The Wilson Snipe 
independent of his fellows, but in conscious rivalry with them, describes 
great free circles hundreds of feet in extent, and when a sufficient height 
has been attained, starts downward in a long glissade. Presently a weird 
pulsating sound emerges, gains power and focus, till the ear-drums feel 
the physical strain, and trails off again into silence: hoo hoo hoo hoo HOO 
IIOO HOO HOO hoo hoo hoo. The effect produced by several contestants, 
each careening and charging about the open sky, is indescribably thrilling 
and spookish. Dr. Brewster thinks the sound can be heard a mile away; 
and I am willing to testify that it is the most eerie and penetrating sound 
which the American swamps offer. 
Now, how is this uncanny sound produced? After closely studying 
many of these “song” flights under 8 -power binoculars, I have come to the 
conclusion that the body of the sound is produced by the impact of air 
upon the sharp lateral feathers of the tail, held stiffly, while the pulsa¬ 
tions of sound are produced by the wings. At least it is certain that the 
pulsations of sound are synchronous with the wing-beats. Moreover, the 
sound is never produced save when and as the tail is spread to the utmost, 
so that the two outer pairs of rectrices, which are much the shortest, are 
thrown forward at right angles to the axis of the body. The sound begins 
gradually, as while the tail is expanding, and closes with a smooth diminu¬ 
endo as the tail is closing, and while the wings are sailing. Of course 
the effort is confined to a downward flight, and that at a rather moderate 
angle. When concluding a “song” cycle, the bird dives sharply to the 
ground with wings uplifted and motionless, and lights with an easy 
volplane. The hooting operation itself varies interminably in length 
from one to five seconds, at the pleasure of the performer. The pulsa¬ 
tions, or wing beats, will run three or four to the second—probably nearer 
the latter figure. 
There are, to be sure, “things doing” in the swamps with such carry¬ 
ings on overhead. But if all the oologists in California were to turn to 
and hunt Jack-snipes’ nests, their number would not be sensibly dimin¬ 
ished through the years. Be the air above never so vocal, the finding of a 
nest is rarely more than a fortunate accident. The author’s turn came one 
day in a foul swamp, much frequented by horses and cattle. I was wal¬ 
lowing through ooze of indescribable richness, and making tretful com¬ 
plaint of the fumes of marsh gas which welled up from the depths, when- 
Psst! A feathered bomb fairly exploded in my face as I approached a 
green tussock some two feet in diameter. This explosion ruse had doubt¬ 
less availed to divert sundry “cow critters” on previous occasions of 
imminence, and had sent some of them off, belike, snorting and blowing; 
but the sordid human leaped forward, instead, to behold an authentic set 
of Jack-snipe’s eggs, four in number, reposing on a carefully prepared bed 
I2ig 
