INTRODUCTION xxxix 



of efficiency, and form an aerial zone of safety within which foes only of endless 

 patience in waiting, of superb skill in stalking, or fitted for nocturnal hunting can hope 

 to penetrate. 



Pheasants are brave, and remarkably pugnacious, but their use of beak and spur 

 is confined chiefly to contests with rivals of their own species. The hens, with their 

 broods, usually trust to flight and instant dispersal on the part of the young birds, 

 although the Junglefowl are said, like the grouse, sometimes to simulate a broken wing. 

 But with pheasants discretion is the surest solution of safety, and, as I have said, their 

 wing-power is wholly adapted for quick, instantaneous reaction to attack. But it is 

 probable that, even without flight, many species could maintain themselves because of 

 the great development of running powers. The tropical forms almost never take to 

 wing, and I have even seen them make their way, leap by leap, up to some lofty perch 

 without ever raising wing from body. Even the better fliers add immeasurably to the 

 chances of escape by running swiftly after they have alighted in some distant thicket. 

 The birds show considerable discretion in the use of their powers. When attacked by 

 foxes or, unfortunately for them, by the dogs of sportsmen, they know better than to 

 risk a cursorial match with these fleet-footed creatures, and fly at once into the nearest 

 tree to wait until the animals leave. Under normal feral conditions this is a perfect 

 defence, but men and shot-guns are too recent injections into their cosmos to have 

 taught them that it means, in the case of dogs, certain death. When slower-footed foes 

 attack, the more sombrely coloured birds squat, or else escape is made on foot at a pace 

 which, in actual speed, as well as sharp turns and doubles, makes pursuit useless. 

 The longest of tails or trains seem to offer no hindrance at such a time. 



These are the defences which the pheasants offer to enemies after they are 

 threatened or attacked. To keep from being perceived by foes keen of ear and eye is 

 an important part of their lives. When moving about, their slow, high-stepping gait 

 is well adapted to silent progression, and I have seen a flock of large pheasants pass 

 close to me without the least sound to indicate their movement. In this phase of 

 defence, too, the birds have learned to gauge the chances, and they will often scratch 

 loudly among the dead leaves of a forest, trusting to frequent listening to warn them 

 of the approach of danger. 



The avoidance of being seen by enemies is the most interesting phase of this whole 

 subject, and, under the general heading of protective coloration, has been discussed and 

 argued of late by both field and museum naturalists, artists and sportsmen. This 

 discussion, much of it futile, some of it intensely significant, has accomplished one very 

 excellent thing, besides stimulating general interest in the meaning of colour in nature. 

 It has shown that the satisfactory solution of any problem presented, either by technical 

 science or the life histories of wild creatures, must be backed by an explanation capable 

 of logical and philosophical proof. Then, and then only, will it be accepted as truth 

 by all who are interested in the discussion. This will do away with sweeping 

 generalizations, and it will necessitate the testing of each case separately. 



A concrete example of the hopelessness of any compromise occurred recently to me. 



The question was whether the full-plumaged Peacock is protectively coloured or not. 



After living in the haunts of these birds and studying them daily for many weeks 



I became completely convinced that they were not protectively coloured, and that their 



f 



