THE QUAIL.
THE QUAIL.
(Cotúrnix commúnis.)
The Quail is about the size of a large clenched fist, and is almost as round as a skittle ball. Its entire plumage is clay-coloured speckled with a darker shade, and marked with light lines, like the head of oats. The whole marking of it, especially of its back, is designed to avert man’s attention from this crouching bird. The throat of the cock is black, the beak and legs like those of the barn-door fowl. The bright eye light nut-brown. The nest is placed on the ground, and is simply a scratched-out hole, which is rather littered than lined with blades of grass. In this the female bird lays her eggs of olive yellow, beautifully speckled with brown, sometimes to the number of sixteen, but usually ten. The chicks run after their mother as soon as they are hatched and dried—which is a very pretty sight. They can make themselves invisible by crouching on the ground, so that the colour of their down assimilates with that of the earth.
The habits of this bird are those of the domestic fowl. From early morning till evening twilight, the Quail is on its feet, searching the ground for grains of seed or little beetles. It scratches like a hen, and when it finds a sunny, dusty or sandy place, it bathes in the sand, flinging the dust all about. The Quail is a useful bird—for it picks up only the seed which lies on the ground, and feeds its young with the same. It therefore deserves shelter and care. Its voice and habits are pleasant and agreeable to man. Its familiar and homelike cry, sounds from out of the cornfields, and the little hen answers. The mating call of both is, “Bue bee wee.”
“Ah! what sweet accents fall softly around,
Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! (Fürchte Gott!)
Murmurs the quaint little quail from the ground.”[1]
The bird’s cry of “Bit by bit,” and his mate’s reply, “Wet my weet, Wet my weet,” as we render it, is not often heard now in our own country. This is attributed by some to the fact that most of the Quail’s favourite feeding-grounds have been “improved” away. Fine pasture-lands are now where the ground was once coarse and covered with tussock, bent, thistles, burdock, hawkweed, and such plants as flourish in uncared-for lands, and in such surroundings the Quail delighted to remain. Now, only very few winter with us; the majority leave in October for the South.
The Quail is an accomplished ventriloquist, and the late Lord Lilford, in his “Notes on the Birds of Northamptonshire,” says that he often heard a caged Quail calling when within a few feet of him, which yet gave the impression of being many yards distant. On the western side of Corfu he found numbers of these birds in the currant-vines on very steep hill-sides, and vast numbers are bred in the cultivated plains around and below Seville, where their numbers are thinned in the pairing season by a clever method of calling the birds into a net by imitating the call-note of the female. On the island of Capri, in the Bay of Naples, it is on record that as many as 160,000 have been netted in a single season.