“I own the country hereabout,” says Bob-white;
“At early morn I gayly shout, ‘I’m Bob-white!’
From stubble-field and stake-rail fence
You hear me call without offence,
‘I’m Bob-white! Bob-white!’
Sometimes I think I’ll nevermore say Bob-white;
It often gives me quite away, does Bob-white;
And mate and I, and our young brood,
When separate, wandering through the wood,
Are killed by sportsmen I invite
By my clear voice—‘Bob-white! Bob-white!’
Still, don’t you find I’m out of sight
While I am saying ‘Bob-white, Bob-white’?”
—Charles C. Marble.
“They rested in the orchard bushes and the edge of brush-lots, so that I
was as sure of seeing broods of little Quail as of our own little
barnyard chicks. In the autumn they seemed to know about the hunting as
soon as a gun was fired in the distance; then they grew shy, but by
Christmas the survivors, and they were many, would come about the
hay-barns for food as familiarly as the tree-trunk birds come to the
lunch-counter, and I have seen them eating cracked corn with the fowls
in the barnyard.
[Illustration: Dr. C. K. Hodge, Photo. DOMESTICATED BOB-WHITE CALLING]
“Not only is Bob-white a beautiful object in the landscape, when he sits
on a fence top overlooking the fields, but his voice is a delight to the
ear, when he either tells his own name, or gives the beseeching ‘covey
call,’ in autumn, to gather his scattered flock for the night. Then, on
the more useful or material side of the question, not only is his flesh
good for food, but, all through the year, he is one of the farmer’s good
friends, gleaning, day in and day out, besides the waste grain that he
loves, weed seeds, harmful beetles, such as the cucumber beetle, potato
and squash bugs, leaf beetles, the dreaded weevils, and the click
beetles, that are wire worms in a further stage of their development.
“Ah me, but poor Bob-white, as he calls himself (bringing out the words
with peculiar jerks of the head), works for his living, and when you
think of the dangers he braves from foxes and snakes, rats and weasels,
birds of prey with wings, and the two-legged birds of prey,—the
poachers,—does it not seem that where his tribe is growing swiftly
less, he should not only be fed and sheltered, but, for a term of years,
there should be no open season, until this fertile and vigorous bird
should again increase and be able to hold its own against even fair
hunting? If the Quail needs this protection, doubly so does the Ruffed
Grouse, who is larger and can with greater difficulty conceal himself.
PARTRIDGES
(Ruffed Grouse)
Under the alders, along the brooks,
Under the hemlocks, along the hill,
Spreading their plumage with furtive looks,
Daintily pecking the leaves at will;
Whir! and they float from the startled sight—
And the forest is silent, the air is still.
Crushing the leaves ’neath our careless feet,
Snapping the twigs with a heavy tread,
Dreamy October is late and sweet,
And stooping we gather a blossom dead;
Boom! and our heart has a thunderous beat
As the gray apparition flits overhead.
—Alonzo Teall Worden.
“I will read you his story, written by a Wise Man of Massachusetts who
knows the game-birds from all sides.”
“The Ruffed Grouse, the ‘King of American game-birds,’ was
abundant in all our woods, and was often seen in fields and
orchards, until its numbers were decimated by the gunner and the
survivors driven to the cover of the pines. The characteristic
startling roar of its wings, with which it starts away when
flushed from the ground, and its habit of drumming on a log,
have been often described. The speed with which the wings are
beaten in drumming makes it impossible for the human eye to
follow them and make sure whether they strike anything or not.
Naturalists, after long discussion, had come to believe that the
so-called ‘drumming,’ of the Ruffed Grouse was caused by the
bird beating the air with its wings, as described by Mr. William
Brewster; but now comes Dr. C. F. Hodge and reopens the
controversy by exhibiting a series of photographs, which seem to
show that the bird, in drumming, strikes the contour feathers of
the body. Strange as it may seem, there are many people who
often take outings in the country, yet have never heard the
drumming of this bird. This tattoo is most common in late winter
and early spring, but may be heard occasionally in summer and
not uncommonly in fall. While sounded oftenest during the day,
it may fall on the ear at any hour of the night. In making it,
the bird usually stands very erect on a hollow log or stump,
with head held high and ruffs erected and spread, and, raising
its wings, strikes downward and forward. The sound produced is a
muffled boom or thump. It begins with a few slow beats, growing
gradually quicker, and ends in a rolling, accelerated tattoo. It
has a ventriloquial property. Sometimes, when one is very close
to the bird, the drumming seems almost soundless; at other times
it sounds much louder at a distance, as if, through some
principle of acoustics, it were most distinctly audible at a
certain radius from the bird. It is the bird’s best expression
of its abounding vigour and virility, and signifies that the
drummer is ready for love or war.
“The female alone understands the task of incubation and the
care of the young. Once, however, when I came upon a young
brood, the agonized cry of the distressed mother attracted a
fine cock bird. He raised all his feathers and, with ruffs and
tail spread, strutted up to within a rod of my position,
seemingly almost as much concerned as the female, but not coming
quite so near. The hen sometimes struts forward toward the
intruder in a similar manner, when surprised while with her
young. She can raise her ruffs and strut exactly like the cock.
“The Grouse has so many enemies that it seems remarkable how it
can escape them, nesting as it does on the ground. Instances are
on record, however, where birds, that probably have been much
persecuted, have learned to deposit their eggs in old nests of
Hawks or Crows, in tall trees. Whenever the mother bird leaves
the nest, the eggs are easily seen, and, while she sits, it
would seem impossible for her whereabouts to remain a secret to
the keen-scented prowlers of the woods. But her colours blend so
perfectly with those of the dead leaves on the forest floor, and
she sits so closely, and remains so motionless among the
shadows, that she escapes the sharp-eyed Hawk. She gives out so
little scent that the dog, skunk, or fox passes quite near,
unnoticing.
“The Grouse does not naturally fear man; more than once, in the
wilderness of the northwest, a single bird has walked up to
within a few feet of me. They will sit on limbs just above one’s
head, almost within reach, and regard one curiously, but without
much alarm. Usually, in Massachusetts, when a human being comes
near the nest, the mother bird whirs loudly away. She has well
learned the fear of man; but, in a place where no shooting was
permitted, a large gang of men were cutting under-brush, while a
Partridge, sitting there, remained quietly on her nest as the
men worked noisily all about her. Another bird, that nested
beside a woods road, along which I walked daily, at first would
fly before I had come within a rod of her; but later she became
confiding enough to sit on her nest while six persons passed
close beside her. Evidently the bird’s facility in concealing
her nest consists in sitting close and keeping her eggs well
covered. Her apparent faith in her invisibility is overcome only
by her fear of man or her dread of the fox. When the fox is seen
approaching directly toward her, she bristles up and flies at
him, in the attempt to frighten him with the sudden roar of her
wings and the impetuosity of her attack; but Reynard, although
at first taken aback, cannot always be deceived by such tricks;
and the poor bird, in her anxiety to defend her nest, only
betrays its whereabouts. Probably, however, the fox rarely finds
her nest, unless he happens to blunder directly into it.
[Illustration: Dr. C. K. Hodge, Photo. GROUSE, SHOWING RUFF AND TAIL]
* * * * *
“During the fall the Grouse keep together in small flocks.
Sometimes a dozen birds may be found around some favourite
grape-vine or apple tree, but they are usually so harried and
scattered by gunners that toward winter the old birds may
sometimes be found alone.
“As winter approaches, this hardy bird puts on its ‘snow-shoes,’
which consist of a fringe of horny processes or pectinations
that grow out along each toe, and help to distribute the weight
of the bird over a larger surface, and so allow it to walk over
snows into which a bird not so provided would sink deeply. Its
digestion must resemble that of the famous Ostrich, as broken
twigs and dry leaves are ground up in its mill. It is a hard
winter that will starve the Grouse. A pair spent many winter
nights in a little cave in the rocky walls of an old quarry.
Sumacs grew there and many rank weeds. The birds lived well on
sumac berries, weed seeds, and buds.
“Sometimes, but perhaps rarely, these birds are imprisoned under
the snow by the icy crust which forms in cold weather following
a rain, but usually they are vigorous enough to find a way out,
somewhere. The Grouse is perfectly at home beneath the snow; it
will dive into it to escape a Hawk, and can move rapidly about
beneath the surface and burst out again in rapid flight at some
unexpected place.
“The Ruffed Grouse is a bird of the woodland, and though useful
in the woods, it sometimes does some injury in the orchard, by
removing too many buds from a single tree. In winter and early
spring, when other food is buried by the snow, and hard to
obtain, the Grouse lives largely on the buds and green twigs of
trees; but, as spring advances, insects form a considerable part
of the food. The young feed very largely on insects, including
many very destructive species.”
—E. H. Forbush, in _Useful Birds and Their Protection_.