“When I first came to Canada,” says a writer from that locality, “I found there were various opinions as to the method of making the sound. One man, who read a great deal, but rarely went into the woods, said that the sound was produced by the bird’s voice. Some of the hunters told me that the bird struck its wings on the log, and others that it struck them together over its back.
“I did not give much heed to the bookman’s explanation, for all the woodmen laughed at it. I soon learned to discredit also the idea that the bird thumped the log with its wings, because whether it stood on a stump or a stone, a rotten log or solid timber, the sound was always the same. Lastly, I did not believe that the wings were struck together, because, when a pigeon or rooster strikes its wings together, the sound is always a sharp crack. At length, after watching the bird carefully, I came to the conclusion that it drums by beating the air only.
“It is not an easy matter to get sight of a partridge when he is drumming, but I managed to do it by crawling on my hands and knees toward the bird, lying still while he was quiet, and only moving forward when he renewed his noisy courtship; for it is only to woo and win his mate that Sir Ruffled Grouse indulges in these musical exercises.
“In this way I contrived to come within twenty feet without alarming him. Through the alder thicket I could just see his shapely form, strutting about like a turkey cock; then for a moment he stood upright, with his feathers lying close.
“Suddenly his wings flashed, and at the same moment I heard the loud thump. Then for a few seconds he stood looking about as though nothing had happened; but presently came a second flash and thump, and others followed at lessening intervals, until at last the serenade rolled a way like the galloping of horses or the rumbling of distant thunder.”