow wings beating rapidly, and its two orange-coloured
legs spread out behind acting as a rudder. Of all the Auk tribe, so far
as my experience goes, the Puffin flies the most. The Puffin feeds
principally upon small fish, especially sprats and the fry of larger
fishes; it also eats crustaceans, and various marine insects. It dives
often to a great depth, and is remarkably active beneath the surface;
when on the water it generally tries to escape from danger by diving.
Sometimes the Puffin may be seen close ashore during winter, but never
in any abundance.
The Puffin becomes by far the most interesting at its breeding places.
The regularity of its appearance at these has often been remarked. In
many localities it not only arrives punctually on a certain day, but
retires from them in autumn with its young almost as regularly! In some
places Puffins arrive on the land to breed as early as March; in others,
not before April; in others, yet again, not before the beginning of May.
With the exception of the south and east coasts of England—where it is
only sparingly and locally distributed—the Puffin, from Flamborough
northwards, is widely and generally dispersed. In some places its
numbers are almost incredible, as for instance, at Lundy Island, the
Farne Islands, on some of the Hebrides, and St. Kilda. There is a very
interesting colony of Puffins established amongst the walls of the
ancient fortress on the Bass Rock, but so far as my experience goes the
colony on St. Kilda stands unrivalled, and, at a very moderate
computation, must consist of many millions of birds! The Puffin most
probably pairs for life, and returns time out of mind to certain
familiar spots to rear its offspring. In most places the bird makes its
scanty nest in a burrow which it excavates itself, but in some
localities rabbit holes are frequently made use of. In some localities,
however, the bird makes a nest in a crevice of the cliffs or beneath
heaps of rocks. By the end of April both birds are engaged in scraping
out this burrow, if circumstances demand it, which often extends for
several yards in the loamy soil, sometimes sloping downwards, sometimes
tortuous, sometimes nearly straight. At the end, or elsewhere in some
cases, the slight nest of dry grass and a few feathers is formed.
Occasionally several pairs occupy one burrow, each pair enlarging a
portion of it for their own requirements into a kind of chamber; whilst
many of the burrows have several openings, and are evidently the work of
successive years. In this rude nest the hen Puffin lays a single egg,
dull white, sometimes tinged with blue or gray, and obscurely spotted
with pale brown and gray. Contact with the earth in the burrow and with
the wet feet of the sitting bird, soon discolours this egg, and renders
it almost like a ball of peat in appearance. When disturbed at their
breeding places, such Puffins as may chance to be outside the holes soon
fly off to the sea, and join the hosts of birds that swarm in the water
near every breeding station. Those in the burrows, however, remain,
allowing themselves to be dragged out without making any attempt to
escape. Great caution and gloves are recommended, for the Puffin resents
intrusion and bites fiercely, being able to inflict a nasty cut with its
powerful beak and sharp claws.
I still retain the most vivid impressions on my visit to the grand
colony of Puffins on Doon, one of the St. Kilda group. Every available
place is honeycombed with their holes; the ground cannot afford
accommodation for all, and numbers of birds have to seek nesting places
under the masses of rock lying on the grass-covered hillsides, or in the
crannies of the cliffs at the summit of the island. As soon as we had
fairly got ashore, and begun to walk up the slopes, the Puffins, in a
dense whirling bewildering host, swept downwards to the sea, or rose
high in air to circle above our heads, in the direst alarm. It seemed as
if the whole face of the island were slipping away from under me, just
like flakes of shale down a quarry side! Not a single bird, so far as I
could ascertain, uttered a note, but the whirring noise of the millions
of rapidly beating wings sounded like the distant rush of wind! But even
Doon does not harbour so many Puffins as find a home on the face of the
mighty cliff Connacher; and when we fired a gun and disturbed them from
this noble precipice, it seemed as though the face of the entire cliff
was falling outwards into the Atlantic, the enormous cloud of birds
overpowering one with its magnificence! As soon as the young are reared
the land is deserted, and the wandering pelagic life resumed.
In connection with this species mention may be made of its former repute
as an article of food. Old records inform us that the young Puffins were
regularly gathered by the owners of the breeding-places, and were salted
down for future food. Gesner and Caius assert that the Puffin was
allowed to be eaten during Lent, probably because, in the words of
Carew, of its coming nearest to fish in taste. More than two hundred
years ago Ligon, in his _History of Barbadoes_, complains of the ill
taste of Puffins which he had received from the Scilly Islands (once a
great centre of exportation of these birds), and asserts that this kind
of food is only for servants. The taste for salted and dried Puffin,
however, still lingers in the land; for at St. Kilda vast numbers are
caught, and so preserved by the natives for food. Dried Puffin, perhaps
a twelvemonth old, is one of the few delicacies of the island; whilst
the feathers help materially to pay the rent!
_Divers, Grebes, and Cormorants_
[Illustration: GREAT NORTHERN DIVER. Chapter iv.]