i84 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



concealed from my point of view. Mankind is probably the bird's greatest enemy at 

 present, in spite of the fact that the great majority of the individuals which live in his 

 vicinity are becoming tainted with domestic blood. 



The senses of sight and hearing are those which protect the Junglefowl from its 

 enemies, the former dominant, while the ears are yet so keenly attuned that the least 

 crack of a twig will often send the bird in headlong flight. Never have I seen a wild 

 bird off its guard for a moment, and although I have lain prone and had a cock come 

 within ten feet, yet it was only because I was perfectly hidden and motionless. On this 

 and on other occasions I have seen the bird under observation become suspicious, and 

 even finally take alarm when I was absolutely certain that through none of its five 

 senses had it received warning of my presence. There seemed to be an intuition, a 

 mental sensing of concealed danger, an indefinite conviction which gradually increased 

 in power and assumed control of the bird's emotions, in spite of the fact that it had as 

 yet no knowledge of the location or character of the peril. In such case it was as likely 

 to make its escape by passing close to my concealed position as in the opposite 

 direction. 



On the general character of the country, the lay of the land and the type of 

 vegetation, as well as the suddenness and degree of extremity of attack, the mode of 

 escape depends. When surprised by dogs or suddenly come upon by a man, especially 

 when a steep, open hillside or plain lies ahead, the birds rise at once and with 

 strong wing-beats swiftly skim down the slope. Where only a dog is concerned, 

 they take to the nearest trees, crane their necks down at their disturber and cackle 

 querulously and noisily. When taking to wing, no utterance other than a sudden 

 terrified cackle is given. But there is no hint of the weak muscles of the barnyard 

 degenerate, and I have told already how they have the power of mounting some 

 distance almost vertically to clear themselves of surrounding dense vegetation. 



If conditions are right they are as ready to escape on foot, running with head 

 and tail low, with long, swift strides which take them almost instantly from view. 

 They are adepts at dodging, and in an almost open field I have seen a cock dash 

 into the shelter of a bush so quickly that the eye could hardly follow. Waiting a 

 favourable opportunity it would make a dash for another clump of foliage, and so 

 on, until the shelter of the jungle was reached. I have seen nearly grown birds, 

 which were not accompanied by their parents, squat, and once I think a solitary hen 

 bird adopted the same tactics until she made certain that I was approaching, 

 when she fied at full speed. I have never seen even an attempt at crouching in his 

 tracks on the part of a cock. 



Of considerable interest is the fact recorded by several reliable observers that 

 the hen with chickens will act like a wounded bird, as in the case of the ruffed grouse 

 and many other species. Osmaston writes me: "The hen simulates a wounded 

 condition, whilst the young crouch motionless and are almost impossible to discover 

 among dead leaves." This act seems best interpreted on the whole as an involuntary 

 convulsion of fear ; since we can hardly credit the bird with even an instinctive mimetic 

 intention ; and certainly not with a conscious desire to reproduce the actions and postures 

 of an injured and dying bird, which she herself has very probably never had the 

 opportunity of witnessing. Natural selection, I think, can easily explain the 



