The question, How do birds find their way? is answered by many ingenious and often purely speculative theories, some of which have been already referred to in connection with the points discussed.

Each theory, though it may apparently explain certain phases of migration, can be answered by some exceptional difficulty which makes it fail as a full explanation; we are driven to the conclusion that birds possess a sense of direction, which is often, very incorrectly, called Orientation. Biologically this term does not imply any connection with the East, but is simply used to describe the power of finding the way back to a certain base, or of returning home. It is a power or sense which undoubtedly exists in many vertebrate animals and in some invertebrates, though it is hard, in many cases, to separate or distinguish it from memory and impression gained through eyesight. Mr John Burroughs, one of the strongest opponents of what he calls the "Sentimental School of Nature Study," gives in his "Ways of Nature" a striking instance of this faculty which may serve as an example, though the cases of dogs and cats amongst domestic animals, and of many wild creatures finding their way, could fill many volumes. His son brought a drake home in a bag from a farm 2 miles away, and shut it up in a barn with two ducks for a day and a night. As soon as it was released it turned its head homewards, but for three or four days its efforts were frustrated. Then Mr Burroughs decided to see what the drake would do, and to go with it to give it "fair play." The "homesick mallard started up through the currant patch, then through the vineyard towards the highway which he had never seen," and Mr Burroughs followed 50 yards behind. A dog scared the bird and turned it up a lane, but after a detour it reached the road again; it stopped to bathe in a roadside pool, then started off again refreshed. A lane, leading in the right direction off the main road, puzzled it, and it took a wrong turning, but, discovering its mistake, made for the road again, but not by actually retracing its steps. The false move seemed to put it out, for after hesitating at the next and right turning, it actually overshot the mark. Its companion, unable to spare time to continue the experiment, then headed it back, and when it reached the turning again it seemed to recognise something familiar and raced home with evident signs of joy.

The duck was a domesticated bird, but the incident is not without interest; the homing faculty was clearly exhibited, but it was not infallible; the bird made a mistake. So, inexperienced young birds, travelling instinctively by orientation may, and do, make mistakes.

Human beings, in varying degree, possess a sense of direction, and some a wonderful power of finding their way in strange places; it is most marked amongst those men we choose to call uncivilised, who, indeed, live in closer touch with nature than those of us who depend so much on compass, map, road, train and tram; we, as path-finders, are degenerate. Middendorf marvelled at the powers of the Samoyeds, but when he questioned them was met by blank surprise, and the cross-question—"How does the little Arctic fox find its way aright on the great Tundra?"

In addition to this instinctive power, the bird has eyes and brain. We can afford to put aside as purely speculative Middendorf's suggestion that the bird is impelled or dragged by magnetic force, but we cannot deny that it uses its eyes and that it has a wonderful memory; its second journey will be easier than the first, for it will recognise landmarks, just as the drake recognised something familiar when it neared home. Sight, however, cannot be always necessary, for, at the Kentish Knock Lightship, Mr Eagle Clarke noticed that birds flew so low along the water that they could not possibly have seen their way.

It is purely speculative to say that the young bird which travels alone, for it seems certain that many young do travel unguided on their first journey, has an inherited memory of the actual route to be followed, but that it has an hereditary sense of direction, or an hereditary impulse to travel in a certain direction, is quite another matter. The sea, to the young bird, may be a barrier; it may wander coastwise and be lost, or, if this is the best way, find itself at the desired haven. If the shortest and quickest way is across the ocean, the young bird may brave the perils and succeed, or on this trackless waste it may wander till it sinks to the waves and be added to the long list of failures.

Certain species summer in Greenland either in the same areas or in areas comparatively near to one another; some of these travel in autumn south-east, and winter in Europe or Africa, and others go south-west into the States or South America. Most of these are distinctly eastern or western forms, but occasionally American birds are met with in Europe, and European in America. Probably at the start these stragglers joined the wrong band, and travelled for company and unconsciously by the wrong route. Birds drifted to leeward may find companions of quite an alien tribe; others, wind-swept in this way, may travel alone to new lands. A few pelagic South Pacific and South Atlantic petrels and other birds have reached Europe from time to time, but theirs is an error of too wide nomadic wandering. The wonder is not that these stragglers do turn up, but that so few are noticed; probably the frequent mistakes made by inexperienced or even experienced birds are speedily rectified by nature; failure to find food or exhaustion spells death.

Mr C. Dixon emphatically declares that each party of young birds is accompanied by one or more older ones to act as guides—"The many winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home." This is as emphatically denied by other observers. Probably there is no regular rule for many species, as there certainly is not for swallows, in which the old and young birds can be easily distinguished. I have seen bands trailing south in autumn in which all the birds were immature, and others in which a number of young were accompanied by a few mature birds, though, certainly, these old birds did not appear to lead. Another assertion, that the old and young do not even travel by the same route rather supports the idea that the young birds find their way simply by a sense of direction, a sense liable to blunder, whilst the old birds travel by the perfected or best route which their experience has taught them. Martorelli wisely asserts that orientation is not infallible, but develops with age.

Mach-Bruer attempted to localise this sense of direction in the semicircular canals of the ear, which are so highly developed in birds, but Dr Allen contends that the theory has been refuted by experiments on pigeons. MÖbius urged that birds were guided in their journey by the direction of the roll of the waves; Newton replies that though this may be a constant direction in certain parts of the Pacific, it is most inconstant in the stormy North Atlantic (37).

There is a very generally accepted idea that birds prefer to travel with the wind striking them diagonally—the "beam-wind theory," a theory, which so far as I can see, has absolutely no sound foundation. When on the Kentish Knock Lightship, Mr Eagle Clarke noticed, on a bad day, east to west migrants hurrying past "as if to avoid as much as possible the effects of the high-beam wind."

Mr A. H. Clark worked out the long oversea and overland course followed by the American golden plover, and showed to his own satisfaction that the birds always travelled at right angles to the prevailing winds; therefore, he argued, they were guided by the beam-winds; always keeping the wind on their flanks led them aright (14). He says that if they fly at 100 miles per hour, with a beam-wind of 30 miles per hour, they will reach a spot 100 miles from whence they started, but 30 miles to leeward of a line drawn at right angles to the wind. Thus, if they rely upon the wind, their course is more or less diagonally across it according to its strength. He maps out the supposed route according to prevailing winds, but fails to notice that the very route he maps may be caused simply by the leeward drift when flying on winds which are not with them. One portion of the journey is enough to illustrate what I mean. From Labrador to the east of Bermuda the birds fly south-east, so, he argues, as to cross the south-west wind at right angles. But supposing the birds headed due south, meeting the south-west wind on their right front, they would of necessity, if the wind was strong, drift away to the east. It is improbable that they actually aim to strike the Bermudas, for it is only during certain weather conditions that they visit these islands. In favourable weather the birds do not touch the Bermudas, but continue their flight direct to South America.

The leeward drift of birds in a strong beam-wind may be noticed during ordinary flight; it has occasioned one of the most remarkable of GÄtke's statements. Referring to hooded crows, he says—"To escape the disagreeable experience of having the wind (south-east) blowing through their plumage obliquely from behind, they turn their body southward, and appear to be flying in this direction. This, however, is not the case. They do not make the least forward progress to the south, but their flight is continued in as exactly a westerly course, and with the same speed, as though the birds were moving under favourable conditions straight forwards, i.e., in the direction of the long axis of the bodies. This is shown in the most convincing manner by such bands as happen to pass immediately over the head of the observer.

"Besides hooded crows, many other, indeed perhaps all species, are capable of executing a laterally-directed movement of flight of this nature, not only under such compulsory conditions as they may encounter during the flight of migration, but also during the ordinary activities of their daily life" (29). He admits that he once thought it was a drift to leeward, but that he is now convinced that it is intentional, and is sure proof of his East to West flight. In the face of such absurd statements as these, how can anyone quote GÄtke as an authority on migration! Yet, in recently-published books, this east to west flight across Heligoland to Yorkshire is stated to be a proved fact, though Mr Eagle Clarke, so long ago as 1896, showed it to be unsupported by British evidence.

Dr Allen, reviewing Dr H. E. Walter's "Theories of Bird Migration" (3), cites the following experiments as strong arguments in favour of orientation. Dr J. B. Watson took fifteen sooty and noddy terns from Bird Key, Tortugas, and liberated them at intervals after they had been marked. The shortest distance was 20 miles from the Key, the farthest, Cape Hatteras, 850 miles; thirteen returned to the Key. Neither sooty nor noddy terns range, as a rule, north of the Florida Keys, so that it is unlikely that any of the birds had been over the route before. They could have gained no experience, or hereditary knowledge, and as they were released during the breeding season, there would be no marked movement southward which they might follow, nor would they at that time be impelled by any desire to migrate. The change of direction from the Florida Keys, westward, to the Tortugas, occasioned by the water course which feeding habits would force them to follow, "removes the direction of the wind as a guiding agency, whilst the absence of landmarks over the greater portion of the journey makes it improbable that sight was of service in finding the way."