Part 37

—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.

“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.

* * * * *

“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.

THE RUFFED GROUSE

When the pallid sun has vanished Under Osceola’s ledges, When the lengthening shadows mingle In a sombre sea of twilight, From the hemlocks in the hollow Swift emerging comes the Partridge; Not a sound betrays her starting, Not a sound betrays her lighting In the birches by the wayside, In her favoured place for budding. When the twilight turns to darkness, When the fox’s bark is sounding, From her buds the Partridge hastens, Seeks the soft snow by the hazels, Burrows in its sheltering masses, Burrows where no Owl can find her.

—Frank Bolles.

“You all know the path that runs by the grist-mill and up through the river woods. In spring, I could almost count upon seeing a Grouse or two when I took that walk, and very early, of September and October mornings, I have seen the Woodcock probing, with their long, sensitive, pointed bills, with which they can feel like fingers, in the muddy ground back of the river woods for the worms, and such like, upon which they feed. It was my father, himself, who took me one evening, even though it was bedtime, to these same woods to hear the Woodcock’s courting dance and song.”

“I didn’t know any game-birds could sing,” said Tommy.

“They are not classed with song-birds, and yet in courting time, most birds have some sort of musical speech in addition to their call-notes; you know that even Crows sometimes succeed in singing. But this love-song varies with the individual bird more than it does with the birds that are real vocalists.

“The Woodcock feed chiefly at dawn and twilight, and it is easy to tell where they have been by the little holes in the mud left by the bill. This spring night father took me to the wood edge, and drew me to him, to keep me still while we waited—for what? I was soon to know.

“Presently a half-musical cry came out of the gathering darkness, and was repeated and echoed by several others. Then a rush, as if a bird had flung himself into the air and opened his wings at the same time; next, a whirring sound as the bird circled skyward and vanished, his notes falling behind him, but before I realized what was going on, the bird dropped straight as a Hawk, balanced on his toes, gave a low, musical cry, and began again; for thus it is that the Woodcock tries to please and win his mate.

THE WOODCOCK’S WOOING