so long as this thicket or fern-brake remains undiscovered, will
repeatedly repair to it for safety and security. A rather curious
circumstance, which has created no little discussion among American
sportsmen, materially aids their concealment. When alighting, after
being flushed, the Quail is said to give out no scent for some little
time. This is supposed to be a voluntary act of retention of odor on
the part of the bird, as a conscious method of protection. Some, while
admitting the fact, believe it to be a power belonging to particular
bevies, at least in a far greater degree than to others, like the
custom of alighting upon the branches of trees when frightened, while
others restrict the faculty to particular individuals rather than
bevies. Our earlier ornithologists do not mention the retention of
scent. It is probable, as claimed by a few, that Quails’ swift running
over the dry leaves of upland woods or meadows allows little time and a
poor surface for the transmission of the scent, and that when they drop
suddenly and remain quiet no effluvium escapes, but which only becomes
disseminated the very instant they move.
The open fields being smitten by the wild winds of November, and the
reeds bruised and broken, the Quail retreats to the depths of the swamp
or the shelter of a dense thicket, where he keeps life in him as best
he can during the cold, stormy days, hunting the stubble and swamp
for soft-shelled nuts and seeds, torpid beetles, and the hard fruits
and seed-cases of grasses and weeds, some of which, the skunk cabbage
for example, tainting his flesh with their flavor. Huddled together
the forlorn covey allow the snow to cover them, trusting to shake it
off on the return of the morning, but occasionally a crust freezes
upon the surface, and the poor birds find themselves in a prison from
which they cannot break out before they starve to death. The habit of
huddling is peculiar to Quails the whole year round. They select at
evening some spot of low ground, where the long grass affords shelter
and warmth, and there they encamp, sleeping in a circle, shoulder to
shoulder, with heads turned out, keeping each other warm, and ready
to escape at a moment’s warning without stumbling over one another.
A suitable roosting-place once found, night after night they repair
thither, leaving it in the morning before sunrise to seek their
breakfast.
Unless the winter be unusually mild, they may be seen associating in
the pasture with the cattle, and even following them home to glean
the grain that falls into the barnyard, and pick up the scraps that
are thrown to the chickens. This delightful confidence is not always
abused, for many persons take pains to foster the bevies they find
spending the winter in some brushy hillside near the house by daily
scattering grain or clover-seed upon the snow where the hungry birds
may come and get it. The pert air with which one of the cocks will
perch himself on a fence-rider or walk sedately along a stone wall in
the early sunlight of a glistening January morning is reward enough
to the benefactor, if he cares not to preserve them for the selfish
pleasure of shooting them the following autumn.
As a delicate article of food the Quail is highly esteemed, and during
the time the law allows the markets are filled with bunches of them.
Various devices in the form of snares, nets and traps are called into
service to effect their capture, and in some parts of the country, New
England especially, fresh importations have been necessary to preserve
a sufficient number for sport. Bands of beaters in the Southern and
Western States cautiously drive immense flocks into nets, but there
is less danger of exterminating this than almost any other species of
game-bird, it would seem, on account of its sequestered habits and
prolificacy.
Taming and domestication is an easy matter with these birds. In all
cases, however, where the eggs have been hatched under a hen at
liberty, the Quail chicks have run away to the woods as soon as the
leaves have turned sear in the fall and never come back. They sang
their “Ah, Bob White!” just as clearly before they had ever heard one
of their kin as any woodland-bred Quails could do. It is quite common
to re-colonize portions of the Eastern States when they have become
depopulated, and an effort made some years ago to introduce these birds
into the Salt Lake Valley of Utah was eminently successful. Within the
past few years some of the West India Islands have been colonized, but
attempts to acclimatize the birds in England and Ireland have proved
most signal failures.
RUFFED GROUSE.
Considerable misapprehension exists in relation to the popular
appellation of this species. In some parts of the country it is dubbed
the Partridge, while in others it goes by the name of Pheasant. It is
neither. All its affinities point away from these families, in the
direction of the True Grouse, of which it constitutes a useful and
interesting member. Pheasants are never found in the United States, but
are indigenous to Southern Asia. Their nearest representative here is
the Wild Turkey. Almost as much may be said of the Partridge, a group
of birds which are exclusive denizens of the Old World.
But now to our subject. Few Grouse are so well known as the Ruffed
Grouse, the _Bonasa umbellus_ of Stephens. Everywhere throughout the
timbered regions of Eastern North America it is more or less plentiful,
ranging from the Atlantic seaboard to the Rocky Mountains, and from
Georgia to Nova Scotia. In all our Southern States, Louisiana excepted,
these birds exist to some extent, and are also to be found over limited
portions of the Missouri region, but, doubtless, more especially
about the mouth of the river, and in the contiguous country. In the
western parts of the region it is represented by a form which passes
with ornithologists as a well-defined, genuine variety. It seems to be
wanting in California, but in the wooded sections of the Cascade Range,
as well as in the valley of the Willamette in Oregon, where it exists
under a new varietal name, it is by no means an uncommon occupant. In
the New England, Middle Atlantic and Northern Central States it is that
these birds are to be seen to the best advantage, and in the greatest
numbers. West of the Mississippi, if we exclude Eastern Kansas,
Southern Iowa and the whole of Missouri, they occur, if at all, in
comparatively small and isolated parties.
In regions which these Grouse inhabit, they are permanent residents,
and are never known to move southward with the retreat of warm weather.
They are capable of adapting themselves to climatic variations with
ease, but not so readily to surface irregularities and their natural
concomitants. Dense woods, craggy mountain-sides and the borders of
streams are noted places of resort. Lowlands, especially such as are
invested with thick growths of small bushes and tall, rank grasses, are
not infrequently chosen. When in search of food and gravel, they are
known to quit their favorite haunts and betake themselves to the open
road, where groups may be seen absorbed in feeding, but not to that
extent, however, when the rustle of a moving leaf or the crackling of
a twig would pass unnoticed. The slightest noise causes a temporary
suspension of labor and a momentary shudder of surprise. All of a
sudden, and in the most perfect harmony, all heads are raised and
pointing in the direction whence the noise emanated. The keen vision
of these birds is not slow in discerning, through the gloomy recesses,
the presence of danger; but should nothing of an alarming nature
manifest itself, a short parley ensues and business is resumed, though
not with the same earnestness and lack of care, however, as before.
Greater caution is now observable, and every effort taken to prevent an
ambuscade. But let the cause of the alarm, a dog or a man, be close at
hand, and the birds immediately strike for the cover, either on foot
or by means of flight, the latter method only being adopted in extreme
cases, when the other course would be attended by disaster and probable
ruin. In the exercise of their cursorial powers, they move with
remarkable swiftness, as with head depressed and tail expanded they run
for their lives. A pile of brushwood or an impenetrable jungle, when
near, is rendered subservient. There they manage to conceal themselves
for a time and thus recover breath. Closely pursued, and in danger
of being trampled upon by the foot of the huntsman or lacerated by
the fangs of his quadrupedal friend, they await the opportune moment,
when, with sudden whirring wings, they cleave the elastic ether and
vigorously press forward to some transitory haven of security, but only
to fall once more in the way of their relentless persecutors. These
flights are so well timed and so unexpected that many an experienced
gunner is thrown off his guard, and when, at last, he has recovered
from his surprise and collected his thoughts, feels vexed at himself
for allowing his equanimity to become unsettled by so familiar a
stratagem. He finds it useless to repine, but endeavors to choke down
the bitter sigh of disappointment that arises as he presses forward to
further adventures.
Like the common barnyard fowl, these Grouse are strictly gregarious,
especially during the autumnal and winter months. The flocks they form
vary in numbers, and when disturbed, while feeding, scatter in all
directions, each member seeking only its own individual safety and
well-being. But after the lapse of a few minutes, becoming reassured,
they gather simultaneously about the same spot, travelling the entire
distance on foot. The utmost circumspection and vigilance are always
exercised in these backward movements. Scarcity of food occasionally
causes these birds, where very numerous in mountainous districts, to
migrate to other places. These journeys are usually undertaken about
the middle of October, they then being in excellent order and in
great demand for the table. Audubon witnessed, in the fall of 1820,
an immense number _in transitu_ from Ohio, Indiana and Illinois to
Kentucky, many of whom became a prey to man. This disposition to lead
a roving, migratory life is, as a general thing, not hereditary, and
consequently is seldom undertaken, plenty of food usually being found
in localities which these birds affect.
Where there is a paucity of food-materials, such as acorns, the seeds
of the beech and of the various species of birch, they do not hesitate
to devour the buds of the mountain laurel, which impart a poisonous
character to their flesh. When severely hunger-pressed they feed upon
dry bark, the insects that harbor in the creviced trunks and branches
of trees, and even stray to the roads that wander through their gloomy
retreats and peck at the hard, frozen horse-droppings they chance to
encounter. But when spring returns and renews her bond of faith with
Mother Earth, they more than make up for their scanty winter fare and
feast with fastidious appetites upon the now tender and juicy buds
of the black birch, which give a peculiar and toothsome flavor to
their flesh that has acquired for them in some localities the name
of Birch Partridge. For a brief spell every other interest is now
absorbed in that of unrestrained feasting, to which the sexes submit
themselves with all the _abandon_ of civilized humanity. The middle
of March, or the close of the month dedicated by the ancient Romans
to purifications and fastings, when the weather is favorable, marks a
change in their life. This era is announced by a loud drumming noise,
which is everywhere heard. Standing upon a tall rock or a prostrate
log in some secluded woods or other locality, the author of this
noise may be found. His attitude and demeanor needs must be seen to
be appreciated. Once seen, he can never be forgotten. Arrayed in a
brand-new spring suit, he is a being not to be despised. But this is
not all. His beautifully-contracted neck, broad, expanded, fan-like
tail and elevated feather-tufts that ornament both sides of his neck,
as he struts about with all the grace and dignity of some pompous
lord or duke, render him of no mean importance and greatly add to his
attractions.
But it is his final actions that impress the beholder with wonder
and admiration. The hitherto trailing wings now assume a condition
of rigidity, and commence a firm, but slow, downward and forward
movement, which steadily increases in power and rapidity, until the
swiftly-vibrating wings appear only as a semi-circular outline of mist
above the bird, thus giving rise to a sound which may be appropriately
likened to the reverberations of distant, muttering thunder. These
sounds are most generally heard during the cool hours of the morning,
when his spirits are buoyant after a night of refreshing slumber. But
as the day advances, they are less frequent, and irregular. So nicely
can they be imitated, that many a bird is drawn to his doom, when
advancing, as he supposed, to meet an antagonist.
As the drumming is as often heard in the fall as in the spring, it has
long been a mooted question as to its significancy as the call-note
of the male during the period of breeding. But there can be no doubt
of the correctness of this interpretation, for incontestable proof
exists of it in the responsive actions of the female. Nuttall is
probably correct in ascribing the autumnal exhibition of the power to
self-gratification, and in affirming it to be, in many instances, “an
instinctive expression of hilarity and vigor.”
Besides the peculiar drumming sound which the males produce during the
love-season, they give expression to other vocal utterances no less
remarkable. These are generally enunciated when about to arise from the
ground, and consist of two well-defined and characteristic notes. The
first may be described as a sort of cackle, repeated several times in
lively succession; and the other, which closely follows in its wake,
as a peculiar lisping whistle, which has not inaptly been compared to
the cry of a young bird. These notes doubtless play a considerable part
in the reconciliation and bringing together of the sexes after their
temporary separation.
[Illustration: RUFFED GROUSE IN SPRING-TIME.
Two Males Displaying Their Graces Before a Lone Female.]
While the courting-season lasts, it is not an uncommon occurrence to
find a single male in the midst of several females before whom he is
engaged in showing off his many good qualities and graces, or two
males displaying, upon the same fallen log, the excellent beauties of
their person and movements. In the former dilemma, enamored of so
many, he is sometimes disposed to be gay and trifling, dallying with
the affections of some pure, simple-minded female. The most cruel
flirtations are often indulged in. But when he does bring himself
earnestly down to the business of choosing a partner, he does not go
about it in an uncertain, hesitating manner, but makes his selection
with promptness and dispatch. The successful female, proud of the honor
conferred, at the call of her lord, forsakes the group of her unmarried
sisters, and follows wheresoever he leadeth. The warmest tokens of
affection and regard are lavished upon the elected bride, and woe to
the rival who should appear upon the scene while these amours are being
enacted. Should this event occur, the intruder is instantly assailed,
and a long and bloody battle ensues, which results in the death of
one or other of the combatants, but never in the complete vanquishment
of the defensive party. Instances are known where males have treated
their first loves with cruel indifference, and subsequently deserted
them, but such things could not otherwise be, as will be seen when
the question of polygamy comes to be considered, for it is a fact,
not generally known, that both birds are slightly promiscuous, the
tendency being more pronounced, however, upon the part of the male. In
the case where a single female is courted by two males, the successful
competitor for the honor of her hand, so to speak, is he whose
movements are marked by the greatest elegance and grace. So intense
does the desire to please become, that the slightest disposition upon
the part of the lady to favor one of the rivals rather than the other,
leads to the most unhappy consequences, a quarrel being precipitated,
the contestants seeming determined to settle the result by the gage of
battle.
The time of mating varies somewhat with climate and with the conditions
of the season. In the warm, sunny South it occurs late in March or
early in April. But further North, where winter still lingers with
frosty coldness, the latter month is well nigh verging to its close, or
gliding into the succeeding, before this essential business is thought
of. When, however, it does happen, the female, with but little waste
of time, withdraws from the society of her partner, and repairs to a
secluded spot in the midst of a woods, where, usually beneath a clump
of evergreen, or a pile of brush, or perhaps a fallen log or projecting
rock, she hastily scratches a few dry leaves together for a nest. There
she deposits, one by one, on as many consecutive days, her complement
of six to twelve eggs, and immediately enters upon the duties of
incubation. In this she is alone, the male lending no assistance, not
even indirectly by attending to her demands for food. While she is
thus occupied he seeks the company of others of his sex, with whom
he remains until the young are nearly full-grown, when he joins the
family, and dwells with it until spring. The period of incubation
ranges from nineteen to twenty days.
When first hatched the young follow the mother, and soon learn to
comprehend her clucking call, as well as to act responsively thereto.
Few mothers are more devoted to their children, and it is rare to
find one more courageous and wily in their defence. Let the family
be surprised by friend or foe, a single note of alarm is all that is
necessary to cause the brood to scatter, and with the most clever
adroitness to hide themselves beneath a bunch of leaves or grass.
So successfully is the concealment accomplished, that a careful and
protracted search is often necessary to discover their whereabouts.
Often, when squatting by the roadside with her brood, the parent is
taken unawares. This is the trial which she of all others seems to
dread. To save her little ones she perils her own life by venturing
upon an assault. Her first impulse is to fly at the face of the
intruder, but sober thought comes to her rescue and teaches her the
folly of such a course. She yields to the thought and the very next
moment we find her tumbling over and over upon the ground, apparently
in the deepest distress, but soon to recover her self-possession in
time to carry out the final piece upon the programme, a _ruse_ in which
lameness is imitated with wonderful ingenuity. While the mother is
thus agitated, the birdlings are seen to scamper in every direction
to places of shelter. Having accomplished her part, the happy mother
now flies away, and by her well-known cluck soon gathers her brood
together. The cry of the young is a simple _peet_, which is heard
repeatedly during feeding, but only occasionally while nestling.
Their food consists of the seeds of various plants and berries. While
able to search for their own food, they derive, however, considerable
assistance from the mother.
Such cunning, wee creatures, when first they leave the egg, can only
be compared with the young of the domestic hen. Dressed in a simple
garb, they look but little like their parents. Above they show a
reddish-brown or rufous coloring, which fades into a rusty-white below.
Excepting a dusky streak which starts from the posterior part of the
eye and crosses the auricular regions obliquely downward, and a whitish
bill, they have nothing to diversify the monotony of their plumage. But
when they have attained the age of four or five months, they show their
heredity so plainly that their identity cannot be disputed or mistaken.
In the adult, the tail is reddish-brown or gray above, with narrow bars
of black. Terminally, it is crossed by a slender band of pale ash,
which is preceded by a broader one of black, and this by another of an
ashy color. The upper parts are ochraceous-brown, and finely mottled
with grayish markings. The lower parts are chiefly white, with broad
transverse bars of light brown, which are mostly hidden from view upon
the abdomen. Upon the shoulders the shafts of the feathers have pale
streaks, which also exist in those of the wing-coverts. The upper
tail-coverts and the wings are marked with pale, grayish cordate spots,
while the lower tail-coverts are pale ochraceous, each being provided
with a terminal delta-shaped spot of white, which is bordered with
dusky. The neck-tufts are brownish-black. The male measures eighteen
inches in length, and has a breadth of wings of seven and two-tenths
inches. The tail is about seven inches long. The female is smaller than
the latter, with similar colors, but has less prominent tufts upon the
sides of the neck.
The eggs of this species are usually of a uniform dark-cream color,
but sometimes show a nearly pure-white ground. In most specimens there
are no markings at all, but when they do occur, are either quite
numerous and conspicuous, or few in number, and obscure. They are
usually ovoidal, but forms are occasionally met with which are nearly
spherical. Their average dimensions, as obtained from specimens from
the most diverse localities, are about 1.64 by 1.18 inches. As far as
known the species never produces more than a single brood annually,
usually nesting, as has been previously stated, on the ground, but
instances are recorded by Samuels, where the female has occupied a
crow’s nest, or the shelter of some tall broken trunk of a tree.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
Little is known of the early history of the domestic Turkey. Writers
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seem to have been ignorant
about it, and to have regarded it as the guinea-fowl or pintado of the
ancients, a mistake which was not cleared up until the middle of the
last century. The name it now bears, and which it received in England,
where it is reputed to have been introduced in 1541, was given to it
from the supposition that it came originally from Turkey. As far back
as 1573 we read of it as having been the Christmas fare of sturdy
British yeomanry.
Oviedo, a Spanish writer, speaks of it as a kind of peacock that was
once very abundant in New Spain, as Mexico was called in his day, and
which had already, in 1526, been transported in a domestic condition to
the West Indies and the Spanish Main, where it was maintained by the
Christian settlers.
Among the luxuries possessed by Montezuma, the proud, dignified,
semi-cultured monarch of the Aztecs, was one of the most extensive
zoölogical gardens on record. Representatives of nearly all of the
animals of the country over which he reigned, as well as others,
brought at great expense from long distances, were to be found within
its walls. Turkeys, it is said, were daily supplied in large numbers to
the carnivores of his menagerie.
Respecting the time when this bird was first reclaimed in Mexico from
its wild state, there can be no idea. Probably it has been domesticated
from remote antiquity. No doubt exists, however, as to its being reared
by the Mexicans at the period of the Spanish Conquest, and of its
subsequent introduction into Europe, either from New Spain, or from the
West India Islands, into which it had been previously carried.
[Illustration: MEXICAN WILD TURKEY.
Ancestor of the Domestic Bird.]
Audubon, one of the early pioneers of American ornithology, supposed
our common barnyard Turkey to have originated in the wild bird so
prevalent in the eastern half of our great country. But it has always
been a matter of surprise to naturalists that the latter did not
assimilate, by interbreeding and reversion, more intimately in color
and habits to the domestic form. No suspicion, until recently, appears
to have been entertained that the two birds might belong to different
species. That such is the true _status_ of things, there is now no
reasonable doubt.