DELAWARE VALLEY ORNITHOLOGICAL CLUB 21 



dropped like a stone from the sky, landing nearly where he 

 started from. As soon as he landed he instantly began to 

 "scaaap" again. The next time he started his flight we ran at 

 full speed and crouched down on our knees in the wet meadow 

 at almost the exact spot from which he went up. When he 

 dropped he landed directly between us and only a few feet away. 

 As he saw us he stood up stiffly on his toes with a comical air 

 of surprise and then hurriedly flew away. He kept up these 

 performances one after the other until it was so dark that we 

 could not see him fly. Two other birds were going through the 

 same performance in a near-by field. Sometimes the bubble 

 note came alone. Usually it was preliminary to the ' ' scaaap ' ' . 

 Harlow says that the performance is ended when the bird says 

 ' ' scaaap ' ' while he is flying, which means ' ' Good night. ' ' He 

 also said that the Woodcock has a dawn-song of much shorter 

 duration and the next morning at five-forty-five I heard the 

 " scaaap " note twice. 



It was on the second morning that Harlow revealed to me 

 unsuspected resources. We had gone out to look for Wild 

 Turkeys and in a hemlock swamp heard several Crows cawing 

 in the sky overhead. Pulling me down among a mass of hem- 

 lock boughs, Harlow suddenly imitated the deep, sudden note 

 of the Great Horned Owl to perfection, "Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, 

 hoo," he croaked in a sepulchral voice that seemed to come 

 from underground. It was as uncanny as Akela giving his 

 hunting-call at noon. As soon as the Crows heard this mid- 

 night note of old Death-in-the-dark they cawed at the top of their 

 voices and were almost instantly joined by others. Everytime 

 Harlow would give the note it seemed to madden the Crows and 

 would be met with a perfect chorus of screaming caws while 

 Crows came streaming in from every quarter until the air was 

 black with them, cawing and screaming and hunting in and out 

 of the hemlock boughs for the owl. They seemed wild with 

 anger and excitement, and as they flapped and cawed and 

 dashed back and forth it reminded me of the scene in Gosta 

 Berling where the Countess never dares to leave her house for 

 fear of the Crows. When the deafening chorus was at its height 

 Harlow suddenly stepped out from behind the boughs. In- 



