THE COMMON AND THE LITTLE BITTERN 127 



himself when the Marsh Owls are on the hunt, when 

 thousands on thousands of frogs make the whole 

 place appear to tremble with their croakings. Then 

 you hear squeaks, whistles, quacks, grunts, and 

 strange spatterings, with "weet - weet - weets!" 

 Herons call hoarsely as they rise ; then all is very 

 quiet for a time ; bats are all over the place, adding 

 their sharp grating squeaks to the general tune-up. 

 Some Redshanks cross over, going to the slub noisy 

 as usual : this appears to start the noise again, and 

 with a few more strange additions. It was here 

 that the friend I have mentioned would come to 

 thresh one out, as he termed it, with his long ash 

 leaping-pole. Hard as I have begged of him to let 

 me help beat that large strip of tangle, he would 

 never allow me to enter there ; he said it was too 

 risky for me ; so it must have been bad indeed. 

 I have thought, and still think, that the tangle of 

 that foul marsh might have concealed other matters 

 besides a pair of Bitterns ; but I knew better than to 

 question him on that point. If he told me to stand 

 still in one place, I did it. 



The Bittern is a skulker ; he will not move if he 

 can help it. Those who got the birds were half afraid 

 to handle them at times ; not for fear of the bill or 

 claws with which the bird fights so desperately, but 

 the strange positions the creatures placed themselves 

 in at times made them look uncanny. They would 

 squat, and spread their wings on each side of them, 

 with the neck, head, and bill held bolt upright, 

 looking like a lump of dead flags with a broken 



