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.