CHAPTER LXVI 

 THE BITTERN 



The " Buttle " is now almost unknown in the Broadlands, 

 except in the hardest weather, when a few are shot; but 

 a few years ago, a few pairs were to be seen about in the 

 spring ; and one spring night I heard the famous bumping 

 noise, of which old gunners speak — a loud, booming, re- 

 sonant sound, as of some one striking a brazen shield from 

 afar — a haunting voice of the marshland. But altogether the 

 " buttle " is rare, though four or five are shot every winter 

 in the marshlands near the sea. Some old gunners aver that 

 he nests there to-day, and a man once worked for me who 

 caught a young bird alive in the sedge whilst egging in May 

 1864. He says, " I saw him in among the sedge with an eel 

 in his mouth, so I darted arter him and caught him, and he 

 was rare wicious. He'd a jabbed my eyes out if he'd a got 

 at 'em. I took him home, and got eleven shilling for him." 



One old gunner, who has found their nests and shot 

 many of them, gives this account of them — the old man 

 is alive now, and quite trustworthy : — 



"Buttles — yes. They fly like a harnsee — only a little 

 quicker, more like the kitties, but head and neck pulled 

 well back — feed like a harnsee. They live on eels and fish, 

 frogs, and such like. They sleep on the hovers round the 

 broads, and you see them mostly of a night and morning 

 at flighting times, flying right low if there be any wind. If 

 you put 'em up onest, and don't kill 'em, and then try and put 

 'em up again, you'll have ter go arter 'em afore they'll go up. 



"They'll light on trees, jest like a harnsee. I recollect 

 one December mornin' I went shooting, that had been 



