BLACK-BACKED KALEEGE 



Gennaeus melanonotus (Blyth) 



Names. — Specific : melanonotus, from the Greek ailavo (from fi^Xag) black, and v&voq back. English : 

 Black-backed, Black-headed or Sikhim Kaleege Pheasant. French : Euplocome melanote. German : Schwarz- 

 riickenfasan. Native : Karrik-pho (Lepcha) Sikhim ; Kirrik (Bhutea) ; Muthoora (Bengali). 



Brief Description. — Male : Resembles the male of the Nepal Kaleege [G. leucomelanus), but with no 

 white terminal fringe to the feathers of the upper plumage ; these feathers are also highly glossed, the wings with 

 green, the back with steel-blue. Female : Resembles the female of the Nepal Kaleege, but is still darker, the 

 dark red becoming more of a dark brown or black, and the light tips of the feathers thus appearing clearer 

 white. 



Type.— (? Marked Sikhim, G. B. Mainwaring; $ and juv. marked Sikhim, A. S. B. (E. Blyth). In the 

 Indian Museum, Calcutta. 



Range. — Native and British Sikhim and Western Bhutan. 



THE BIRD IN ITS HAUNTS 



The terrible silence of fear closed down upon the jungle. A myriad creatures 

 breathed, panted or held their breath, while a laughing thrush voiced its terror in a wild 

 outburst of shrieks, as it fled headlong. For several minutes the moss-hung forest gave 

 forth not a whisper of life. Only the slow flapping of great butterflies showed that any 

 living thing still existed within its shadows. 



I lay prone upon a huge flat-topped boulder on a bed of damp moss, and here the 

 laughing thrush had flown down and alighted close to my shoulder. Startled for the 

 moment, I turned suddenly, with the result I have related, of sending the thrush into a 

 frenzy of fear and of silencing every creature within earshot. 



The Sikhim jungle around me was the home of the Black-backed Kaleege, and from 

 earlier scouting I knew that at this moment there were several pairs within a few hundred 

 yards, and a nest of these pheasants within a still shorter distance. The particular day 

 of which I write was a brilliant one in early spring, but in these mid- Himalayas the air 

 was cool and, although it was high noon, scarcely a ray of sunlight penetrated to where 

 I lay upon the floor of the jungle. Even when the alarm of the frightened thrush had 

 passed, the woods lay quiet, with only the distant sibilant tones of the tiny bush- 

 warblers. 



From base of trunk to topmost twig, every tree was draped with a thick coat and 

 with pendants of moss — long, streaming tassels of green and brown, which softened every 

 outline, emphasized every knot. The tiniest two-leaved shoot, just broken from its 

 acorn, bore its burden of fairy filament, which would increase as the plant grew, asking 

 no sacrifice of sap or light, but only a support upon which the moss could ripen its lowly 

 spores and whence it could with wider vantage shed them abroad. 



My great boulder jutted out from the jungle floor, lichen-painted and moss-softened 

 and for ever shadowed by the dense foliage overhead. Before me seven great oaks 



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