[243] I'll show him something now that he can't find in his books. So I goes right down after him; and when we got on deck he looked towards the northeast, and if ever I saw a chap wonder-struck, he was. Right ahead of us was a bold, rocky island, with what looked like a great snow-bank on its southern slope; while the air was full overhead, and all about, of what seemed a heavy fall of snow. The day was blazing hot, and there was n't a cloud to be seen. “ What in the world, Skipper, does this mean?” says he. “We're sailing right into a snow-storm in dog-days and in a clear sky.” By this time we had got near enough to hear a great rushing noise in the air, every moment growing louder and louder. “ It's only a storm of gannets,” says I. “Sure enough!” says he; “but I wouldn't have believed it possible.” When we got fairly off against the island I fired a gun at it: and such a fluttering and screaming you can't imagine. The great snow-banks shook, trembled, loosened, and became all alive, whirling away into the air like drifts in a nor wester. Millions of birds went up, wheeling and zigzagging about, their white bodies and black-tipped wings crossing and recrossing and mixing together into a thick grayish-white haze above us. “ You're right, Skipper,” says Wilson to me; “ Nature is better than books.” And from that time he was on deck as much as his health would allow of, and took a deal of notice of everything new and uncommon. But,
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