THE BITTERN 79 
ing the edge of the swamp, to listen for the 
desired coo-coo-coo-coo, and had barely made my- 
self comfortable when I heard the plum-pudd’n’ 
of the bittern himself, proceeding, as it seemed, 
from the reeds directly at my feet. Further lis- 
tening satisfied me that the fellow was not far 
from the end of a rocky peninsula which juts 
into the swamp just at this point. 
I slipped down the cliff as quietly as possible, 
picked my way across the narrow neck leading to 
the main peninsula, and by keeping behind rocks 
and trees managed to reach the very tip without 
disturbing the bird. Here I posted myself among 
the thick trees, and awaited a repetition of the 
boom. It was not long in coming, and plainly 
proceeded from a bunch of flags just across a 
little stretch of clear water. 
I looked and looked, while the bittern con- 
tinued to pump at rather protracted intervals ; 
but I could see nothing whatever, till presto! 
there the creature stood in plain sight. 
Whether he had moved into view, or had all 
the time been visible, I cannot tell. He soon 
pumped again, and then again, for perhaps six 
times. Then he stalked away out of sight, and 
I heard nothing more. He was much nearer 
than last year’s bird had been, but was still a 
pumper, not a stake-driver, and his action was in 
all respects the same as I had before witnessed. 
