One day in early summer of 1802 he thought he heard the recognized though suppressed sound, “Bob White.” Somewhat doubting the sense of hearing, he immediately made observations and procured additional evidence—that of sight. Yes, he actually heard and saw the bird for the first time in Ohio. Elated with the good news, he proceeded to the cabin and told his discovery with so much excitement and enthusiasm that it created a laugh at his expense. He excused his manner, however, by saying, “It was sufficient to excite any one to know that a highly-esteemed and familiar friend had found the way through such an interminable wilderness, and announced his arrival in that modest and meaning way, ‘Bob White.’” Since then he has been known as a permanent resident.
The greater portion of the year the old birds, with the family increase, remain in coveys. In early spring this general attachment is broken up by pairing, each pair selecting a locality, where they remain during the breeding season. When mating and selection of locality has taken place, it is known by the demonstration of the male, who gives the whole neighborhood due notice of his domestic intentions by frequent repetitions of his cheerful and well-known notes, “Bob White! Bob White!”
When paired the two are constant companions, ever watchful and devoted to the welfare of each other, sharing equally the duties and responsibilities of wedded life; and from the appearance of the first offspring to their settlement in the world, as faithful father and mother, remain unceasing protectors and providers for the family. This extraordinary strength of attachment and exhibition of natural affection has attracted the attention of all their friends.
While living on a farm the writer discovered a nest, nicely concealed by tufts of grass after being constructed, under the projecting end of a fence rail. At the time there were in it five eggs. This number increased daily until twenty-three eggs filled the nest, and incubation began. All went on happily, until one morning there was evidently great distress in that little household. The male bird was sounding his anxious alarm—going hurriedly from one part of the farm to that of every other—sometimes flying, sometimes running; stopping a moment here, a moment there; calling at the top of his voice for his mate, in his peculiar tone of distress. His unanswered cry soon told the tale—some accident, some ruthless hawk, some sneaking cat, or some other enemy, had captured and destroyed his faithful companion.
He kept his calling for several hours, sometimes coming quite near, making a low chittering noise, as if suspicious something could be told—that the writer could tell him where his love had gone. Far from it, he too was in search of anything that could give a clue to the whereabouts of the unfeeling wretch that had done the bloody deed—he too was excited, and would have executed the severest penalty known on the guilty one, if found.
The nest was occasionally observed during the forenoon, with merely the thought she might be testing the affection of her lord, or playing him a practical joke; but no, the eggs were, at each visit uncovered. About noon-day, his lamentations ceased, and hoping his mate had returned, the nest was again visited, and was surprised to find Bob on the nest, keeping life in the prospective family.
For several days he left the nest frequently to make further search for his missing sweetheart. One morning, as usual, I called to see how the little widower was getting along, and found nothing but a bundle of shells—every egg had been hatched. Not far from the nest was heard a crickety sound—“chit, chit, chit”—and soon discovered Bob with his brood. He continued to care for the motherless young, as the writer can testify from frequent meetings, and reared a fine, large covey, which received protection and sympathy during the following fall and winter, of all the farm hands and sportsmen, who knew him and his well-behaving family.
Quail are not strictly granivorous. In autumn and winter they subsist chiefly on grain, berries and weed seeds. But in the spring and summer their food is almost exclusively composed of worms and insects. While Henry William Herbert extols the benefits the agriculturist derives from the consumption of weed seeds by these birds, he does not seem to have been aware the quail is the greatest worm and insect enemy of all the birds of North America, and are of more valuable service to crops and trees than all other birds combined. A few coveys carefully preserved would protect the farmer against the ravages of many destructive insects, which are more to be feared than the “rag-weed, the dock, or the brier.” The writer examined one accidentally killed, several years ago, in the month of June, and its crop contained seventy-five “potatoe-bugs,” besides numerous smaller insects. And, if for no other reason, the farmer should protect the bird as his best and most reliable exterminator of worms and insects, which, if undisturbed, accumulate to the great detriment of growing grain and grass, and to orchards and gardens. The quail regards man as his friend, though a stranger to his sympathy and protection. If not for ill-treatment and general manifestation to exterminate his species by those whose friendship he courts, he would soon become quite as domestic as the barnyard poultry. In fact, he frequently presses his claims perseveringly in this line by establishing partnership and social relations with domestic fowls. It is not uncommon to find a hen and quail occupying the same nest, until the complement of eggs are deposited by each, at the end of which time the quail usually submits the incubation to her partner.
Quail are pursued by man, beast, bird, and reptile; but with a fair opportunity and timely warning they manifest a wonderful faculty for evading their foes; and, excepting the “pot-hunter,” they are provided with ample means for self-preservation. He who steals upon a covey while enjoying the sunshine by some stump, log, or fence-corner, seated in a space less than the circumference of a half-bushel measure, and betrays a confidence by firing upon them in this unsuspecting attitude, filling his bag with the dead, and marching off with the brand of “sneak-thief” upon his brow, is a “pot-hunter.” He, too, who, with a show of indifference, rides about, pretending to be overseeing his own affairs, whistling around until the poor unsuspecting birds, in order to get out of his way, unconsciously walk into a net prepared for them, and as a reward for this confiding friendship triumphantly mashes their heads, is a pot-hunter. Against such the bird has no protection.