184 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 fled 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 
