The record-union., 1899-08-21
Notes From Birdland.

Nearly everybody who has been be-
yond the limits of stone walks and
brick walls has seen flying over the
fields at some time or another the bird
known as the American bittern, locally
called in places the swamp pump and
stake driver, on account of it's call.
How many I wonder, who are familiar
with this marsh resident when in full
| flight, have ever seen 1t at rest? Not
| many, I venture to say. The bird will
| stand on the ground in the damp re-
| treat without as much cover as has
| the ostrich when it pokes its head in
| the sand and imagineS itself unseen,
and one may pass within ten yards
/ of the silent figure and even see it and
yet never guess of a birds presence.
Scientists have written reams about the
protective coloring of the whip-poor-
will which enables it to become fairly
| a part of some Hchen-colored limb.
| The white of the ptarmigan on the
| snowy heights and the brown of the
! partridge among the dead leaves of the
| forest have been commented upon time
| and time again as instances of what
| nature does to make her bird children
! to become a part of their surrounding,
| that they may escape the eye of the
| DESTROYER The way in which the
stake driver of the swampy woodland
stretches keeps his presence there Sc
cret when a prowler is about seems to
| have escaped the notice of many nat
uralists., In May last, with a COM
panion, I was walking along Toad
at the edge of a swamp not many
miles north of Chicago. A bittern rose
| from a point far to our left, and tapped
| it's way lazily over the marsh to a
damp place in a pasture covered with
stumps, with al few standing trees scat
| tered here and there. Through power
| full glasses we watched the birds pro-
gress and marked down the spot where
he had pitched. We made directly for
| the place and then began search for
| the bird with our glasses. Every spot
of ground within fifty yards was exam
ined carefully, but not a feather could
! we see. Finally my companion, who
! had been looking steadily through his
glass at one spot for what seemed fully
| five minutes, said suddenly: There
he is. Look at the fifth stump At
the fifth stump I looked. 1t was no
stump at all. but Master Bittern him
self. posed and making an almost per-
feet representation of one of the small
/ blasted tree relics by which he was
! surrounded. He was only fifteen yafds
away His body was perpendicular, MS
neck and head were drawn well down
| into his shoulders and his beak was
pointed straight upward, forming q
prolongation of the line of his back.
| 1--WE will test his patience" was our
decision, and we sat down quietly
noted the time and stared at that de-
| voted bird for exactly one hour. Dur
| ing all that time he moved not at ALL
No neighboring stump was more firmly
| fixed than he. 1t seemed as though he
had control of his feathers as we'll, for
the passing breezes that stirred the
| lush swamp grass beyond failed to
rufle any part of his brown plumage
] Finally. half ashamed of keeping the
| bird longer under such strain, we
walked toward him. Not till we were
within a few feet did he move. Then
he took four comically dignitied steps
away from us, and. rising, flew far
down the little stream which in spring
makes it's way through the heart Of the
| sWampland-Chi Record.