Cassell's book of birds; vol. 3

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

"About the beginning of October, when scarcely any of the seeds and fruits have yet fallen from the trees, these birds assemble in flocks, and gradually move towards the rich bottom-lands of the Ohio and the Mississippi. The males, or as they are more commonly called, the 'gobblers,' associate in parties of from ten to a hundred, and search for food apart from the females; while the latter are seen advancing singly, each with its brood of young, then about two-thirds grown, or in connection with other families, forming parties amounting to seventy or eighty individuals, all intent on shunning the old cocks, which, even when the young birds have attained this size, will fight with and often destroy them by repeated blows on the head. Old and young, however, all move in the same course and on foot, unless their progress be interrupted by a river, or the hunter's dog force them to take wing. When they come to a river they betake themselves to the highest eminences, and there often remain a whole day, or sometimes two, as if for the purpose of consultation. During this time the males are heard gobbling, calling, and making much ado, and are seen strutting about as if to raise their courage to a pitch befitting the emergency. Even the females and young assume something of the same pompous demeanour, spread out their tails and run round each other, purring loudly and performing extravagant leaps. At length, when the weather appears settled, and all around is quiet, the whole party mount to the tops of the highest trees, whence, at a signal consisting of a single cluck given by a leader, the flock takes flight for the opposite shore. The old and fat birds easily get over, even should the river be a mile in breadth; but the young and less robust frequently fall into the water, not to be drowned, however, as might be imagined. They bring their wings close to their body, spread out their tail as a support, stretch forward their neck, and striking out their legs with great vigour, proceed rapidly towards the shore, on approaching which, should they find it too steep for landing, they cease their exertions for a few moments, float down the stream until they come to an accessible part, and by a violent effort generally extricate themselves from the water. It is remarkable that immediately after thus crossing a large stream, they ramble about for some time as if bewildered; in this state they fall an easy prey to the hunter.

"When the Turkeys arrive in parts where food is abundant, they separate into smaller flocks, composed of birds of all ages and both sexes, promiscuously mingled, and devour all before them. This happens about the middle of November. So gentle do they sometimes become after these long journeys, that they have been seen to approach the farmhouses, associate with the Domestic Fowls, and enter the stables and corn-cribs in quest of food. In this way, roaming about the forests, and feeding chiefly on mast, they pass the autumn and part of the winter.

"As early as the middle of February the females separate and fly from the males, the latter strenuously pursue, and begin to gobble or to utter their notes of exultation. The sexes roost apart, but at no great distance from each other. When a female utters a call-note, all the gobblers within hearing return the sound, rolling note after note with as much rapidity as if they intended to emit the first and last together, not with spread tail, as when fluttering round the females on the ground, or practising on the branches of the trees on which they have roosted for the night, but much in the manner of the Domestic Turkey, when an unusual or unexpected noise elicits its singular hubbub. If the call of the female comes from the ground, all the males immediately fly towards the spot, and the moment they reach it, whether the hen be in sight or not, spread out and erect their tail, draw the head back on the shoulders, depress their wings with a quivering motion, and strut pompously about, emitting at the same time a succession of puffs from the lungs, and stopping now and then to listen and look, but whether they spy the female or not they continue to puff and strut, moving with as much celerity as their ideas of ceremony seem to admit. While thus occupied the males often encounter each other, in which case desperate battles take place, ending in bloodshed and often in the loss of many lives, the weaker falling under the blows inflicted upon the head by the stronger. The moment a rival is dead the conqueror treads him under foot, but what is strange, not with hatred, but with all the motions which he employs in caressing the female.

"About the middle of April, when the season is dry, the hens begin to look out for a place to deposit their eggs. This place requires to be as much as possible concealed from the eyes of the Crow, as that bird watches the Turkey when going to her nest, and, waiting in the neighbourhood until she has left it, removes and eats the eggs. The nest, which consists of a few withered leaves, is placed on the ground, in a hollow scooped out by the side of a log, or in the fallen top of a dry leafy tree, under a thicket of sumach or briars, or a few feet within the edge of a cornbrake, but always in a dry place. When laying her eggs the female approaches her nest very cautiously, scarcely ever following the same track twice, and when she leaves them covers them so carefully with leaves that it is very difficult for any person to find the nest, unless the mother has been suddenly started from it. When on her nest, if she perceives an enemy, she sits still and crouches low until the intruder has passed by, unless she is aware that she has been discovered."

"I have frequently," says Audubon, "approached within five or six paces of a nest, of which I was previously aware, assuming an air of carelessness, and whistling or talking to myself, the female remaining undisturbed; whereas if I went cautiously towards it, she would never suffer me to approach within twenty paces, but would run off, with her tail spread on one side, to a distance of twenty or thirty yards, when, assuming a stately gait, she would walk about deliberately, uttering now and then a cluck."

The mother seldom abandons her nest on account of its having been disturbed by man, but if robbed by a snake or other wild animal she never approaches it again. If her brood has been destroyed, she lays a second set of eggs, but usually rears only one brood in the season. Sometimes several mothers lay their eggs in the same nest. Audubon once found three sitting upon forty-two eggs. In such a case one or other of the females always keeps guard over the nest, to prevent the approach of the weaker kind of enemies. When nearly hatching, the hen will not leave her eggs for any consideration, and will rather allow herself to be fenced in than desert her nest. Audubon tells us he once witnessed the hatching of a brood of Turkeys.

"I concealed myself," he says, "on the ground, within a very few feet, and saw the female raise herself half the length of her legs, look anxiously upon the eggs, cluck with a sound peculiar to the mother on such occasions, carefully remove each half-empty shell, and with her bill caress and dry the young birds that already stood tottering and attempting to make their way from the nest. I saw them all emerge from the shell, and in a few moments after tumble, roll, and push each other forward, with astonishing and inscrutable instinct."

Before the old bird leaves the nest she shakes herself violently, preens her feathers, and assumes quite a different appearance; she raises herself, stretches out her neck, and glances about and around to detect any enemy that may be nigh, spreads her wings, and clucking softly, endeavours to keep her young family together. As the brood are usually hatched in the afternoon, they often return and spend the first night in the nest, but afterwards remove to higher undulating ground, the mother dreading the effects of rain on her young, which seldom survive if thoroughly wetted at this tender age, when their only covering is a soft, delicate, hairy down. In about fourteen days the young birds, which till this time had rested on the ground, are able to fly to some low branch, and pass the night under the sheltering wings of their mother. A little later they leave the woods during the day, and search the prairies and glades for berries of various kinds, and grasshoppers. The young now rapidly increase in size and strength, and about the month of August are able to escape the attacks of their four-footed enemies by rising from the ground to the highest branches of the trees. About this time young and old assemble together and begin their pilgrimage.

Wild Turkeys will sometimes feed and associate with tame ones, whose owners are glad to welcome them, the half-breed being much the most hardy, and easily reared.

"While at Henderson," says Audubon, "I had among other birds a fine male Turkey, which had been reared from its earliest youth under my care, it having been caught by me when probably not more than two or three days old. It became so tame that it would follow any person who called it, and was the favourite of the little village; yet it would never roost with the tame Turkeys, but regularly betook itself at night to the roof of the house, where it remained till dawn. When two years old it began to fly to the woods, where it remained for a considerable part of the day, returning to the enclosure as soon as night approached. It continued this practice until the following spring, when I saw it several times fly from its roosting-place to the top of a high cotton tree on the Ohio, from which, after resting a little, it would sail to the opposite shore, the river being nearly half a mile wide, and return towards night. One morning I saw it fly off at a very early hour to the woods, in another direction, and took no particular notice of the circumstance. Several days elapsed, but the bird did not return. I was going towards some lakes near Green River, to shoot, when having walked five miles I saw a fine large gobbler cross the path before me, moving leisurely along. Turkeys being then in prime condition for the table, I ordered my dog to chase it and put it up. The animal went off with great rapidity, and as it approached the Turkey, I saw with much surprise that the latter paid little attention. Juno was on the point of seizing it, when she suddenly stopped and turned her head towards me. I hastened to them, but you may easily conceive my surprise when I saw my own favourite bird, and discovered that it had recognised the dog and would not fly from it, although the sight of a strange dog would have caused it to run off at once."