60 THE KYAH OR SWAMP PARTRIDGE. 



" It frequents," says Colonel Tickell, "wild places — a sandy 

 soil with thickets of the jungle rose, babool, and other thorns, 

 alternating with beds of reeds and elephant grass, and always 

 near water. It resorts also to such cultivation as lies within 

 half a mile or so of the river, such as ' surson' (mustard), 

 'urhur' (dal), and 'chunna' (gram), but shuns paddy fields, 

 grass meadows, or tree jungle. Very early of a morning, or in 

 the evening, it may be stalked on foot and potted ; but the 

 proper way of shooting this bird is to penetrate the thickets 

 and ' nul bun,' or reed jungle, on elephants, and with a large 

 force of beaters, when the ' khyr' affords as good a day's sport 

 as may be had in a pheasant covert in England. When first 

 beaten up it rises freely, but well within shot, with a loud flurry 

 and often a shrill cackle, and its size makes it an easy shot when 

 the young sportsman becomes used to its sudden flush, and 

 his elephant ceases to start at the sound. If missed, it does not 

 fly far, but it is almost impossible to force it to take wing again ; 

 and a winged bird runs at such a rate, doubling and skulking in 

 the covert, that without good dogs it is hopeless to search for it. 



" Early of a morning and in the evening, during the cold 

 season, the shrill calls of these birds resound along the shores of 

 the river. The notes are so like those of the Grey Partridge 

 that the slight difference which exists can hardly be described 

 in writing. There are the same preliminary ' chucks' and the 

 same syllables, something like chiickeeroo, chuckeeroo, chuckeeroo ; 

 but a tolerably observant ear can at once distinguish the crow 

 of the two birds. The Grass Chukor is, I should say, much 

 the more clamorous of the two. They call to each other, 

 constantly repeating the above strain, till about 8 or 9 A.M., 

 when the sun has dried up the grass. It is a cheery and not un- 

 melodious sound, and familiar enough to the traveller of former 

 days, as his bujjra or pinnace lay moored to the bank, in the 

 gathering twilight, or the first grey 'gloaming' of the morning 

 — when the early breeze off the glorious river wooed him to 

 hasten through his matutinal coffee and cigar, and range, gun 

 in hand, along the shore; or after the diurnal voyage, when 

 fading daylight casts long shadows on the stream, he sat loung- 

 ing on the poop, letting the tiny wreaths from his Manilla melt 

 into the purple eve, and watching the cooking fires of the 

 crew scattered along the bank, sitting and musing till night fell 

 around and the birds' voices were still. 



" Near Pyntee, a very favourite beat for the Grass Chukor, 

 was a swampy tract of some fifty or sixty acres, covered with 

 clumps of elephant grass, and surrounding a deep, muddy 

 pond, or 'nasee,' about 300 yards in length and 150 in breadth, 

 which was remarkable for the multitude of crocodiles its 

 turbid waters sheltered. 



" A writer in the Bengal Sporting Magazine, quoted by Jerdon, 

 says that in the rains, when its usual haunts are flooded, the 



