The Wilson Snipe 
other Shore-bird, save, possibly, the Killdeer. Although having almost 
everything in common with the European Snipe, Capella gallinago gallinago , 
and something with the eastern Woodcock, Philohela minor, he is, so far 
as this country is concerned, sui generis. Without question, he is possessed 
in superabundant measure of that quality called character, which endears 
him alike to sportsmen, to the bird student, and to the expectant schoolboy 
prowling knee-deep in the pasture “slough.” Jack is rather a disreputable 
looking fellow, a tatterdemalion, in fact, as he bursts out of his bog with 
an exultant cry of “ escape, escape ,” and flutters his rags in the wind. 
And as he pursues his devious way through the air, jerking hither and 
thither in most lawless fashion, the gunner could easily believe him an 
escaped jail-bird if the stripes of his garments only ran the other way. 
The Wilson Snipe is a bird of the half-wooded swamps as well as of 
the open marsh, a frequenter of the grassy border stretches, or of the boggy 
margins of the “spring branch.” In such a situation he lies pretty closely 
by day; but as dusk comes on, he bestirs himself and goes pattering about 
in the shallow water or over the weedy scum-strewn muck, thrusting his 
beak down rapidly into the ooze and extracting worms or succulent roots. 
If danger approaches, by day, the bird’s first instinct is to crouch low. 
If the sky is clear, it is difficult to dislodge him, for the light blinds him 
in the air, and he knows that his ragged blacks and browns exactly match 
the criss-crossed vegetation and interlacing shadows of his present sur¬ 
roundings. If, however, the day be overcast and windy, the bird springs 
up quickly against the wind, shouts 11 Jack, Jack," twice, pursues a bewil¬ 
dering zigzag until out of range, and then flies straight to some other 
feeding ground, or circles about and enters the old one from another 
quarter. This zigzag flight, which is the joy of the old gunners and the 
despair of the young, is really a wonderful exhibition of the self-protecting 
instinct. For we cannot fairly accuse the Snipe of not knowing his own 
mind, since, when once out of harm’s way, his flight is direct and rapid 
and he drops into a bog like a shot. The trick must have been deliberately 
acquired. The cries of the first bird startled are sometimes a signal for 
all the others in a given swamp to rise and dodge about in the upper air, 
taking distant counsel whether to return or fly to pastures new. In 
either case the sport is off for that day, for the aerial caucus is a sign that 
the birds won’t stand much fooling. 
Of course the degree of timidity which the birds exhibit in any locality 
is simply a matter of the amount of persecution to which they have been 
recently subjected. Sometimes the entrance of a gunner into a field is 
the signal for the Snipe to flee the country. On the other hand, I once 
approached, in midwinter, a bird which I knew to be in perfect condition, 
and which stood quizzically in full survey until I got within five feet of 
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