A few days later their home was deserted, and, as no other Chickadees were known to nest in the vicinity, I imagine them to compose a troop of birds which is sometimes found in the neighborhood.
THE LEAST BITTERN AND SOME OTHER REED INHABITANTS
My experience with the Least Bittern leaves the eerie little creature a half-solved mystery, and I think of it less as a bird than as a survivor of a former geological period, when birds still showed traits of their not distant reptilian ancestors.
The Bittern’s home is in fresh-water, cat-tail marshes, and he wanders at will through the thickly set forest of reeds without of necessity putting foot to the water below or flapping wing in the air above. His peculiar mode of progression constitutes one of his chief characteristics. The reeds in which he lives generally grow in several feet of water, far too deep, therefore, to permit of his wading; while his secretive disposition makes him averse to appearing in the open, except after nightfall. It is impossible to fly through the cat-tails, and so the bird walks and even runs through them, stepping from stem to stem with surprising agility. I had heard of this habit, but the description conveyed as little idea of the bird’s appearance as it is feared this one will, and when for the first time a Least Bittern was seen striding off through the reeds about three feet above the water, the performance was so entirely unlike anything I had ever seen a bird do before, I marveled that his acrobatic powers had not made him famous.
The feathered gymnast’s slender body—or perhaps one should say neck, for the bird is chiefly neck and head—seemed to be mounted on long stilts, with the aid of which he waded rapidly through the water, his head shooting in and out at each stride.
The Least Bittern’s notes appear to be less known than his habits. Nuttall, that exceptionally keen-eared bird student, was familiar with them, but most writers have restricted themselves to the statement that, when flushed, the bird utters a low qua, while some have even said he was voiceless.
I should not be in the least surprised to learn that this uncanny inhabitant of the reeds had a call fully as remarkable as the vocal performance of his large relative, the American Bittern, but thus far in my slight acquaintance with him he has been heard to utter only four notes: A soft, low coo, slowly repeated five or six times, and which is probably the love song of the male; an explosive alarm note, quoh; a hissing hah, with which the bird threatens a disturber of its nest; and a low tut-tut-tut, apparently a protest against the same kind of intrusion.
31. Least Bittern’s nesting site, showing reeds bent over nest. One of four eggs can be seen.