46 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



were perched twenty feet up in the tree. They flew as soon as the fog thinned, 

 and I found by the sign that their occupation of the tree had been for roosting 

 purposes. 



The kaleege, for the most part, roosted at a moderate height in trees at some 

 distance from the stream. Night after night they would return to the same tree, but if 

 frightened would resort to some other place. In two such instances, the birds, pre- 

 sumably the same pair in each case, again returned to the first roost after an interval of 

 one or two nights. 



The kaleege showed little fear of the native Shans, who worked about their homes 

 in the village, or with huge axes and tiny bows went into the forest for wood. I have 

 seen a pheasant quietly scratching within ten feet of a trail along which Shans were 

 passing from time to time, and close to the sound of chopping. 



Early morning was the best time to observe the birds. Just when the mists were 

 beginning to clear away, but long before the sun reached the mountain tops, if one walked 

 along the trail, the trees and bushes appeared much as near a New England road. Vines 

 clambered high over the trees, and one saw leaves which simulated wild grape, witch 

 hazel and alder. 



A bulbul would open the chorus with a phrase of clear, sweet notes, and a gang 

 of laughing thrushes usually followed with a united guffaw, jay-like. Before the full 

 morning songs of the smaller birds greeted the sun, doves' voices were supreme — coos, 

 high and low, from all directions. Then, softly, as from a distance, came a louder, muffled 

 tone, and the sudden, unexpected break into a cackle which never failed to thrill me. After 

 a space arose a mellow whirr — the sound of wings in rapid motion, and yet how unlike 

 the sound of flight ! The ear at once detected the difference — one the wing-beat set to 

 music, the other the more usual hum of utility. The latter marks the acme of evolution 

 through untold generations of awkward flapping reptiles ; the former reaches the ideal — 

 an approach to our own ability of adapting earthly evolved structures to psychic enjoyments. 



The wing-beat of the kaleege during the period of courtship is beyond doubt a 

 challenge — cocks will respond with foolhardy impetuosity to a poor imitation. But 

 I have known it to be produced by a hen, and have seen the chicks run to her at the 

 sound. I have seen it used, as I have narrated, by the survivors in an attempt to 

 summon a fallen member of the flock. When it is produced in early morning by 

 yearling birds at the end of the rains, I accredit it without hesitation to the same 

 outburst of feeling which prompts the bulbul's song at this non-breeding season — a 

 symbol of sheer exuberant spirits. 



At this time of year (November) the kaleege were in pairs — feeding and roosting 

 together — or in parties of three to five young birds, the sexes sometimes distinct, although 

 occasionally, at a distance from Wau-hsaung, I saw them mingling together. 



There were one or two tigers in the vicinity of Wau-hsaung, but I suppose the birds 

 had little to fear from these large carnivora. But some species of small cat fed regularly 

 on the chocolate squirrels, with a narrow white ventral band, which were so abundant here. 

 I found their tracks often near the haunts of the pheasants, and once I came across the 

 remains of a kaleege strewn about a favourite drinking-place of the cats. Twice I heard 

 pheasants in what must have been sheer extremity — that cry of despair which, even when 

 it emanates from a domestic fowl, serves to silence every bird within hearing. This cat. 



