his breath, as you and I have.

What a long time he can hold it.

Yes. He is a wonderful diver. Some whales, they say, will keep under
for an hour. But while he is under, mind, the air in his lungs is
getting foul, and full of carbonic acid, just as it would in your lungs,
if you held your breath. So he is forced to come up at last: and then
out of his blowers, which are on the top of his head, he blasts out all
the foul breath, and with it the water which has got into his mouth, in a
cloud of spray. Then he sucks in fresh air, as much as he wants, and
dives again, as you saw him do just now.

And what does he do under water?

Look--and you will see. Look at those birds. We will sail up to them;
for Mr. Whale will probably rise among them soon.

Oh, what a screaming and what a fighting! How many sorts there are! What
are those beautiful little ones, like great white swallows, with crested
heads and forked tails, who hover, and then dip down and pick up
something?

Terns--sea-swallows. And there are gulls in hundreds, you see, large and
small, gray-backed and black-backed; and over them all two or three great
gannets swooping round and round.

Oh! one has fallen into the sea!

Yes, with a splash just like a cannon ball. And here he comes up again,
with a fish in his beak. If he had fallen on your head, with that beak
of his, he would have split it open. I have heard of men catching
gannets by tying a fish on a board, and letting it float; and when the
gannet strikes at it he drives his bill into the board, and cannot get it
out.

But is not that cruel?

I think so. Gannets are of no use, for eating, or anything else.

What a noise! It is quite deafening. And what are those black birds
about, who croak like crows, or parrots?

Look at them. Some have broad bills, with a white stripe on it, and cry
something like the moor-hens at home. Those are razor-bills.

And what are those who say "marrock," something like a parrot?

The ones with thin bills? they are guillemots, "murres" as we call them
in Devon: but in some places they call them "marrocks," from what they
say.

And each has a little baby bird swimming behind it. Oh! there: the
mother has cocked up her tail and dived, and the little one is swimming
about looking for her! How it cries! It is afraid of the yacht.

And there she comes up again, and cries "marrock" to call it.

Look at it swimming up to her, and cuddling to her,