THE KING RAIL. 443 
with its inhabitants, to speak its language, that is an achievement. But if it 
is only exercise or “sport” you are wanting, go shoot bloodless pigeons made 
of clay, on some pleasant hillside. 
The most that can be be learned about the King Rail in thrashing about 
a swamp is that it rises suddenly, flies slowly in a straight line just above 
the tops of the reeds, and plumps down suddenly not far away, as tho its 
wings had given out. It affords an easy mark for the sportsman, being in 
fact about as severe a test of skill as a tomato can floating down stream. ‘The 
gunner learns too that the bird is hard to flush, and that if it has any sort of a 
show for cover, will run rapidly through the weeds, and skulk, rather than 
seek safety in flight. 
The chance explorer is about as likely as is the plotting student to come 
across a nest built up in the reeds and grasses, either well up in a grass-tussock 
or just sufficiently elevated to keep a hatful of eggs clear of the water. The 
eggs, ten or a dozen in number, are like nothing else in the swamp except 
those of the Florida Gallinule. From these there is no certain distinction. 
I have noticed, however, that the reddish brown spotting of the latter is 
apt to be less angular and the spots more numerous and regular. The nest 
of the Rail does not boast the inclined approach which characterizes that of 
the Gallinule or the Coot. 
The food of the Marsh Hen consists of insects, slugs, leeches, tadpoles 
and small crayfish, besides a goodly proportion of seeds from aquatic and 
palustral plants. The last are obtained not only from the soft bed of ooze 
upon which they may have fallen, but from the seed-pods themselves, since 
the bird can climb quite nimbly. Like all birds of this class, the most active 
hours are spent just after sunset and before sunrise. But in a region where 
they were in little fear of molestation, I have seen them deploy upon an ex- 
tensive mud-flat in broad daylight and go prodding about in company with 
migrant Sandpipers, for the worms which riddle the ooze with their burrows. 
At such times, too, I have seen a few standing stock still for a quarter of an 
hour at a stretch, evidently to catch a wink of sleep along with their sun bath, 
and trusting, perhaps, to their more vigilant neighbors to give warning of 
approaching danger. 
The King Rail has not been much observed in our state, and altho not to 
be accounted rare, is doubtless much more frequent in the prairie states to 
the west and northwest of us, where swales and “slews” abound. It has been 
reported breeding in the neighborhood of Circleville, but is more commonly 
found in the extensive marshes which vary the Lake Erie shore. Its pres- 
ence may be detected by its weird call, which is best described in the words 
of Mr. Frank Chapman, “a loud startling bup, bup, bup. bup, bup, uttered 
with increasing rapidity until the syllables are barely distinguishable, then 
ending somewhat as it begins—the whole performance lasting about five 
seconds.” 
