Some of us were not sorry to hear that one of these rare visitors had been able to have its revenge on one of its persecutors lately. Being wounded only, it turned on the dog of “the man with the gun,” who could not resist shooting a stranger, and used its strong bill and claws to good purpose. Its haunts are reed-beds, and the nest is composed of dried flags and reeds. Its flesh is said to taste and look like that of the leveret, with a slight flavour of wild-fowl, and to be more bitter eating than that of the young Heron. In the North Kent marshes Bitterns were called “Yaller French Herns,” and the fen dwellers could get half a guinea for each bird. In France, of a coarse and stupid man, they often say, “C’est un vrai butor (Bittern);” Molière says, “Peste soit du gras butor;” and Georges Sand wrote, “If your provincial bourgeois heard that, they would take our daughters for ‘des butordes,’[6] such as their own are.” Voltaire speaks again of “les butorderies de cet univers.” In Saxony again the peasants say of a noisy brawler, “He booms like a Bittern.”
That a pair of Bitterns which had been observed for some little time on an estate near Hertford should have been shot lately, 1908, and that just before breeding season, is a fact to be deplored. I saw a beautiful specimen in Berkshire that had also fallen to the gun of a collector. With the advance of civilisation and the drainage of the fens we cannot, of course, expect to have Bitterns nesting in our country again; but our children will we trust, be educated, in these days of Nature-Study, to welcome rare visitors, whilst respecting their right to live. Molluscs, frogs, lizards, small snakes and insects form their diet, and these we can all spare; and we should protect a vanishing species. A nest was taken in England in 1868, but we have not had a later one recorded. A friend of the late Lord Lilford, writing to him, said: “My brother and myself, about the year 1825, shot seven Bitterns in a field.” This was at Holme Fen, near the New River. “The Son of the Marshes” says: “The Bittern is the bird of desolation, and it is in desolate places you will find him if he is about at all. All his habits are secretive ones. As a rule he comes out with the marsh owls. His plumage mimics the marsh-tangle perfectly, and the Bittern draws himself up by the side of that tangle, his dangerous bill pointing upwards in a line with the great rush stems, so that you might be within a yard of him and yet not see him. Frequently it has been the case that shooters have had these birds clutter up close to their feet.”
The Bittern is 28 to 30 inches in length, but its loose feathers, long neck and thin legs make it look much bigger. The arrangement and colouring of the plumage are not unlike those of the Owl; it is yellowish with brown speckles. Bill yellowish-green, but the back of it brown. The legs are also yellowish-green, and have long toes. Eyes yellow, as in many owls. The bird can draw in its neck and cover it with feathers in such a way that only its long legs betray its species as being that of the Heron. The nest stands always alone in thick reed-beds near standing water. The eggs are usually three to five in number, and are pale bluish-green in colour.
The Waterhen or Moorhen.
(Gallinula chloropus.)
The Waterhen likes ponds surrounded by thick bushy growth and builds its nest on the edge. It clambers nimbly about the reeds, and also swims very well although not web-footed; it dives, and is able to remain some time under the water. It does this when pursued, only occasionally sticking its bill out of the water to breathe. It takes long strides when walking, and can run fast, can stand on the broad round leaves of water plants, on the water grasses, and floating rubbish, its long toes preventing it breaking through and sinking in. It is a very pleasant bird, and if left alone becomes very confident, and it is then an ornament to its surroundings. Its food consists of insects and water-wort; it also rips off the points of sprouting rushes, and the fleshy sedges. In fact it is an innocent and indeed a useful bird.
The little tail is always turned upward, both in running and swimming, and with each movement it nods its pretty head. It is a truly charming sight when the Waterhen first takes her eight or ten black, silky, roguish-eyed nestlings to the water—each one being about the size of a walnut, they bob about like so many black corks.
This bird is worthy of every protection.
The Moor or Waterhen is well distributed throughout the British Islands and it is, as a rule, settled in its habitat although in severe winters many migrate from the northern to the southern parts of the country.
When the sooty chicks are out, the Moorhen parents
USEFUL.