NORTH AMERICAN MARSH BIRDS 81 



formance, but especially the pumping itself, is attended with violent convulsive 

 movements, the head and neck being thrown upward and then forward, like 

 the night heron's when it emits its quow, only with much greater violence. The 

 snap of the bill, in particular, is emphasized by a vigorous jerk of the head. The 

 vocal result, as I say, is in three syllables; of these the first is the longest, and, 

 as it were, a little divided from the others, while the third is almost like an echo 

 of the second. The middle syllable is very strongly accented. The second mu- 

 sician, as good luck would have it, was a stakedriver. The imitation was as re- 

 markable in this case as in the other, and the difference between the two perfor- 

 mances was manifest instantly to both Mr. Faxon and myself. The middle syl- 

 lable of the second bird was a veritable whack upon the head of a stake. I have 

 no dilBculty whatever in crediting Mr. Samuel's statement that, on hearing it 

 for the first time, he supposed a woodman to be in the neighborhood, and discov- 

 ered his error only after toiling through swamp and morass for half a mile. On 

 this one point at least, it is easy to see why authors have disagreed. The fault 

 has not been with the ears of the auditors, but with the notes of the different 

 birds. During the hour or more that we sat upon the railway we had abundant 

 opportunity to compare impressions; and, among other things, we debated how 

 the notes to which we were listening could best be represented in writing. Neither 

 of us hit upon anything satisfactory. Since then, however, Mr. Faxon has 

 learned that the people of Wayland have a name for the bird (whether it is in 

 use elsewhere I can not say) which is most felicitously onomato-poetic; namely, 

 plum-pudd' n' . I can imagine nothing better. Give both vowels the sound of 

 u in full; dwell a little upon the plum; put a strong accent upon the first syllable 

 of pudd'n'; especially keep the lips nearly closed throughout; and you have as 

 good a representation of the bittern's notes, I think, as can well be put into letters. 



William Brewster (1902) writes: 



Standing in an open part of the meadow, usually half concealed by the sur- 

 rounding grasses, he first makes a succession of low clicking or gulping sounds 

 accompanied by quick opening and shutting of the bill and then, with abrupt 

 contortions of the head and neck unpleasantly suggestive of those of a person 

 afflicted by nausea, belches forth in deep, guttural tones, and with tremendous 

 emphasis, a pump-er-lunk repeated from two or three to six or seven times in 

 quick succession and suggesting the sound of an old-fashioned wooden pump. 

 All three syllables may be usually heard up to a distance of about 400 yards, 

 beyond which the middle one is lost and the remaining two sound like the words 

 pump-up or plum-pudd'n while at distances greater than a half mile the termi- 

 nal syllable alone is audible, and closely resembles the sound produced by an axe 

 stroke on the head of a wooden stake, giving the bird its familar appellation of 

 "stake driver." At the height of the breeding season the bittern indulges in 

 this extraordinary performance at all hours of the day, especially when the 

 weather is cloudy, and he may also be heard occasionally in the middle of the 

 darkest nights, but his favorite time for exercising his ponderous voice is just 

 before sunrise and immediately after sunset. Besides the snapping or gulping 

 and the pumping notes the bittern also utters, usually while flying, a nasal haink 

 and a croaking ok-ok-ok-ok. 



Winter. — The bittern migrates, as it lives, in seclusion, nor is it 

 much more in evidence in its winter home in the Southern States and 

 the West Indies, where its habits are similar to those of the summer 

 and fall. It is said to be only of casual occurrence in Bermuda, but 

 Capt. Saville G. Reid (1884) says: 



