Its call is a very distinctive, sonorous Whoot, whoot, whoot, and, as the bird habitually calls a little before dawn in the early part of the hot weather, its voice is doubtless often attributed to some species of owl.
The nest is, we are told, globular in shape, considerably larger than a football, composed of twigs and grass and lined with dried leaves. The entrance consists of an aperture at one side. I must confess that I have not yet seen any of the creature’s nests. I have located several, but each one of these has been placed in the midst of a dense thicket, which, in its turn, has been situated in the compound of one of my neighbours. The only way of bringing a nest built in such a position to human view is by pulling down the greater part of the thicket. This operation is not feasible when the thicket in question happens to be in the garden of a neighbour.
Large though the nest is, it is not sufficiently commodious to admit the whole of the bird, so that the long tail of the sitting crow-pheasant projects outside the nest. “When in this position,” writes Hume, “the bird is about as defenceless as the traditional ostrich which hid its head in the sand.” This remark would certainly be justified were the crow-pheasant to build its nest in mid-desert, but I fail to see how it applies when the nest is in the middle of a thicket into which no crow or other creature with tail-pulling propensities is likely to penetrate. “In Australia,” continues Hume, “the coucal manages these things far better. There, we are told, ‘The nest, which is placed in the midst of a tuft of grass, is of a large size, composed of dried grasses, and is of a domed form, with two openings, through one of which the head of the female protrudes while sitting, and her tail through the other.’ On the other hand, the Southern Chinese coucal, which Swinhoe declares to be identical with ours, goes a step further, and gets rid of the dome altogether.”
Young crow-pheasants are of exceptional interest. Three distinct varieties have been described. In some the plumage is barred throughout. Jerdon supposed that these are all young females. Other young birds are like dull-coloured adults; these are smaller than the barred forms, and sometimes progress by a series of hops, instead of adopting the strut so characteristic of the species. These dull-coloured birds are very wild, whereas the barred ones are usually easily tamed. This interesting fact was pointed out by Mr. Frank Finn in his delightful volume Ornithological and Other Oddities. Jerdon regards these as young cocks. The third variety is coloured exactly like the adult. Finn does not accept Jerdon’s view, for, as he points out, the three forms differ in habits, and the barred and dull-coloured forms do not appear to occur in the same brood; the young in any given nest are either all barred, or all dull-coloured, or all like the adults in colour. So that if the barred and dull-plumaged birds represent different sexes, then all the individuals of a brood must be of the same sex. Instances of this phenomenon have been recorded, but they appear to be very rare. Finn therefore thinks that the three varieties of young correspond to three races. In this connection it is of interest to note that Hume divided this species into three: Centropus rufipennis, found in the Indian Peninsula and Ceylon; C. intermedius, which occurs in Eastern Bengal, Assam, and Burma; and C. maximus, that inhabits Northern India and Sind. Blanford, while uniting all these into one species, says, “unquestionably these are all well-marked races.”
Finn had brought to him in Calcutta barred and dull-coloured young birds, these possibly correspond to the rufipennis and intermedius races. The matter needs further investigation.
In this connection it should be noted that the young of the Indian koel (Eudynamis honorata)—a cuckoo parasitic on crows—are of three kinds. Some are all black like the cock, some are barred black and white like the hen, while others, though nearly altogether black, display a few white bars. The fact that I have seen specimens of all three kinds of koel nestling in one garden at Lahore would seem to militate somewhat against the theory that these correspond to different races or gentes.
I have discoursed at such length on the crow-pheasant that our other respectable cuckoos will not receive adequate treatment. The interesting malkohas will not get an innings to-day. I trust they will accept my apologies.
I must content myself in conclusion with a few words regarding the sirkeer or grey ground-cuckoo. The scientific name of this species—Taccocua leschenaulti—affords an excellent example of the heights to which our scientific men can rise in their sublimer moments. This cuckoo always appears to me like a large babbler. It has the untidy appearance, the sombre plumage, and the laborious flight of the “seven sisters.” But it does not go about in flocks. It appears to consider that “two is company, three is none.” Its cherry-red bill is the one bit of bright colour it displays. From its beak it derives its vernacular name jungli tota (jungle parrot), the villagers being evidently of opinion that the beak makes the parrot. This cuckoo seems to feed entirely on the ground, picking up insects of all sorts and conditions. It is found only in the vicinity of trees. In the Basti district of the United Provinces, where it is unusually abundant, I noticed it at almost every camping-ground I visited. Mango topes appear to be its favourite feeding-places. When alarmed it used to fly to the nearest cornfield, where it was quickly lost to view. Its habits are in many ways like those of the coucal. It builds a rough-and-ready nest, a mere collection of twigs with a few leaves spread over the surface. The eggs are chalky white, like those of the crow-pheasant. Both the cock and the hen take part in incubation.
It is a bird concerning the habits of which there is comparatively little on record. It therefore offers a fine field for the investigations of Indian ornithologists.