The Audubon Reader (11 page)

It has been my good fortune to study the habits of this species of Grouse at a period when, in the district in which I resided, few other birds of any kind were more abundant. I allude to the lower parts of the states of Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Missouri. Twenty-five years and more have elapsed since many of the notes to which I now recur were written, and at that period I little imagined that the observations which I recorded should ever be read by any other individuals than those composing my own family, all of whom participated in my admiration of the works of Nature.

The Barrens of Kentucky are by no means so sterile as they have sometimes been represented. Their local appellation, however, had so much deceived me before I traveled over them that I expected to find nothing but an undulated extent of rocky ground, destitute of vegetation and perforated by numberless caverns. My ideas were soon corrected. I saw the Barrens for the first time in the early days of June, and as I entered them from the skirts of an immense forest, I was surprised at the beauty of the prospect before me. Flowers without number and vying with each other in their beautiful tints sprung up amidst the luxuriant grass; the fields, the orchards and the gardens of the settlers presented an appearance of plenty, scarcely anywhere exceeded; the wild fruit trees, having their branches interlaced with grapevines, promised a rich harvest; and at every step I trod on ripe and fragrant strawberries. When I looked around, an oak knob rose here and there before me, a charming grove embellished a valley, gently sloping hills stretched out into the distance; while at hand the dark entrance of some cavern attracted my notice, or a bubbling spring gushing forth at my feet seemed to invite me to rest and refresh myself with its
cooling waters. The timid deer snuffed the air as it gracefully bounded off, the Wild Turkey led her young ones in silence among the tall herbage, and the bees bounded from flower to blossom. If I struck the stiff foliage of a blackjack oak, or rustled among the sumacs and brambles, perchance there fluttered before me in dismay the frightened Grouse and her cowering brood. The weather was extremely beautiful, and I thought that the Barrens must have been the parts from which Kentucky derived her name of the “Garden of the West!”

There it was that, year after year and each successive season, I studied the habits of the Pinnated Grouse. It was there that, before sunrise or at the close of day, I heard its curious boomings, witnessed its obstinate battles, watched it during the progress of its courtships, noted its nest and eggs and followed its young until, fully grown, they betook themselves to their winter quarters.

When I first removed to Kentucky, the Pinnated Grouse were so abundant that they were held in no higher estimation as food than the most common flesh, and no “hunter of Kentucky” deigned to shoot them. They were, in fact, looked upon with more abhorrence than the Crows are at present in Massachusetts and Maine, on account of the mischief they committed among the fruit trees of the orchards during winter when they fed on their buds, or while in the spring months they picked up the grain in the fields. The farmer’s children or those of his Negroes were employed to drive them away with rattles from morning to night, and also caught them in pens and traps of various kinds. In those days during the winter the Grouse would enter the farmyard and feed with the poultry, alight on the houses or walk in the very streets of the villages. I recollect having caught several in a stable at Henderson where they had followed some Wild Turkeys. In the course of the same winter, a friend of mine who was fond of practicing rifle-shooting, killed upwards of forty in one morning, but picked none of them up, so satiated with Grouse was he as well as every member of his family. My own servants preferred the fattest flitch of bacon to their flesh, and not unfrequently laid them aside as unfit for cooking.

Such an account may appear strange to you, reader; but what will you think when I tell you that in that same country where,
twenty-five years ago, they could not have been sold at more than one cent apiece, scarcely one is now to be found? The Grouse have abandoned the State of Kentucky and removed (like the
Indians) every season farther to the westward, to escape from the murderous white man. In the Eastern states, where some of these birds still exist, game laws have been made for their protection during a certain part of the year when, after all, few escape to breed the next season. To the westward you must go as far at least as the State of Illinois before you meet with this species of Grouse, and there too, as formerly in Kentucky, they are decreasing at a rapid rate. The sportsman of the Eastern states now makes much ado to procure them, and will travel with friends and dogs and all the paraphernalia of hunting, an hundred miles or more, to shoot at most a dozen braces in a fortnight; and when he returns successful to the city, the important results are communicated by letter to all concerned. So rare have they become in the markets of Philadelphia, New York and Boston, that they sell at from five to ten dollars the pair. An excellent friend of mine, resident in the city of New York, told me that he refused 100 dollars for ten brace which he had shot on the
Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania.

On the eastern declivities of our Atlantic coast, the districts in which the Pinnated Grouse are still to be met with, are some portions of the State of
New Jersey, the “brushy” plains of
Long Island,
Martha’s Vineyard, the
Elizabeth Islands, Mount Desert Island in the State of Maine, and a certain tract of barren country in the latter state, lying not far from the famed Mar’s Hill where, however, they have been confounded with the
Willow Grouse. In the three first places mentioned, notwithstanding the preventive laws now in force, they are killed without mercy by persons such as in England are called poachers, even while the female bird is in the act of sitting on her eggs. Excepting in the above named places, not a bird of the species is at present to be found until you reach the lower parts of Kentucky where, as I have told you before, a few still exist. In the State of Illinois, all the vast plains of the Missouri, those bordering the Arkansas River and on the prairies of
Opelousas, the Pinnated Grouse is still very abundant and very easily procured.

As soon as the snows have melted away and the first blades of
grass issue from the earth announcing the approach of spring, the Grouse, which had congregated during the winter in great flocks, separate into parties of from twenty to fifty or more. Their love season commences, and a spot is pitched upon to which they daily resort until incubation is established. Inspired by love, the male birds, before the first glimpse of day lightens the horizon, fly swiftly and singly from their grassy beds, to meet, to challenge and to fight the various rivals led by the same impulse to the arena. The male is at this season attired in his full dress, and enacts his part in a manner not surpassed in pomposity by any other bird. Imagine them assembled to the number of twenty by daybreak, see them all strutting in the presence of each other, mark their consequential gestures, their looks of disdain and their angry pride as they pass each other. Their tails are spread out and inclined forward to meet the expanded feathers of their neck, which now, like stiffened frills, lie supported by the globular orange-colored receptacles of air from which their singular booming sounds proceed. Their wings, like those of the Turkey Cock, are stiffened and declined so as to rub and rustle on the ground as the bird passes rapidly along. Their bodies are depressed towards the ground, the fire of their eyes evinces the pugnacious workings of the mind, their notes fill the air around and at the very first answer from some coy female, the heated blood of the feathered warriors swells every vein and presently the battle rages. Like
Game Cocks they strike and rise in the air to meet their assailants with greater advantage. Now many close in the encounter; feathers are seen whirling in the agitated air or falling around them tinged with blood. The weaker begin to give way and one after another seeks refuge in the neighboring bushes. The remaining few, greatly exhausted, maintain their ground and withdraw slowly and proudly, as if each claimed the honors of victory. The vanquished and the victors then search for the females who, believing each to have returned from the field in triumph, receive them with joy.

It not unfrequently happens that a male already mated is suddenly attacked by some disappointed rival, who unexpectedly pounces upon him after a flight of considerable length, having been attracted by the cacklings of the happy couple. The female invariably squats next to and almost under the breast of her lord
while he, always ready for action, throws himself on his daring antagonist, and chases him away never to return. Such is the moment which I have attempted to represent in the plate which you will find in the second volume of my “Illustrations” [i.e.,
The Birds of America
].

In such places in the western country as I have described, the
Prairie Hen is heard “booming” or “tooting” not only before break of day, but frequently at all hours from morning until sunset; but in districts where these birds have become wild in consequence of the continual interference of man they are seldom heard after sunrise, sometimes their meetings are noiseless, their battles are much less protracted or of less frequent occurrence and their beats or scratching grounds are more concealed. Many of the young males have battles even in autumn, when the females generally join not to fight but to conciliate them, in the manner of the Wild Turkeys.

The Pinnated Grouse forms its
nest according to the latitude of the place between the beginning of April and the 25th of May. In Kentucky I have found it finished and containing a few eggs at the period first mentioned, but I think, taking the differences of seasons into consideration, the average period may be about the first of May. The nest, although carelessly formed of dry leaves and grasses interwoven in a tolerably neat manner, is always carefully placed amidst the tall grass of some large tuft in the open ground of the Prairies, or at the foot of a small bush in the barren lands. The eggs are from eight to twelve, seldom more, and are larger than those of the
Tetrao umbellus
[
Bonasa umbellus
today, Ruffed Grouse], although nearly of the same color. The female sits upon them eighteen or nineteen days, and the moment the young have fairly disengaged themselves, leads them away from the nest, when the male ceases to be seen with her. As soon as autumn is fairly in, the different families associate together, and at the approach of winter I have seen packs composed of many hundred individuals.

When surprised, the young squat in the grass or weeds, so that it is almost impossible to find any of them. Once while crossing a part of the barrens on my way homewards, my horse almost placed his foot on a covey that was in the path. I observed them and instantly leaped to the ground; but notwithstanding all my endeavors, the cunning mother saved them by a single cluck. The little fellows
rose on the wing for only a few yards, spread themselves all round, and kept so close and quiet that, although I spent much time in search for them, I could not discover one. I was much amused, however, by the arts the mother employed to induce me to leave the spot where they lay concealed, when perhaps I was actually treading on some of them.

This species never raises more than one brood in the season, unless the eggs have been destroyed, in which case the female immediately calls for her mate and produces a second set of eggs, generally much smaller in number than the first. About the 1st of August the
young are as large as our little
American Partridge [i.e., Northern Bobwhite], and are then most excellent eating. They do not acquire much strength of wing until the middle of October, and after that period they become daily more difficult to be approached. Their
enemies are at this season very numerous, but the principal are the polecat, the raccoon, the weasel, the wildcat and various Hawks.

The Pinnated Grouse is easily
tamed and easily kept. It also breeds in confinement, and I have often felt surprised that it has not been fairly domesticated. While at Henderson I purchased sixty alive that were expressly caught for me within twelve miles of that village and brought in a bag laid across the back of a horse. I cut the tips of their wings and turned them loose in a garden and orchard about four acres in extent. Within a week they became tame enough to allow me to approach them without their being frightened. I supplied them with abundance of corn and they fed besides on vegetables of various kinds. This was in the month of September, and almost all of them were young birds. In the course of the winter they became so gentle as to feed from the hand of my wife, and walked about the garden like so many tame fowls, mingling occasionally with the domestic poultry. I observed that at night each individual made choice of one of the heaps in which a cabbage had grown, and that they invariably placed their breast to the wind, whatever way it happened to blow. When spring returned, they strutted, “tooted,” and fought as if in the wilds where they had received their birth. Many laid eggs, and a good number of young ones made their appearance, but the Grouse at last proved so destructive to the young vegetables, tearing them up
by the roots, that I ordered them to be killed. So brave were some of the male birds that they never flinched in the presence of a large
Turkey Cock, and now and then they would stand against a
Dunghill Cock [i.e., a Rooster] for a pass or two before they would run from him.

During very severe weather I have known this species to roost at a considerable height on trees, but they generally prefer resting on the ground. I observed that for several nights in succession, many of these Grouse slept in a meadow not far distant from my house. This piece of ground was thickly covered with tall grass, and one dark night I thought of amusing myself by trying to catch them. I had a large seine, and took with me several Negroes supplied with lanterns and long poles, with the latter of which they bore the net completely off the ground. We entered the meadow in the early part of the night, although it was so dark that without a light one could hardly have seen an object a yard distant, and spreading out the leaded end of the net, carried the other end forward by means of the poles at the height of a few feet. I had marked before dark a place in which a great number of the birds had alighted, and now ordered my men to proceed towards it. As the net passed over the first Grouse in the way, the alarmed bird flew directly towards the confining part of the angle, and almost at the same moment a great number of others arose, and, with much noise, followed the same direction. At a signal, the poles were laid flat on the ground, and we secured the prisoners, bagging some dozens. Repeating our experiment three times in succession, we met with equal success, but now we gave up the sport on account of the loud bursts of laughter from the Negroes, who could no longer refrain. Leaving the net on the ground, we returned to the house laden with spoil, but next evening not a Grouse was to be found in the meadow, although I am confident that several hundred had escaped.