But by degrees the darkness grows less intense, and the coming of the day is announced by the prevalence of a kind of twilight, which increases more and more rapidly as winter passes into spring. There are signs that Nature is awakening once more to life and motion. The foxes come out upon the hill side, both blue and white, and gallop hither and thither in search of food,—following in the track of the bear, to feed on the refuse which the “tiger of the ice” throws aside. The walrus and the seal come more frequently to land; and the latter begins to assemble on the ice-floes, and select its breeding-places. At length, early in February, broad daylight comes at noon, and then the weary explorer rejoices to know that the end is near. Flocks of speckled birds arrive, and shelter themselves under the lee of the shore; chiefly dove-kies, as they are called in Southern Greenland—the Uria grylle of the naturalist. At last, on the 18th or 19th of February, the sun once more makes its appearance above the southern horizon, and is welcomed as one welcomes a friend who has been long lost, and is found again. Upon the crests of the hills light clouds are floating lazily, and through these the glorious orb is pouring a stream of golden fire, and all the southern sky quivers, as it were, with the shooting, shifting splendours of the coming day. Presently a soft bright ray breaks through the vaporous haze, kindling it into a purple sea, and touches the silvery summits of the lofty icebergs until they seem like domes and pinnacles of flame. Nearer and nearer comes that auspicious ray, and widens as it comes; and that purple sea enlarges in every direction; and those domes and pinnacles of flame multiply in quick succession as they feel the passage of the quickening light; and the dark red cliffs are warmed with an indescribable glow; and a mysterious change passes over the face of the ocean; and all Nature acknowledges the presence of the sun!
“The parent of light and life everywhere,” says Dr. Hayes, “he is the same within these solitudes. The germ awaits him here as in the Orient; but there it rests only through the short hours of a summer night, while here it reposes for months under a sheet of snows. But after a while the bright sun will tear this sheet asunder, and will tumble it in gushing fountains to the sea, and will kiss the cold earth, and give it warmth and life; and the flowers will bud and bloom, and will turn their tiny faces smilingly and gratefully up to him, as he wanders over these ancient hills in the long summer. The very glaciers will weep tears of joy at his coming. The ice will loose its iron grip upon the waters, and will let the wild waves play in freedom. The reindeer will skip gleefully over the mountains to welcome his return, and will look longingly to him for the green pastures. The sea-fowls, knowing that he will give them a resting-place for their feet on the rocky islands, will come to seek the moss-beds which he spreads for their nests; and the sparrows will come on his life-giving rays, and will sing their love-songs through the endless day.”
With the sun return the Arctic birds, and before we quit the realm of waters we propose to glance at a few of those which frequent the cliffs and shores during the brief Polar summer.
Among the first-comers is the dove-kie or black guillemot (Uria grylle), which migrates to the temperate climates on the approach of winter, visiting Labrador, Norway, Scotland, and even descending as far south as Yorkshire. In fact, we know of no better place where to observe its habits than along the immense range of perpendicular cliffs stretching from Flamborough Head to Filey Bay. Here, on the bare ledges of this colossal ocean-wall, the guillemot lays its eggs, but without the protection of a nest; some of them parallel with the edge of the shelf, others nearly so, and others with their blunt and sharp ends indiscriminately pointing to the sea. They are not affixed to the rock by any glutinous matter, or any foreign substance whatever. You may see as many as nine or ten, or sometimes twelve, old guillemots in a line, so near to each other that their wings almost touch. The eggs vary greatly in size and shape and colour. Some are large, others small; some exceedingly sharp at one end, others rotund and globular. It is said that, if undisturbed, the guillemot never lays more than one egg; but if that be taken away, she will lay another, and so on. But Audubon asserts that he has seen these birds sitting on as many as three eggs at a time.
SEA-BIRDS IN THE POLAR REGIONS.
The black guillemot differs from the foolish guillemot (Uria troile) only in the colour of its plumage, which, with the exception of a large white patch on the coverts of each wing, is black, silky, and glossy; the feathers appearing to be all unwebbed, like silky filaments or fine hair. The bill, in all the species, is slender, strong, and pointed; the upper mandible bending slightly near the end, and the base covered with soft short feathers. The food of the guillemot consists of fish and other marine products.
The Alcidæ, or auks, are also included amongst the Arctic birds. The little auk (Arctica alca) frequents the countries stretching northwards from our latitudes to the regions of perpetual ice, and is found in the Polar Regions both of the Old World and the New. Here, indeed, they congregate in almost innumerable flocks. At early morn they sally forth to get their breakfast, which consists of different varieties of marine invertebrates, chiefly crustaceans, with which the Arctic waters teem. Then they return to the shore in immense swarms. It would be impossible, says an Arctic voyager, to convey an adequate idea of the numbers of these birds which swarmed around him. The slope on both sides of the valley in which he had pitched his camp rose at an angle of about forty-five degrees to a distance of from 300 to 500 feet, where it met the cliffs, which stood about 700 feet higher. These hill-sides are composed of the loose rocks detached from the cliffs by the action of the frost. The birds crawl among these rocks, winding far in through narrow places, and there deposit their eggs and hatch their young, secure from their great enemy, the Arctic fox.
THE AUK.