WHAT I HAVE DONE WITH BIRDS 



high rubber waders. We had to cut our way before us, as the 

 felled tree had been hollow and not worth taking out, so no road 

 had been made to it. For two hours we searched for that log. 

 The time was late June ; there was not a breath of air stirring in- 

 side the swamp; there were steaming, fetid pools everywhere, 

 swarms of flies, gnats, mosquitoes, and poisonous insects, masses 

 of poisonous vines and at every step not only the ground, but the 

 bushes about, had to be watched for rattlesnakes. The muck 

 was so spongy we sank ankle-deep, bushes scratched and tore at 

 us and logs we thought were solid let us down knee-deep. 



An observer readily could have seen that the Deacon got his 

 cognomen by contraries. His face was crimson, his wet clothing 

 plastered to his shoulders and he lit one cigar after another to 

 drive the cloud of insects from his head and neck. The portion 

 of my body covered by rubber was in a Turkish bath and the rest 

 was bitten until I was lumpy as a beaded pincushion, but every 

 breath was a prayer that the Deacon would not lose his patience 

 and give up. And he did not! Of course we had to find it after 

 a while, when we searched like that. 



I was glad that it was the Deacon who first sighted the loca- 

 tion. He would be more interested in it if he did. When we 

 reached the tree, a big black bird was brooding. We held a coun- 

 cil. I must have the baby while it was a tiny baby and the blue 

 egg if possible. A camera was set up and focused on the mouth 

 of the log. The Deacon plunged into the swamp and started 

 back along the trunk, tapping it gently to drive out the bird. 

 She was to be snapped as she emerged. 



The light was bad, but the experiment was worth a plate. We 

 did not dare risk frightening the bird by doing any clearing while 

 she was brooding. These matters must be handled delicately and 



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