“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.”
“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.
“Because I could not manage it, my dear madam. Just under the cliff, where the Cormorants were sitting, there was a narrow slip of beach; and I landed there with great difficulty, as the swell of the sea was very heavy, and the bottom there is very bad. I was now almost perpendicularly under the birds, and I could plainly see their long necks, and stiff, still heads poked out towards the sea; and in the same position they continued, without turning their heads to the right or to the left, though I wasted a great quantity of shot upon them, and some excellent powder, which I grudged very much: and so, finding that I could do no good, shooting at them from below, I am now come to try a shot from above; but I must not be long, for we shall have hard work to get through the Needles if we let the tide get too low, and we must be back at Freshwater to dinner.”
“Did you see any of the eggs?” asked Agnes.
“Oh! yes, plenty of the Guillemots and Razor-bills, which were lying singly on the ledges of the rocks, and shaking with every puff of wind; for they are only just balanced on the bare rocks on which they lie: but the Puffins lay their eggs in the long holes they hollow out of the chalk. I have seen a man put his arm in almost up to the shoulder, to pull a Puffin’s egg out of its hole; for the birds always contrive to lay them at the very bottom.”