Chapter VIII: Part 8

Being ready for occupancy, the female soon commences to deposit her eggs. These, to the number of three or four, are laid one at a time on consecutive days. Oviposition, in the Southern States, commences in February or March, while in the northern limits of the bird’s range from the tenth to the fifteenth of April, seldom later. Both birds perform the labor of incubation, and so attentive are they to the business that it is an unusual occurrence to find both absent from the nest at the same time. When the female is sitting the male busies himself in attending to the demands of hunger; and when her turn has come the care of the nest is resigned to her noble, conscientious lord. So faithfully do they keep to the nest that nothing short of the most menacing danger will compel them to leave. The approach of a team or a pedestrian, even when within a few feet of its location, has not been known to startle them. But when the danger is quite imminent the sitting bird slips out of the nest and makes her way into the tall grasses, where, hidden from view, she becomes a silent and sorrowful witness of any disaster that may befall her home. Should no destruction be perpetrated, and the intruder has gone his way, she cautiously comes out of her place of concealment and resumes her labors. But she has learned a very impressive lesson, for on a second visit to the nest no bird is to be seen. Apprised of the coming of danger, she has slipped out in time to escape detection. Thus, patiently, persistently and unweariedly these faithful creatures apply themselves by turns to the task of sitting until success has crowned their willing labors. The time spent in hatching is, under the most favorable conditions, from seventeen to eighteen days.

Mother Flying Away With Young Between Her Feet.]

The young are very timid creatures and keep close to their parents. Considerable solicitude is shown by the latter for their well-being. Their helpless infancy, so to speak, is watched over with all the care that a human mother bestows upon her offspring, and when their lives are endangered recourse is had to many a _ruse_ to deceive their enemies and bring them into places of security. When severely pressed by foes, the mother, by a peculiar alarm, warns them of the state of things, and while they are scattering in different directions seeks to attract attention to herself in many a well-feigned artifice. In her anxiety for their safety, she has even been observed to seize between her two feet a youngling and fly with it away--a behavior whose purpose seemed to be the diversion of the enemy from the rest of the brood, thus giving them a chance to flee from impending peril to places of security in the surrounding verdure. After all danger has disappeared, she summons them together again by a familiar call, and doubtless relates to them the story of her adventures and the dangers from which they were saved. Worms, animalcula, ants and other soft-bodied insects, which the parents assist them in procuring from the soft earth, and from beneath the grass and dead leaves that abound in the places they frequent, constitute their food. Later on they are able to obtain their subsistence, with all the address of older birds, by thrusting their bills into the soil and in such other places as would be likely to contain the objects desired. Their tongues, covered with a viscid saliva, adhere to the food, and when drawn into the mouth carry it with them without danger of being lost. All who have made these birds a study have often discerned holes made in the soft mud by their bills. The presence of these “borings,” as they are called, is always an indication that game is not far distant, which a careful exploration of the locality soon verifies. The young, when matured, continue to occupy the same haunts with their parents, and, unless brought to an untimely death by the merciless gun of the hunter, repair to the warm, sunny, smiling South with the return of frost. In the Middle States--and the same is doubtless true of other sections of our great country--there is never more than a single brood raised, although the early breeding of the species would certainly afford time for a second hatching before the close of the season. Less pyriform are the eggs of the Woodcock than waders’ mostly are, being, in some instances, almost ovoidal. Their ground-color varies from a light clay to one of buffy-brown, and the markings occur in the form of fine spots and blotches of chocolate-brown, interspersed with others of obscure lilac, more or less thickly scattered over the surface of the egg, their size and intensity of color bearing, in general, a direct correspondence with the depth of the background. Remarkable variations of size exist throughout the species’ range, some being short and broad, while others are long and narrow. A set of three from Pennsylvania, which the writer carefully measured, showed an average measurement of 1.54 by 1.21 inches.

So familiar a bird as the Woodcock, which is sometimes termed the Bog-sucker or Wood-snipe, hardly needs description. He has a thick, heavily-set body, short and thick neck, and large head, bill and eyes, and ears beneath the visual organs. His wings are short and rounded, the first three primaries being very narrow and shorter than the fourth, and the fourth and fifth the largest. The tarsi are about one and one-fourth inches long and rather stout, the tibiæ feathered to the joints, and the toes long and slender, and without marginal membranes or basal webs. More than two and a half inches in length is the bill, straight, tapering, and stout at base, with ridge at base of maxilla high, and the upper mandible a little larger than the lower, and knobbed at the end. Three long grooves, one on ridge above, and the others on each side of maxilla, complete the structural details of the bill. The sexes are alike, the female being larger than the male. Adult specimens vary from ten to twelve inches in length, and have an expanse of wings of from fifteen to eighteen inches, and a weight ranging from four to nine ounces. The eyes are brown, legs and bill of the dried skin pale-brownish, upper parts black, gray, russet and brown, chin whitish, and rest of under parts different shades of brownish-red.

So exquisitely sensible is the extremity of the bill, as in the snipe, that these birds are enabled to collect their food by the mere touch, without using their eyes, which are set at such a distance and elevation in the back part of the head as to give them an aspect of stupidity. The eyes being situated high up and far back is a wise provision of nature, as, by this peculiarity, they escape many of their enemies, their field of vision being greatly augmented by such an arrangement. Obtaining their sustenance, as they largely do, by probing with their bills, so amply endowed with nerves, they have comparatively little use for their eyes, unless to keep watch for their numerous foes.

Though well known to the sportsman, yet by the casual observer this bird is frequently confounded with the Wilson’s snipe. But the error can readily be avoided, if it is borne in mind that the Woodcock has the entire lower parts, including the lining of wings, a reddish-brown color, while the snipe has the abdomen white, the throat and upper parts of the breast speckled, and the lining of the wings barred with white and black.

PIPING PLOVER.

Have you ever been to the sea-shore? Then, of course, you have met the Piping Plover, but, perhaps, not to know him. He is of the size of the robin, not quite so robust, but stands much taller, being mounted on rather long, stilt-like legs, which admirably fit him for the life which he is designed to fill in the world. He belongs to the family of wading birds, and seeks the principal part of his food in or by the water, which could not possibly be were his walking appendages curtailed the least bit of their fair proportions. But to be more precise in my word-picture, let me describe him to you as of a pale ashy-brown color, fading into grayish upon the under parts, and as having his head set off with some narrow black bands, that on the neck rarely, if ever, forming a perfect ring. His bill will be found to be short and stout and blunt, and there will be an appreciable lack of webbing between the middle and inner front toes.

Now that it is plain what the bird looks like, you are certainly prepared, more than ever, to take some interest in him in his brief stay by the sea. So strongly is he attached to the scenes rendered dear by past associations and memories that, from his winter home in the sunny South, and even from over the waters beyond our southern borders, he hails with delight the return of the vernal equinox, for he knows full well that it brings with it the summer’s heat and all its varied, priceless wealth of insect life.

So with the first spring signs of open weather he quits his brumal retreat, winds his way up along the trend of the Atlantic seaboard, and at last reaches in the nights of early April the sandy beaches of our Jersey coast. In flocks of a dozen individuals they run about the sand in a most lively manner, and utter all the while a variety of notes more or less pleasing, blending as they do with the deep-toned bass of the ocean. When this sound, welling up from a dozen throats, is heard in the dark it is particularly striking, as wild and weird as the whistling of a wind at sea through the rigging of a ship.

But these flocks soon disperse into pairs to breed. Slight depressions in the dry sand, and always in the midst of groups of broken colored shells, but out of the reach of the maddened waves, rather than in muddy, marshy places back of the beach-line, serve them for nests. This nesting among clustered shells seemingly points to a love for the beautiful. But may it not be that the shells but mark the various nest-positions in the unbroken waste of sand? We incline to this opinion. There is so much diversity manifested in the size of the groups and in the arrangement and coloration of the individual shells that comprise them, that no very great difficulty should be experienced by the several pairs nesting in the same locality in knowing each other’s nest.

While the birds are concerned with the cares of brood-raising, which is usually towards the close of May or the beginning of June, they confine their feeding to the damp, wet sand. Between it and the dry a clear line of separation is plainly noticeable. It is only when they are ready for the home duties that they are seen to resort to aerial navigation. Even when on the very boundary-line of the two stretches of sand, the wet and the dry, and with the nest almost in sight, they are known to assume wing, taking due care, however, to alight before they have fairly reached the spot. In flight an advantage, that of a more commanding view, is acquired, which walking does not give. But in leaving the nest for food, or for any other purpose, they, as before, walk some distance away before they venture to fly. There is a seeming purpose in so doing, the object to be gained being the deceiving of man and other enemies as to the real location of the nest.

Nest in Midst of Broken Shells.]

All these precautions are undertaken for the sake of the eggs, although in color and markings these so closely resemble the dry sand and intermingled bits of foreign substances, that such actions seem all unnecessary. When birds have been flushed from the nest, and its exact position has been noted with the greatest care, I have failed, after several minutes of the closest searching, to detect the eggs, so true has been the color-harmony between them and the surrounding sand. This resemblance in coloration must be seen to be fully appreciated. In ground the eggs are the palest possible creamy-brown, but marked all over, quite sparingly, with small blackish-brown dots and specks, the largest hardly exceeding a pin’s head. Four is the usual number, and these, from their peculiar pear-shaped form, are placed with their points together in the centre of the nest. They are objects of more than ordinary solicitude, the little Plovers making most violent demonstrations and pleading piteously when they are approached. The mother employs all the well-known artifices, such as lameness, inability to fly, to draw the intruder away from the nest. The young run as soon as they leave the egg, and are great adepts at hiding, squatting, and remaining motionless. Their downy plumage so assimilates them to the sand that unless they reveal themselves by moving, it requires a very keen eye to distinguish them from the numberless tufts that are scattered about the higher reaches of the beach.

Although so essentially a bird of the sea-shore, yet in August many scores of these birds come up the Delaware River as far as tide-water extends, feeding upon the mud-flats and gravel-bars, and occasionally wending their way up along the courses of the creeks until they find themselves well into the country. It is interesting to watch them as they run in and out among the little hills and hollows of the mud in quest of their prey. They are happy, light-hearted fellows, who do not begrudge, when some racy tidbit has rewarded their hunting, to pipe a few notes of thanks to Him who watches as tenderly over them as over the mighty lords of the earth.

BOB WHITE.

Somewhat related to the grouse is the Quail, as he is called in the Northern States, or “Bob White,” his universally recognized appellation. His scientific name is _Ortyx Virginianus_. Differing from the Old World partridges, he has been assigned a place in the sub-family Odontophorinæ, of which five genera are said to exist, most of them being restricted to the extreme south-west of our country. His habits and history are full of interest to everybody.

Quails are restless, uneasy birds, attached to one place while rearing their family, but immediately upon the brood becoming able to travel, commencing their wanderings. There is no accounting for these movements, which sometimes deprive a whole district of their presence for a time, to populate a neighboring region previously without them. When such journeys are undertaken, a large number of birds participate, travelling on foot, and passing steadily through districts where food is plentiful, and seemingly without any definite destination in mind, so loath are they to use their wings, that in attempting to cross wide rivers and inlets immense numbers are said to perish. A limited and partial migration, it is highly probable, takes place annually from the more northern to warmer latitudes, influenced in its extent by the comparative severity of the seasons, being more distinctly migrating west than east of the Delaware River.

About the middle of March the winter flocks break up, and the mating begins. Although not indulging in the noisy and seemingly meaningless antics of the grouse to call attention to his personal attractiveness, Bob White, it would appear, becomes suddenly conscious of his comely looks and excellent voice. In a dignified manner, with head erect, he walks proudly about, inviting the opposite sex to view him at his best. From the orchard gate he calls a saucy good morning to the farmer, knowing that the law holds its _ægis_ over him at this time, but he keeps an eye to hawks, cats and other predatory animals that respect neither time, place nor season. He is polygamous, willing to assume any amount of family responsibility, and will help to rear two, or even three, broods a year, a successful pair often turning out twenty-five young in a season. It is not an uncommon occurrence to find a covey of little cheepers, scarcely able to fly, as late as November.

Although paired so early, the Quails do not proceed to the business of nidification in the central part of their range until about the middle of May. The leeward side of some dense tussock of grass, a mouldering stump in a wild, matted meadow, the woody margin of a clover field or orchard, or an old pasture overgrown with bramble thickets, are situations commonly chosen, the female, as is her undoubted right, taking the lead in fixing upon the site. An artificial bed of grasses and vegetable trash, filling a shallow depression, is the nest. Sometimes it is placed so as to be concealed by overarching grasses, through which a regular tunnel, several feet in length, conducts to the sanctum; and, at other times, is only covered with leaves and straw, which the birds themselves have rudely adjusted. The nest, which is constructed solely by the females of the family, varies in dimensions according to the number of this sex that anticipate using it, the male in the meantime going about in quest of food, or sitting upon a low twig close by, cheering his wives by his trisyllabic note, and very faithfully warning them of the imminence of danger.

The work is prosecuted with considerable zeal, three days at farthest sufficing to make the nest ready for the first egg, which is immediately laid, and which is followed by one on each consecutive day, until seven or eight have been deposited. As many as thirty eggs are sometimes found in a single nest, which is due to the polygamy of the male. Two, and often three and four females, are taken by a male, and two have been known to occupy simultaneously the same nest.

When a pair of birds has established itself in a locality from the first, and has been successful in rearing a family of young during the ensuing spring, if the females are in the majority the unprovided ones still continue, as a general thing, to linger with the parents after their more specially favored companions have mated and moved elsewhere. This is particularly noticeable in a new locality where the covey consists entirely of members of a single family. In cases where several families congregate in the fall, the chances are greatly in favor of monogamy. Small flocks are more decidedly polygamous than larger ones. We have never observed the converse--that is, more than one male to a female--but where several pairs are found in the same field, at slight distances from each other, there is sometimes a noticeable tendency to associate.

The eggs of the Quail are crystal white, sometimes slightly tinged with yellow, and pyriform in shape. Eighteen days are required for their hatching. Where the father is not fortunate enough to possess a harem, a part of the work devolves upon him, while the mother seeks food and recreation; but where there are several females, the work is divided very amicably among them, each sitting about half a day at a stretch, then calling her relief with a low note, if there be only two, the male taking no part in the labor of incubation whatever. Should the family be larger, two females will sit side by side on the eggs, there being too many in number for one breast to cover. Meanwhile the husband remains close by, chirping encouragement in a low tone, and betimes making the field vocal with his loud, clear whistle. He is exceedingly vigilant, and if a human being approaches the nest gives the alarm to his partners, who secretly withdraw from the nest, while he, thoughtful husband as he is, flings himself upon the ground in front of the intruder, feigning lameness or injury, and seeking by every device known to him to attract attention and pursuit, till having beguiled the enemy far away from his home he seeks safety for himself in flight. The experienced oölogist pays no regard to this deceit, seeing in it only a sign of the nearness of the coveted prize, but patiently continues his search until he has discovered its whereabouts.

Two Wives on Same Nest.]

Two broods are invariably raised and often a third, but the last appearing late in the summer, and scarcely attaining their growth before the coming of snow. If unmolested, it is evident, therefore, that the species would increase with great rapidity, as shown by the celerity with which regions, where the birds had been well nigh exterminated, have been replenished when a period of quiet for a season or two has been allowed them. The young run about in a very lively manner as soon as they have left the shell, and in a few days are given over to the care of the father, whom they follow and obey as readily as they did the mother, possibly because they do not recognize the change of guardians, while she returns to the cares of rearing another family.

During the spring and early summer both old and young find an abundance of food for themselves in the larvæ of various insects, the succulent shoots of growing plants and such seeds as abound. Later on, strawberries, blueberries, huckleberries and other wild fruits supply their demands. In August they grow fat upon grasshoppers, and as this is the time when seeds ripen, acorns and beech-nuts fall, and the stubble-fields are full of scattered wheat, rye, barley and maize, and insects are plentiful upon the ground, they feast themselves to satiety before the winter begins, until they have reached that delectable plumpness so highly esteemed by _bon vivants_. Attaining their full growth by the end of September, at least in the case of the earlier broods, the season of play for the partridges and sport for the gunner has come. Quail-shooting is regarded as a test of marksmanship in the United States. So rare and wild have the birds become by reason of incessant hunting, that it certainly requires skill and fine shooting to make a bag. Bred in the open fields, and feeding early in the morning and late in the evening, a man may beat a field all day, and put up only one or two birds, when he is certain that twice as many lay concealed, huddled up in little knots in out-of-the-way places, which the best of dogs might easily pass without discovering. Their inconspicuous colors, too, which are in keeping with the objects around them, so conceal them from the vision of the hunter, that, trusting to them, they will sit immovable until he has gone some distance beyond, when they will spring up and away like so many arrows, requiring a quick eye and a steady hand to turn and drop a brace.

When ultimately flushed, they fly to some particular covert, and 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.

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.

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.

Our common Wild Turkey, once so plentiful in Pennsylvania, is now restricted to the more eastern and southern portions of the United States, while in the parts of Texas, New Mexico, Colorado and Arizona adjacent to the southern Rocky Mountains, and thence stretching southward along the eastern slope of Mexico as far as Orizaba, there exists another form, essentially different, which, by way of distinction, has been popularly called the Mexican Turkey. It is from this species, and not from the other, as has been erroneously supposed and taught, that the domestic fowl has been derived. Even in this enlightened age, with so many ornithological teachers on every hand, we see this mistake propagated by such as know better, and whose business it is, or ought to be, to have a care that truth shall prevail.

Between the wild bird of Eastern North America and the Mexican and typical barnyard fowls there are differences which must be apparent even to the most superficial observer. The extremities of the tail-feathers, as well as the feathers overlying the base of the tail, are in the latter creamy or fulvous white, while in the former they are of a decided chestnut-brown color. Other characteristics exist, but these only become evident to the keen-sighted ornithologist.

The difficulty experienced in establishing a cross between our wild and tame birds, shows that they are not as closely related as was once supposed. Did a near kinship subsist, interbreeding could most readily be accomplished. With the Mexican Turkey, matters are otherwise. That a relationship does obtain between the domestic bird and the latter--its wild original--there can be no question, as specimens of the naturalized species are often met with which are nearly the counterpart of its Mexican progenitor, differing only in the greater development of the fatty appendages of the head and neck, differences which may be accounted for as the effects of the influences to which the birds have been subjected by man. No well-authenticated instances of similar reversions to our once familiar Eastern bird have been known to occur, which would necessarily have been the case had they been so closely related as was once maintained.

_Meleagris Mexicana_ affects sparsely-overgrown savannas, and occupies in Mexico the region of the oaks and the coast--the _tierra caliente_ of geographers. It is a very wary bird, and lives in families. Insects of divers kinds, but chiefly of a coleopterous character, as well as the seeds of grasses, constitute its bill of fare. When searching for food, especially in perilous localities, a sentinel is stationed on the outskirts of the flock, whose duty it is to announce the presence of danger. Flight is seldom resorted to at such times, for these birds, being fleeter of foot than the swiftest dog, are able to escape their enemies by running.

Toward the close of March, or in the beginning of April, the hens separate from the males, and seek for themselves nesting-places in secluded localities. The nest is anything but an elaborate affair, consisting of a few dry leaves or grasses scratched into a depression by the side of a prostrate log. Here the eggs--twelve beautiful, oval, speckled treasures--are laid, and for thirty long, weary days and nights they are sat upon by their author in her efforts to warm them into life. When she leaves them, which she does a short time each day for food, she always takes the necessary precaution to cover them with leaves, as a protection against cold and intrusion. Nothing will tempt her to quit the nest when the young are about to be hatched. So absorbed does she then become that she has been known to submit to capture rather than endanger the lives of her offspring.

No human mother manifests deeper affection for her children than does this bird of the prairie for hers. She fondles and dries them after they have escaped from their prison-houses, and tenderly helps them out of the nest. It is now that her cares may be said to commence. Where their interest and well-being are concerned, hardly any responsibility is too great for her to assume. She leads them into pleasant pastures, teaches them to know good from bad foods, and acquaints them with all the devices and subterfuges practised for eluding man and other enemies. But it is not long that they are thus subservient to maternal wisdom and forethought, for in fourteen days they are old enough to scratch for a living, and to seek shelter and security from lawlessness and cruelty. Their _menu_ consists of wheat, berries, grasses, earth-worms, and all kinds of terrestrial insects.

When summer is over, the different families of the same neighborhood come together, unite in one large flock, and travel over the country for food. The males emerge from their meeting-places and join the moving army, and parents and young have nothing to do but to feed vigorously and grow fat. Late in October, or early in November, they begin to attract the attention of gunners, and thousands are killed for the market, where they are in eager demand by all lovers of good living.

AMERICAN OSPREY.