March 26, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
491 
in the North—especially in the Northeast—“par¬ 
tridge” ; both misnomers, since it is neither. In 
parts of Canada it is called “birch partridge.” 
The grouse spend the winter in thick deep 
swamps or else on steep hillsides in sections 
where evergreens grow which give protection 
from the snow; in dense runs, and white birch 
and other thickets. 
Life is easy for the birds which wander 
about over their limited range, scratching—when 
the snow is not too deep—for the fruit of the 
skunk cabbage, for nuts overlooked in autumn 
by themselves and the squirrels, or if the ground 
is deeply snow-covered and ice-bound, taking 
to the treetops where they glean a plenteous 
harvest and usually come out in spring strong 
and well nourished. In New England and the 
Middle States the mating time comes in early 
April after the weather has grown warm and 
the grass and flowers have begun to spring. By 
this time the grouse has begun to sound his 
drumming call. In a country where grouse are 
plenty you may hear the sound from a hundred 
hills, but you will find it a difficult matter to 
trace it to its source, and when you approach 
the place from which you thought it came, you 
will find it is no longer heard there, and when 
it next reaches your ear it seems a long way off. 
A few years ago in September, in the Rocky 
Mountains, I saw a grouse cross the trail along 
which I was walking and disappear in the bushes 
to the left. The clump of bushes was a small 
one not more than twenty yards across. I 
watched the bird while it was walking perhaps 
ten yards, and then went on, but had hardly 
come to where the bird had crossed the path 
when I heard it drum. The sound was not loud 
and gave the impression of being quite distant. 
I stood still for a moment trying to see the 
bird, but without success, and after a little while 
the drumming began again, still sounding as 
distant as before. I then very quietly made my 
way into the bushes, advancing six or eight yards 
toward the point where I had last seen the grouse, 
but the drumming was not resumed, and after 
a few moments I withdrew, but had hardly 
reached the trail when I again heard the sound. 
A second excursion into the bushes was no more 
successful than the first had been, but somewhat 
later on my return, hearing the drumming, I 
again went into the bushes, and just beyond 
where I had seen the grouse disappear I saw 
it walk away among the brush. This is men¬ 
tioned only to indicate how very faint the sound 
of the drumming may be, even though it be quite 
close at hand. 
Few subjects have been more discussed by 
American naturalists and sportsmen than this 
same drumming, a sound so familiar to outdoor 
men as hardly to need description. It is com¬ 
monly thought to be a mating'call, though by 
no means sounded only at the pairing season in 
spring; for the roll of the drumming, sounding 
like far-off thunder, is often heard in late sum¬ 
mer and autumn. It is possible that this autum¬ 
nal drumming is made by the young males just 
as sometimes in autumn a young male song bird 
may be heard to practice in low tones the lay 
which it will utter during the mating season of 
the following spring. A great variety of ex¬ 
planations have been given of the method by 
which the drumming is produced. It is made 
by the wings, and' the observations of ornitholo¬ 
gists have established the fact that the sound 
is caused by the outspread wings of the bird 
rapidly beating the air without striking the bird's 
body or any other object. Photographs taken 
by Prof. Hodge show the wings meeting in front 
of the breast as the bird sits upright during the 
act. The belief that the resonance of the sound 
is caused in part because while drumming the 
bird stands on a hollow log was long ago aban¬ 
doned. One of the best descriptions of the pro¬ 
cess of drumming is that given by Mr. Manly 
Hardy, of Brewer, Maine, who says: “The 
cock grouse usually selects a mossy log near 
some open hedge, clearing or woods road, and 
partly screened by bushes, where he can see and 
not be seen. When about to drum he erects 
his neck feathers, spreads his tail, and with 
drooping wings steps with a jerky motion along 
a log for some distance each way from his 
drumming place, walking back and forth sev¬ 
eral times and looking sharply in every direc¬ 
tion. Then standing crosswise he stretches him¬ 
self to his fullest height and delivers the blows 
with his wings fully upon his sides, his wings 
SEA LIONS ON THE ROCKS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 
OF THE COAST OF CALIFORNIA. 
being several inches clear from the log. After 
drumming he settles quietly down into a sitting 
posture and remains silently listening for five 
or ten minutes, when, if no cause for alarm is 
discovered, he repeats the process.” 
Ernest E. Thompson in his “Birds of Mani¬ 
toba,” describes the drumming as he saw it. 
It is said that if during the drumming another 
male grouse makes its appearance near the drum¬ 
ming place, the birds fight with much spirit. An 
account of such a battle is given by a corres¬ 
pondent of Forest and Stream who writes from 
Schenectady, N. Y., and signs himself “Dorp.” 
He says, in substance: 
“I was walking along a country road about 
the first of June, when I heard from the depths 
of an adjacent wood an unusual rustling sound 
for which I could not account. The sound stop¬ 
ped, began again, again stopped and was re¬ 
peated at intervals of a minute or two. Not 
knowing what caused the sound I crossed the 
fence and cautiously approached the place. After 
I had gone about fifty yards, screening myself 
as much as possible behind trees, I came up to 
within twenty yards of a large dead log upon 
which stood two ruffed grouse in battle array. 
They stood something like six feet from each 
other with the black feathers around their necks 
raised till they almost pointed toward their heads 
which were lowered, and which they were shak¬ 
ing at each other in defiance. In a few moments 
they gradually approached each other and when 
about two feet apart they rushed together, the 
momentum and their wings carrying them into 
the air about a foot above the log. While there 
they struck repeated blows and then fell back 
to the log where a short tussle took place, when 
they separated and moved back to a distance of 
about six feet from one another. 
“After an interval they advanced toward each 
other again and repeated the same performance 
as before. The desperate battle went on by 
‘rounds’ till several were fought. How long the 
fight had been going on before I came upon the 
scene I had no means of knowing, but after they 
had come together several times in my presence 
the bird that seemed the smaller moved back¬ 
ward, still presenting a defiant attitude, with his 
head lowered, till he came to the end of the 
log, when he jumped off and disappeared. 
“Upon this the victor raised himself and 
stretched up until he nearly stood on his toes, 
expanding his wings at the same time. It looked 
for a moment as if he would crow. Then set¬ 
tling himself back he brought his wings down 
against his breast with a sound like that pro¬ 
duced by forcibly striking a bass drum. Again 
he raised his wings and repeated the sound. 
Still continuing to raise and lower his wings 
more and more rapidly, the sound finally rolled 
away ‘in one continuous murmur and was still.’ 
The sound was indescribable. As soon as he 
had drummed he jumped off the log and disap¬ 
peared. Wishing to know if the female—the 
probable cause of the conflict—was nearby, I ad¬ 
vanced rapidly and started her, together with the 
victor, and a short distance away the defeated 
bird.” 
[to be continued.] 
Capturing and Training Sea Lions. 
It is a big change of life for a sea lion to be 
transferred within a few months from his native 
home on the rugged, wave-washed rocks, far 
out in the Pacific Ocean, where he basks in the 
warm sun or plunges into the foamy brine, to 
the close, dry air of a circus tent or exhibition 
hall, where he is made to go through a long 
course of difficult feats upon a decorated stool, 
while the shouts of amused and interested 
crowds of human beings applaud each action. 
Yet there is probably no animal that takes 
more kindly to this new mode of life, or learns 
more readily than this curious half-dog and 
half-fish that we have often seen as a willing 
and entertaining captive to kind-hearted 
trainers. 
I was never particularly interested in sea 
lions until I saw them in their native haunts, 
living a lazy, happy existence in the balmy 
waters off the coast of Southern California. 
They are often seen swimming in and out be¬ 
tween the rocks of the thickly populated sea¬ 
shore resorts of California, with little or no 
fear of their many curious observers. It is 
vastly more interesting, however, to visit them 
further out at sea, where they congregate in 
large numbers on the rocky projections that 
rise abruptly out of the water, where the big 
combers break, and where pleasure boats rarely 
disturb their repose. Here they lay huddled to- 
