“The first is a cavern in which a certain Lord Holmes, who lived in the island about eighty or a hundred years ago, used to bring his friends to drink their wine in summer; and his kitchen is another cavern, where, it is said, his wine was kept, to cool it; but I did not pay much attention to the caverns as my object was to find Razor-bills and Willocks; which I wanted to shoot, that I might stuff some of them for my father’s museum.”
“I suppose you saw a good many birds near the caverns,” said Agnes.
“A good many,” returned he; “but the most were between the highest cliff,—which is marked by a long streak of red ochre, from a stratum of that earth, I suppose,—and a place called Sun Corner, where the cliff overhangs the sea. Here there were hundreds and thousands of Guillemots and Razor-bills, which were flying about in parties of tens or twenties; and, far above them, the great grey Sea-mews were wheeling round and round, and uttering their loud and piercing cries; while, in the distance, the Needle rocks were covered with hundreds of Black-headed gulls. When we approached this place, the fisherman pulled right in for the cliff; and, as we drew near it, I never saw such a scene before in my life. The whole surface of the cliff was in ledges, like shelves, one above another; and these ledges were perforated, like honey-combs, by the Puffins and Razor-bills. Every ledge was crowded with birds, so thickly, that the only wonder was, how they could all find room to sit; and yet every now and then some fresh birds came popping up through the holes in the ledges, and knocked off those that were sitting on them.”
“How droll!” cried Agnes, laughing.
“But that was not all,” continued Mr. Russell; “the birds that had been so unceremoniously tumbled off, soon returned and settled on the heads of those that had taken their places; slipping down behind them till they gained a footing on the rocks, and obliged those before them to tumble off in their turn. You may easily imagine what a noise all this caused, particularly among the Puffins. These little fellows as they sat upright on the rocks, turned their heads, sharply, first on one side, and then on the other, as if they were scolding and chattering at their disturbers; and, as they have white cheeks with a black hood, which looks as if it was tied under the chin, they had the appearance of a number of old women met to gossip. A few delicately white Kittiwakes, which looked like the young ladies of the party, were perched on some of the projecting crags; and here and there was a Cormorant standing, stern and upright, like a black sentinel, and quite alone. These birds were very striking, from their black hue contrasting with the white cliffs; but I cannot say that I much admire them. I think the Razor-bills are the handsomest of all the Isle of Wight birds; as they have snow-white breasts, and black heads and backs. But, as to their cries, I really don’t know which is the worst. Such a horrible clatter surely never can be heard any where else.’”
“I can easily conceive that,” said Mrs. Merton, “from what we heard of these birds ourselves.”
“Oh! but that could have been nothing to what we heard,” said Mr. Russell. “The fisherman told me to fire: I did so; and all the previous din was quiet compared to the uproar which ensued. The sky was positively darkened with the multitude of birds that rose from the cliffs; and their wild screams and cries were hideous beyond description. But the most extraordinary part of the whole was, that though I fired so close that my shot touched the plumage of several of the birds, not one was killed.”
“How could that be?” asked Mrs. Merton.
“The fact is,” replied Mr. Russell, “that the feathers on the necks and breasts of these sea-birds are closely matted together, and form a covering, so smooth and compact, that the shots glance off instead of penetrating it. The fisherman laughed at my astonishment when I saw the birds I had hit fly away; and told me that the only way to shoot a sea-bird was to get behind it. I profited by this advice, and soon contrived to shoot all the birds I wanted, except a Cormorant; and that I have come on land to shoot.”
“But why did you not shoot one from the water?” asked Mrs. Merton.