_Water Partridge._
_Rallus concolor._—+Mihi.+
[114] Length 10 inches, expanse 15¹⁄₂, flexure 4⁸⁄₁₀, tail 2,
rictus 1¹⁄₂₀, tarsus 1⁹⁄₁₀, middle toe 1¹⁄₂. Irides vermillion;
beak yellowish-green, blackish above; feet dull purplish-crimson,
or pink. Plumage reddish-brown, dark on back and wings; brighter
and redder on sides; paler and more ashy on belly. Wing-quills
blackish.
The gallinaceous form common to the Rails, and the red hue of this
species have given to it the provincial name of Water Partridge. It
affects freshwater morasses, and secluded streams, rather than saline
swamps, and is found even on the mountain acclivities. I have shot
it skulking among the aquatic weeds at Basin Spring. As it roams,
it utters at intervals of a few seconds, a _cluck_, like a hen. The
remarkable thinness of body, common to all this tribe, beautifully
adapts them for making their way through close herbage.
It is sometimes seen perched on a low tree by the road-side, at which
time it seems to have lost its usual shyness, and sits looking at the
sportsman until he nearly comes up to it. Its flight is singularly
ineffective; slow, heavy, and laboured; the head is projected, and the
body hangs down, as I have seen the body of some unwieldy _Bombyx_,
distended with eggs: the feet also are pendent.
I have never found in the gizzard of the Red-Rail, (which though small,
is muscular) anything but a homogeneous cream or mud of a dark brown
hue; or a green mucus.
The flesh is pale and flabby; the fat of a rich salmon-red.
A specimen sent to Mr. Hill by Dr. Hay from the neighbourhood of the
Black River, in St. Elizabeth’s, illustrated, in the manner of its
capture, the habits of the genus. The Doctor observed, while standing
on the steps of the house at Elim Estate, this Rail sauntering through
the grass. He pursued it, and ran it among some oleanders that grew in
clumps about, and succeeded in getting it. When brought into the house,
the bird shot rapidly across the floor, and getting into a darkened
corner of the room, remained quiet there, believing itself concealed.
On being driven out from that hiding-place, it again scudded away
over the floor to another dark corner, in which it remained quiet as
before. These recesses seemed to represent the dense coverts in which
it ordinarily conceals itself in apprehended danger; its reliance on
which, doubtless, made it so easy a prey to its captor’s hand, when it
had taken refuge among the stems of the oleanders.