The Fulmar Petrel lives in the Arctic Ocean, from which it rarely strays, unless driven away by violent storms. In more southern seas it is represented by a kindred species resembling it so closely that the two were often mistaken for each other. The Island of St. Kilda, and Grünso near Iceland, are looked upon as its most southern breeding-places. Like all its kindred, it is an inhabitant of the wide sea, and, except during its breeding season, only comes to dry land when lost and bewildered by a fog, or wearied out by the long continuance of a storm. In North Greenland it is said to be seen oftener than elsewhere upon the coasts, and in the bays and harbours. Their specific name _glacialis_ has not been very happily given to these birds, as they seem to avoid rather than seek large accumulations of ice; indeed, all pilots hold their presence to be a sure sign of open water. The flight of this Petrel very much resembles that of the Ivory Gull. The sailor gazes with admiration as he sees it with outspread, almost motionless wings, glide like a meteor over the waves or battling with the storm for days together, apparently without allowing itself the slightest repose. It seems to have not the slightest fear of man; it approaches ships with the utmost confidence, and is rather importunate in its visits to the whale-fishers, more especially should they be engaged in cutting up a whale. "The Fulmar," says Captain Scoresby, "is the constant companion of the whale-fisher. It joins his ship immediately on passing the Shetland Islands, and accompanies it through the trackless ocean to the highest accessible latitudes. It keeps an eager watch for every thing thrown overboard; the smallest particle of fatty substance can scarcely escape it. Though few should be seen when a whale is about being captured, yet, as soon as the flensing process commences, they rush in from all quarters and frequently accumulate to many thousands in number. They then occupy the greasy track of the ships; and, being audaciously greedy, fearlessly advance within a few yards of the men employed in cutting up the whale. It is highly amusing to see the voracity with which they seize the pieces of fat that fall in their way; the size and quantity of the pieces they take at a meal; the curious chuckling noise, which in their anxiety for dispatch, they always make; and the jealousy with which they view, the boldness with which they attack, any of their species that are engaged in devouring the finest morsels. When carrion is scarce, the Fulmars follow the living whale, and sometimes by their peculiar motions when hovering at the surface of the water, point out to the fisher the position of the animal of which he is in pursuit. They cannot, however, make much impression on the dead whale until some more powerful animal tears away the skin, for this is too tough for them to make their way through."