05
The Family of Bob-White
When you have read this story, you will understand better why so many people love the out-of-doors and the study of wild life. The Book of Nature is full of interesting facts. Clarence Hawkes here tells about the life of Bob-White, or the quail. As you will learn, even a harmless bird like Bob-White lives a life of adventure and danger.
BOB-WHITE IN SPRINGTIME
Bob-White was not a showy bird, although his suit was neat and quite jaunty
. His back and shoulders were grayish brown, while his undersides were lighter. The feathers on the top of his head stood up like a small pompadour, and under his throat was a white necktie. Such a dress would not attract the eyes of his enemies—hawks, owls, or men.
Bob-White sat on the top of the gate one spring morning, whistling his merry call, "bob-white, bob, bob-bob-white, bobwhite, bob, bob-white." Each time when he stopped whistling he hopped down on the top bar of the gateway and strutted back and forth like a turkey cock. First he would extend one wing to its full sweep, then the other, and finally spreading both wings and his funny short tail he would strut up and down as if to say, "Now if you want to see a fine bird, just look at me."
But Bob-White was whistling for something else besides good spirits this morning. He was whistling for a wife. Presently down across the fields as though in answer to his calling came a clear "white, white, white." Bob-white heard it and was pleased. He redoubled his calls of "bob-white, bob-white," and listened regularly for the musical "white, white, white" that came in return from a lady quail down in the thicket.
When this calling and answering had gone on for some time, Bob-White flew a way, and his wings made such a whirring sound and struck so fast that this fact alone showed him to be a member of the partridge family. He is the smallest of all the partridges, and is known in parts of the South as the Virginia partridge.
MRS. BOB-WHITE AND HER BROOD
At first Bob-White could not locate the shy little lady quail who had been calling to him from the thicket; but he finally discovered her picking away for dear life at weed-seed, just as though breakfast was much more to her taste than love-making. For a long time she would take no notice of him, but he strutted up and down so long that she finally looked up. Little by little, Bob-White gained her goodwill, until at last she would let him help her scratch for weed-seeds. They spent a very pleasant forenoon together, and the thing was as good as settled. About ten days later Mr. and Mrs. Bob-White selected a place for their nest. It was under the edge of an old fallen log, well screened from view and sheltered from the rain. Each day for more than two weeks Mrs. Bob-White laid an egg in the nest, until the number was sixteen.
Two or three times during the long three weeks that followed, Mr. Bob-White took his turn upon the eggs for half an hour, while his wife went for a dust bath.
About the twentieth of June Mrs. Bob-White appeared, closely followed by fourteen quail chicks. She was clucking and bristling like the good mother partridge that she was, while each of the tiny chicks was spry as a cricket. After the first tiny little creature had picked his way through the shell, his "peep" had set all the others to work, and in half an hour the whole brood had arrived. Then when they had dried and had a little time in which to gain strength, they were ready for the world.
Forth they all came, the mother clucking and bristling and the chicks scampering this way and that, pecking at almost invisible plant-lice and bugs, feeding themselves within the same hour that they came from the nest. For two or three nights Mrs. Bob-White led them back to the old nest, but after that it was given up, and they never returned to it.
FAMILY MISFORTUNES
One night when they were about a week old, Mrs. Bob-White led them to sleep in a little hollow under an over-hanging rock. During the night there was a terrible down-pour of rain, and the hollow filled rapidly. Before the young mother could conduct her chicks to higher and drier ground, three were drowned in the puddle.
For the first two weeks Bob-White stayed with his family trying to protect them and giving his wife much good advice about bringing up children; but she finally told him that she could get along quite well without him, and he flew away. After this, there were no disasters in the quail family for nearly two months.
The August moon hung large and bright above the eastern hills. There was the smell of ripening fruit and corn on the summer night air; the cricket and the katy-did were singing in the grass. Down from the deep woods came Mr. Raccoon, shuffling along across the pasture like a little bear. Soon a fresh puff of night wind brought him a most exciting scent. He knew it quite well. It was that of a bevy of quail in hiding. The old raccoon knew just how they stood in that circular bunch with their tails all together and their heads looking outward, that they might face in every direction.
He flattened himself to the ground and crept forward almost as still as a cat. Now he was no longer like a clumsy little bear; he was a cautious hunter. Once he heard the bevy stirring in their sleep; then he lay very still and waited until the mother bird's "creets" and the soft "peeps" of the chickens had ceased. He now crept forward again. Nearer and nearer he drew, going more cautiously with each step, until at last he was within springing distance. He then flattened himself out on the ground, strained all his muscles until they were like steel, and with a sudden motion sprang full in the midst of the sleeping bevy.
Click, click, click, went his jaws, snapping like lightning in every direction. There was the sudden whir of many wings and a chorus of squeaks, peeps, and squawks from a dozen birds; and in three seconds' time the bevy was gone with the exception of two wounded birds who fluttered feebly in the grass. But a bite apiece from Mr. Raccoon soon stopped their fluttering.
August and September came and went, and the quail family grew plump upon grain and weed-seed, but the loss of grain to the farmer was more than paid for by the weed-seed they destroyed.
October with its corn in the shock and golden pumpkins and harvested grain and fruit was with us when another hunter came down from the great woods. This hunter did not shuffle as the old raccoon had done; his gait was a steady trot. It was Red-Fox, the wise, and a much more successful hunter than the old raccoon.
He, too, got a scent of quail down in the pasture and followed it eagerly. His step was swift and sure, and his nose was keen. Swiftly like a dark shadow he advanced until he located the sleeping quail under an old brush fence. Then he crept forward foot by foot until he was almost upon them, when with a sudden spring he darted into their midst.
Almost at once there could be heard the sudden whir of many wings and cries of fear and pain mingled with the rapid click, click, of the fox's jaws. When the bevy was gone, and Mr. Fox nosed about under the fence, he found he also had bagged a pair of quail.
A FAMILY REUNION
No more misfortunes happened to the quail family until the first day of the hunting season. This day was indeed one of sorrow to the family of Bob-White. Toward night, a biting sleet and rainstorm set in and the hunting ceased, but the quail family had been scattered in every direction. Their friends at the farmhouse wondered if any had survived; so old Ben and a small boy went out into the storm to look for the quail. The old man went ahead with along swinging stride, while the small boy trotted after him.
These two had watched over the quail family from the very first. They had discovered the nest under the old log and had visited it several times while the eggs were hatching. They had fished the three water-soaked chicks out of the puddle after the rainstorm which filled the little hollow where the brood was sleeping that night with their mother. They had also happened upon the remains of the old raccoon's supper, scattered about near that circle of footprints. The evil doings of Red Fox they had likewise discovered while repairing the brush fence. They had also seen the quail many times in neighboring grain fields and had heard their cheery "more wet" before each rainstorm; so it was no wonder that their hearts were heavy tonight.
The old man sprang lightly over the barway into the pasture, while the boy crawled between the bars. They went on for fifteen or twenty rods and then crawled under a clump of small spruce trees and sat down where the leaves were still dry. Suddenly from their very midst came a clear shrill whistle, "bob-white, bob-white, bob-bob-white."
"They are right here in the bush, Ben," exclaimed the boy in an eager whisper.
The old man chuckled and laughed softly.
"That was my call," he whispered. "I had my hand over my mouth so you could not tell where the sound came from."Again he repeated the musical call; he and the boy waited and listened. Then, faint and far across the pasture land, like an echo, came the reply, "bob-white, bob-white, bob-bob-white."
"That's a bob-white," whispered Ben. "Now keep perfectly still and you will hear something worth while."
Presently the two watchers under the little spruce heard the well-known whir of short, fast-beating wings, and a second later Bob-White himself plumped down under the cover within two yards of them. He shook the wet from his wings, preened his feathers for a moment, and then swelling out his breast uttered his sweet call-note. The old man and the boy waited, listening as the real Bob-White sounded his roll call.
Again came the low whistle from far away in the pasture land, but this time it was only "white, white, white." Soon the swift whir of beating wings was heard, and a moment later the second quail alighted under the scrub spruce.
"Cureet, curee, cur-r, cur-r-r," cried Bob-White in soft, quail words of welcome. "Peep, pure-e-, e-e, e-e," replied the chicken. The greeting and reply were scarcely over when another quail whirred under the bush, and another, and still another.
"Cureet, cure-e-e, cur-r, cure-e-e," was the greeting of Bob-White to each newcomer as they huddled together and rejoiced in bird language that they had found one another again. After a few minutes they quieted down, and the listeners knew that the quail had formed themselves into the well-known bunch and fallen asleep; so they stole quietly away, leaving the quail dry and comfortable under the spruce. But it was only part of the family, just Bob-White and four of his chicks; the little hen and the other four had gone away in the hunter's game bag.
BOB-WHITE MEETS DISASTER
One morning in midwinter the small boy who had gone to the pasture that night with Old Ben to search for the quail awoke to find the world ice-clad and snow-bound and in the clutch of a terrible freeze. The windows were so clouded with frost that he could not see out until he had melted the frost with his breath. When he had cleared a window, he cried aloud with grief, for there upon the window sill, huddled close to the glass, was the stiff form of his Bob-White. Poor little Bob-White; he had escaped the hawk, the owl, the weasel, the fox, the raccoon, and the hunter, but the great freeze had caught him, so near and yet so far from cover.
NOTES AND QUESTIONS
1. What was the author's main purpose in writing this story: (a) to tell about the habits of Bob-White, or (b) to make the reader have a kindly and helpful feeling toward Bob-White by showing what a hard time he has keeping alive?
2. This story tells many interesting things about Bob-White, such as his color, how he flies, etc. Make a list of at least six such facts. Label it "Facts About Bob-White." perhaps you can find more.
3. How does Bob-White help the farmer?
4. (a) How do heavy snows make it difficult for birds to keep alive? (You will have to do a little thinking to answer this question.)
(b) If you live on a farm, what can you do to help Bob-White in winter?
5. To show that Clarence Hawkes was a careful student of Nature, tell two things he learned about Bob-White that could be discovered only by careful watching.
perhaps you do not know that Clarence Hawkes has been blind for many years. Yet, so deeply does he love Nature and so closely has he studied it, that he has been able to write many stories of the outdoor world.
