A di-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being looked on, ducks as quickly in.
Shakspeare.
Another short swim and it dives again; and so it goes on, the time spent under the water being far in excess of that employed in taking breath. Advance openly or make a noise, it wastes no time in idle examinations or surmises of your intentions, but slips down as before, not, however, to reappear in the same neighbourhood. Its motives are different: it now seeks not food, but safety, and this it finds first by diving, and then by propelling itself by its wings under water in some direction which you cannot possibly divine; for it by no means follows that it will pursue the course to which its bill pointed when it went down. It can alter its line of flight beneath the water as readily as a swallow can change its course of flight through the air. But wherever it may reappear, its stay is now instantaneous; a trout rising at a fly is not more expeditious. You may even fail to detect it at all. It may have ensconced itself among weeds, or it may be burrowing in some subaqueous hole. That it has the power of remaining a long while submerged, I have no doubt. There is in the parish of Stamford Dingley, Berks, a large and beautiful spring of water, clear as crystal, the source of one of the tributaries of the Thames. I was once bending over the bank of this spring, with a friend, watching the water, some five or six feet down, as it issued from a pipe-like orifice and stirred the sand around like the bubbling of a cauldron, when there suddenly passed between us and the object we were examining a form so strange that we were at first doubtful to what class of animals we should refer it. In reality, it was a Dabchick, which, alarmed probably by the noise of our conversation, was making for a place of safety. As it passed within two or three feet of our faces, we could distinctly see that it propelled itself by its wings; but it appeared not to have observed us, for it kept on in a direct course towards the head of the spring. We searched long in the hope of discovering it again, but failed; and as there were no weeds among which it could possibly hide above water, and we could examine the bottom of the spring almost as thoroughly as if it contained air only, we could but conclude that our apparition had taken refuge in a hole under the bank.
Early in spring, when Dabchicks leave the small streams and water-courses for broader pieces of water, they have been observed to fly; and during the building season also they have been seen circling round in the air near the locality of their intended nest. The nest itself is constructed of weeds of all kinds, forming a thick mass raised but a few inches above the surface of the water, and invariably far enough from the bank to be inaccessible except by wading. The Dabchick lays five or six long-shaped eggs, pointed at either end, of a chalky white colour. These the bird, when she leaves the nest, covers with weeds for the purpose of concealment, and on her return continues the work of incubation without removing the covering, so that the eggs soon lose their white hue, and before the period of hatching have become very dirty. The young birds can swim and dive immediately on leaving the egg. I have never myself seen a Dabchick fly through the air or walk on land, neither have I ever heard its note. The latter, a low clicking and chattering sort of noise, it is said to utter in spring. It breeds even in St. James' Park. Females smaller than males.
ORDER TUBINARES
FAMILY PROCELLARIIDÆ
THE FULMAR PETREL
PROCELLARIA GLACIÁLIS
Head, neck, under plumage, and tail, white; wings bluish ash, the primaries brownish grey; beak, irides, and feet, yellow. Young of the year grey tinged with brown, mottled on the back with deeper brown; bill and feet yellowish ash. Length nineteen inches. Eggs white.