ii 4 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



but because from a considerable distance its love- 

 call seems to be a single note, bearing a rather fan- 

 ciful resemblance to the blow on a stake which is 

 being driven into mud. The booming of the bit- 

 tern is still a not uncommon sound by our Northern 

 waters, from April well into June, yet it is surprising 

 how few people are familiar with it — or it would be 

 surprising if one did not know that more men and 

 women are insensitive to the various sounds of 

 nature than are listening and discriminative. If 

 you chance to be near a bittern when he booms, you 

 will hear a loud, three-syllabled call, something as 

 if a big bullfrog were trying to say pump-er-loom, 

 several times repeated. Doctor Eaton gives the 

 syllables as pump-er-lunk, and some declare the 

 bittern says plum-pudd'n; but doubtless it is im- 

 possible to put the curious, explosive, croaking 

 boom into words. Even odder than the sound is 

 the method of production, if you are fortunate 

 enough to catch sight of the singer — not always an 

 easy thing to do, for, though the bittern is a large 

 bird, from two feet to over thirty inches long, it is 

 a mottled and speckled brown, with a black streak 

 on either side of the neck, and otherwise so pro- 

 tectively colored that it can stand still amid the 

 reeds and grasses by a water-side, especially at twi- 

 light, and escape all but the sharpest eyes. It 

 emits its call by tilting its head upward and fairly 

 regurgitating the sound, with spasmodic contrac- 

 tions of the throat, as if its love-song were a pellet. 

 Like the famous titwillow, one suspects it of indi- 

 gestion rather than lovesickness. When a bittern 

 is startled into flight, it rises with a hoarse croak 



