n a little cove at the extremity of the bay were
scores of kittiwakes, chattering over some dead fish thrown up by
the sea.

Here was a rare hunting ground for two eager young sportsmen! Close
to us a couple of turnstones, smart little birds in brown, with
bright-red legs and beaks, were busy on a heap of kelp. I levelled
my gun at them, and was about to fire, when Robbie stayed my hand
and pointed to a large cormorant sheltered in a deep niche of the
cliff and looking darker even than the dark rock over its head. I
altered the direction of my aim, keeping well out of the bird's
sight, with my back against a wall of granite.

It was well for me that I did so, for without this support in the
rear I should surely have fallen. When I drew the trigger I
received a fearful blow in the chest from the butt of the gun and a
thump on the back from the rock. The report of the gun sounded loud
through the chasms, and the echo was repeated along the line of the
cliffs and far over among the glens, as though a whole volley of
musketry had been fired. Birds flew about in all directions,
uttering wild cries of warning to each other. The air was crowded
with flying gulls.

When the smoke cleared away we looked for our cormorant, and there
he was, perched on the same bald point of rock, coolly preening his
black feathers. Then, as we ran up towards him, he stretched forth
his long neck, raised his wings, and sped away across the sea.
Either I had missed my shot, or the bird's tough skin had felt no
sensible touch. And where now were all our birds? Far out over the
gray sea they flew, secure from the range of our gun.

We waited long for their return, but only an occasional kittiwake
soared high above us, and some, bolder than the rest, presently
returned to their brooding places on the cliffs. We could not think
of firing while the gulls were on the wing, they swept past us so
quickly. We therefore scrambled over some abutting rocks into a
further bay, and still onward along the rough beach as far as the
stack of Hellia--a great steep rock standing out in the sea under
the frowning height of St. John's Head--and here we found as large
a number of birds as we had formerly seen.

We had arranged to take our shots turn about, and now it was
Robbie's turn. Having charged the gun, we stood quiet for a time,
patiently awaiting our chance. A carrion crow flew to a rock
between us and the water's edge. Robbie was ready. He took a
delibe