THE MARSH DWELLERS 163 



barrens three years before. Then it sounded like the 

 thudding of a mallet on a stake, for its quality 

 always depends on the nature of the country across 

 which it travels. From the top of our knoll we saw a 

 •rare sight. In the open pasture by the edge of the 

 marsh stood a bird between two and three feet high, 

 of a streaked brown color, with a black stripe down 

 each side of its neck. Even as we watched, the bird 

 began a series of extraordinary actions. Hunching 

 its long neck far down between its shoulders, it 

 suddenly thrust it up. As each section straightened, 

 there came to us across the pasture the thudding, 

 bubbling, watery note which we had first heard. 

 It seemed impossible that a bird could make such a 

 volume of sound. At times, after each "bloop," 

 would come the sharp click of the bill as it rapidly 

 opened and shut. Finally the singer convulsively 

 straightened the last kink out of its neck and with a 

 last retching note thrust its long yellow beak straight 

 skyward. We had seen an American bittern boom — 

 a rarer sight even than the drumming of a ruffed 

 grouse or the strange flight-song of the woodcock at 

 twilight. Suddenly the bittern stopped and, hunch- 

 ing its neck, stepped stealthily, like a little old bent 

 man, into the sedges. With its long beak pointing 

 directly upward, it stood motionless and seemed to 

 melt into the color of the withered rushes. One look 

 away, and it was almost impossible for the eye to 

 pick the bird out from its cover. 



I turned to look at the marsh hawks just in time 

 to see the female alight on the ground by a stunted 



