The Hudsonian godwit with upturned bill, the willet, the Baird's and the stilt sandpipers, I must merely mention by name, but the turnstone or chicken plover compels more than passing notice. His coral red legs and his black and tan and white "calico " back make him a marked bird, and his great variety of call notes adds to his distinction. He derives his name "turnstone " from the singular but useful habit he possesses of turning over stones for the small crustaceans concealed there. But he does not stop at turning stones, for he is particularly adept at turning over masses of seaweed, sometimes almost as large as himself. In fact he literally "roots" in the seaweed like a pig, and like a pig he grows inordinately fat. Although very shy when pursued with a gun, I have found the turnstone a delightful bird to study with a glass, for he appears to grasp the situation and to recognize the friendly attitude so well that I have been able to approach within a few feet of the "rooting" bird and watch every motion. What a joy it would be to have a return of the old conditions, when terns and piping plover bred in the dunes, and when shore birds large and small thronged the beaches, and when the sea teemed with water fowl. Many of the birds I have mentioned in this chapter are on the way to extinction, some have already disappeared forever; a few, happily as a result of protection, are increasing. In Japan it is said that when travelling artisans see an eagle, they take out their sketching tablets and record its beautiful shape and attitudes. The barbarians of this part of the world try to shoot it, a fate they have often meted out to every large or unusual bird they came across, even if it were of no value to them, and they left it to rot where it fell. Fortunately times are changing and the people are gradually awakening to the idea that money value in food or plumage, or even in work done for man, is not the only thing for which birds should be protected. We are also beginning to realize that the interest which finds pleasure in the sport of bird destruction is a very limited and a very selfish one, and that the claims of the sportsman are not paramount to those of the nature student or even of the lover of natural beauty. E CHAPTER VII THE HARBOR SEAL "Vagabond and unconfined! HOVEY. ARLY one April day an old man, who had rowed a heavy dory across from Plum Island, struggled up Ipswich beach, carrying on his arm a clam-basket full of turnips for the lighthouse-keeper. His back was bent with the weight of many years and the digging of many clams, but his eyes twinkled when I asked him whether he had dug the turnips on the bar, and he admitted that although" Robin reef " was a good place for sea-clams and seals, it was a pretty poor place for vegetables. Why it was called Robin reef he could not say, for he had seen "nairy a robin" there, but that had been its name as long as he could remember, and his father had called it Robin before him. The explanation, however, is a simple one, for robin or robyn is the Dutch name for seal, and has frequently been applied to reefs. For example, DeKay speaks of a reef of rocks in New York harbor" called Robins' Reef from the numerous seals that are accustomed to resort there," and it may be remembered that the Pilgrims came to New England after a sojourn in Holland. Although the harbor seal is a common and characteristic animal of these regions, a creature of great bulk, sometimes weighing over two hundred pounds, and attaining a length of five feet, it is an animal of whose presence the casual observer is generally quite unaware. It belongs to the cosmopolitan group of hairseals that inhabit our eastern sea-coast as far south as New Jersey, and increase in numbers, both of individuals and of species, as one goes north. Rarely a harp or a hooded seal straggles to the Massachusetts shores, while on the Labrador coast a full half-dozen different kinds are to be found. All these are clad in short, stiff, bristly coats, which lack the soft under-fur, for it is only on the Pacific coast that the true fur-seals, from which are obtained the soft sealskin jackets, are to be found. These animals belong to a very different family, often called sea-bears. They possess external ears, which are absent in the hair-seal, and their hind feet, instead of being permanently directed backwards as in the hair-seal, can be turned forward for walking purposes when on land. It is believed that these two groups of seals have attained similar stations in life by two independent paths. The fur-seals trace their ancestry to bear-like animals, while the hairseals are thought to have come from an otterlike animal. Both groups are of comparatively recent origin, and are found first in the Eocene period. As the tide ebbs the seals repair to Ipswich bar while it is still awash, and try to maintain their position against the battering of the waves. Occasionally one is caught broadside and rolled over by the breakers, while unusually heavy seas may suddenly carry all the herd into deeper water, where nothing but their round dark heads are to be seen bobbing about the submerged reef. However, the tide flows out rapidly, and one by one they man |