British Birds in Their Haunts

by C. A. Johns

The Partridge, though decorated with no brilliant colours, which would tend to thwart it in its habit of concealing itself among vegetation of the same general hue as itself, is a beautiful bird. Its gait is graceful, its feet small and light, its head well raised; and its plumage, though devoid of striking contrasts, is exquisitely pencilled, each feather on the back and breast being veined like the gauzy wings of a fly. The most conspicuous part of the plumage of the male bird, the horseshoe on its breast, is invisible as it walks or crouches, and the general tone approaches that of the soil.

Partridges pair early in the year; but the hen does not begin to lay until May, nor to sit until towards the beginning of June. The nest is merely a depression in the ground, into which a few straws or dead leaves have been drawn. It is sometimes placed among brushwood under a hedge, but more frequently in the border of a field of hay, clover, or corn, or in the wide field itself. The mowing season, unfortunately, is not noted in the calendar of Nature; so the mother-bird, who is a close sitter, is not unfrequently destroyed by the scythe, or, at all events, is driven away, and returns to find her eggs carried off to be entrusted to the care of a domestic hen. In unusually wet seasons, nests which have been fixed in low situations are flooded, and the eggs being thus reduced to a low temperature become addle. When this has taken place, the Partridge makes a second laying, and a late brood is reared.

Notwithstanding this, however, Partridges are exceedingly prolific, and are said to be increasing in numbers in proportion as new lands are reclaimed from the waste, although the Red-legged Partridge has lessened its numbers in some districts. It must certainly be admitted that, in bad seasons, they are treated with a consideration that would scarcely be shown towards them if they were simply destroyers of grain and had nothing to recommend them as objects of sport or as delicacies for the table. When abundant, they fall freely before the sportsman's gun; but when the coveys are either small or few, they are treated with forbearance, and enough are left to stock the preserves for the ensuing year.

While the hen is sitting, the male bird remains somewhere in the neighbourhood, and gives timely warning of the approach of danger; when the eggs are hatched, he accompanies his mate, and shares in the work of teaching the young to shift for themselves—a lesson which they begin to learn at once. The food both of old and young birds is, to a great extent, insects. The young are especially fond of ants and their pupæ or larvæ. During the year 1860, in which there were no broods of Partridges, I was much struck by the fact that stubble-fields abounded, to an unusual degree, with ant-hills. In ordinary seasons, these are found torn to pieces and levelled. This year, scarcely one was touched; and even at the present time, the end of October, winged ants are far more numerous than they usually are at this time of the year. Besides insects, Partridges feed on the seeds of weeds, green leaves, grain spilt in reaping, and on corn which has been sown. This last charge is a serious one; yet, on the whole, it is most probable that Partridges do far more good than harm on an estate, the insects and weeds which they destroy more than making amends for their consumption of seed-corn.

I might fill many pages with anecdotes of the devotion of Partridges to their maternal duties—their assiduity in hatching their eggs, their disregard of personal danger while thus employed, their loving trickeries to divert the attention of enemies from their broods to themselves, and even the actual removal of their eggs from a suspectedly dangerous position to a place of safety; but with many of these stories the reader must be already familiar if he has read any of the works devoted to such subjects.

The number of eggs laid before incubation commences varies from ten to fifteen, or more. Yarrell says, 'Twenty-eight eggs in one instance, and thirty-three eggs in two other instances, are recorded as having been found in one nest; but there is little doubt, in these cases, that more than one bird had laid eggs in the same nest.' This may be; but I find in a French author an instance in which no less than forty-two eggs were laid by a Partridge in captivity, all of which, being placed under a hen, would have produced chicks, but for the occurrence of a thunder-storm accompanied by a deluge of rain which flooded the nest, when the eggs, which all contained chicks, were on the point of being hatched. The average number of birds in a covey is, I believe, about twelve; quite enough to supply the sportsmen and to account for the abundance of the bird.

The character of the Partridge's flight is familiar to most people. Simultaneously with the startled cry of alarm from the cock comes a loud whirr-r-r as of a spinning-wheel: away fly the whole party in a body, keeping a horizontal, nearly straight line: in turns each bird ceases to beat its wings and sails on for a few yards with extended pinions; the impetus exhausted which carried it through this movement, it plies its wings again, and if it have so long escaped the fowler, may, by this time, consider itself out of danger, for its flight, though laboured, is tolerably rapid.

The call of the Partridge is mostly uttered in the evening, as soon as the beetles begin to buzz. The birds are now proceeding to roost, which they always do in the open field, the covey forming a circle with their heads outwards, to be on the watch against their enemies, of whom they have many. They feed for the most part in the morning and middle of the day, and vary in size according to the abundance of their favourite food. In some districts of France, it is said, the weight of the Partridges found on an estate is considered as a fair standard test of the productiveness of the soil and of the state of agricultural skill.

Most people are familiar with the distich:

If the Partridge had the Woodcock's thigh,