20 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 
old cock kaleege was squatting on the stump of a fallen tree, and with its feathers all ruffled 
and tail spread, was causing this extraordinary sound by rapidly beating its wings 
against its body.” This latter assertion is an error, corresponding to the long 
controversy which waged about the method of production of the drumming of the 
American ruffed grouse: whether by beating against a hollow log, or against the 
inflated sides of its own body, or merely by the impact of the wings upon the air. The 
latter was soon found to be the sole method, and the same is true of the White-crested 
Kaleege, and indeed of all the members of this extensive group of Gexnaeus pheasants. 
I have seen several of them drumming in a wild state, and all of the more commonly 
kept captive species, and the method never varies. The bird stands rather erect, with 
head and neck stretched out, and with a single motion raises and half opens its wings, 
and imparts to them so rapid a vibration that they seem but a grey haze against the 
body. There is never any question of their touching the body—the hazy arc is not of 
wide extent—somewhat less, in fact, than the corresponding phenomenon in the ruffed 
grouse—and its limits are very distinctly outlined. The sound is produced by the air 
rushing through the tensely-strung flight feathers. As I shall have occasion elsewhere 
to relate, the drumming sometimes has a remarkable ventriloquial quality, and is most 
difficult to locate. The sound is a deep, resonant woof-woof-woof-woof/ sometimes 
drawn out into a reverberating, drum-like roll, woof-r-v-v-r-r-r-r-v-woof !—a sound which 
is like an electric shock to the lover of the wilds where these birds live. I cannot 
believe that the same sudden leap of pulse and thrill of joy at the sound is as keen in 
the sportsman, to whom its chief import is the hope of a shot, as when it stands chiefly 
for the sheer joy of life in the wilderness and the excitement of close association with all 
these splendid wild creatures. 
The statement that the drumming is heard only at the breeding season is not quite 
true, although there is no doubt that its real function is performed at that period. But 
very rarely, even in the autumn or winter, when a cock bird is suspicious of danger and 
yet has neither seen nor heard anything definite—at that moment of inexplicable keenness, 
when some psychological sense of which we as yet know nothing makes the bird /ee/ 
that all is not right, the bird will sometimes drum, almost or quite silently. The 
feathers are apparently held loosely, their edges pliant or separated, for while the wings 
vibrate as rapidly as ever, yet no sound comes forth. I have observed this several times, 
and in more than one species. The impulse in such a case is probably purely nervous 
and unconscious. The bird is tense, every sense on the alert, knowing that all is not 
right, yet with no hint of the character or direction of the danger, and as yet unwilling, 
and knowing not in what direction, to flee. Fear not yet predominating, impatience and 
suspicion produce an irritated, unsettled state of mind which impels it to resort to the 
challenge action, but, tempered with caution, the action alone is manifested, the sound is 
repressed. If I have read the bird’s emotions aright—and such explanation seems well 
within the mental plane of the pheasant—it shows an interesting correlation of widely 
separated seasonal activities with a passing, transient emotion. . 
The nest itself, like that of most pheasants, is scarcely worthy of the name, although 
in some instances there seems a decided attempt to gather materials. This usually takes 
the form of a slight pad or mat of dead leaves, fine grass and moss, and in a depression 
in the centre the eggs are laid. In one instance, where the bird had gathered a greater 
