BIRDS IN THE CORN 
is a disputed point whether the so-called 
pretence of death should not rather be re- 
garded as a state of trance. Strict regard for 
the truth compels the admission that on 
the only occasion on which I remember 
taking hold of a live corncrake the bird, so 
far from pretending to be dead, pecked my 
wrist heartily. 
Just as the countryfolk regard the wryneck 
as leader of the wandering cuckoos, and the 
short-eared owl as forerunner of the wood- 
cocks, so the ancients held that the landrail 
performed the same service of pioneer to the 
quail on its long journeys over land and sea. 
Save in exceptional years, England is not 
visited by quail in sufficient numbers to lend 
interest to this aspect of a bird attractive on 
other grounds, but the coincidence of their 
arrival with us is well established. 
The voice of the corncrake, easily distin- 
guished from that of any other bird of our 
fields, may be approximately reproduced by 
using a blunt saw against the grain on hard 
wood. So loud is it at times that I have heard 
it from the open window of an express train, 
the noise of which drowned all other bird- 
105 
