The Mentor, No. 34,
Game Birds of America

The Mentor

“A Wise and Faithful Guide and Friend”.

GAME BIRDS OF AMERICA

By EDWARD H. FORBUSH, State Ornithologist of Massachusetts

YOUNG GROUSE

The young bird learning to perch above the reach of prowling
enemies.

North America, when discovered by Columbus, probably contained
more game birds than any other continent. The great
falling off in the number of these birds in recent times has been
accentuated by the extinction of the passenger pigeon and the Eskimo
curlew, and the rapid disappearance of many others, among which are
the whooping crane and the sandhill crane, great birds that are gradually
being swept from the continent. The upland plover, formerly abundant
in every suitable grassy region east of the Rocky Mountains, is now facing
extinction, and its salvation is beyond hope, unless the regulations, protecting
it at all times, recently made by the United States Department of
Agriculture, under the Weeks-McLean law, can be enforced. The rails
do not appear to have decreased in number quite so rapidly as have the
shore birds; but from the king rail, the finest of them all, down to the sora
they are much less numerous than in the early years of the last century.

THE RUFFED GROUSE

A RUFFED GROUSE NEST

“Whir-r-r-r-r-r-r—clip-clip-clip—” Heavens! what was that? Anyhow,
it’s gone, and nobody’s hurt. How well I recall the startling sound
that checked in an instant my headlong pursuit of a baby cottontail rabbit
when, from the leaves almost beneath my feet, up sprang a feathered projectile
with thundering wings,
which sped away in headlong
flight through whirling leaves
and bending twigs, disappearing
in an instant in the thick of the
trees. There I (aged eight) stood,
gazing after this new wonder,
while little Cottontail made good
its escape. I had seen my first
grouse, the king of game birds.

YOUNG GROUSE

Confident that they are hidden from the camera man.

In the North this grouse is known as the partridge; Southerners
recognize it as the pheasant; but how few of us know more about it!
How few realize that it flies quietly when undisturbed, or that it has a
variety of notes, ranging from the soft, cooing mother’s call to the harsh
scream or squeal with which she
hurls herself at some enemy of
her brood. Many have heard
the drumming of the male,
“Thump—thump—thump—thump,
thump; thump, thump-rup,
rup rup rup r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r”;
but how many know
that some seasons in some localities
they do not drum at all?
And why not?

RUFFED GROUSE ON NEST

This picture was taken by leaving the camera set all night.
The bird itself pulled a thread which released the shutter early
in the morning.

In my notebooks the nest
of the ruffed grouse figures as
a hollow in the ground, lined
with dead leaves or pine needles.
The eggs range from seven
to twelve; in one case fifteen.
The mother does not commonly cover them on leaving the nest; although
a bird was once seen to do so by dropping straws and leaves on her back
and then sliding out from under.

GROUSE

A favorite drumming log and trysting place.

What keeps the eggs from harm for weeks in the open woods? The
grouse often brings off her young safely not far from the home of hawk,
crow, or fox. Does the mother bird leave no scent by which her many
four-footed enemies can find her? In one case, at least, well trained pointer
and setter dogs could not find the bird on the nest, even after she had
walked away and returned to it. Sometimes a dog or a fox blunders on
the nest, and then the mother, every feather on end, flies at him in an
attempt to drive
him away; but this
does not scare or deceive
cunning Reynard,
and in an instant
his mouth is
full of eggs. Sometimes
a prowling cat
catches the mother
on her eggs at night,
and that ends the
family history; but
in the majority
of cases the eggs
safely hatch.

The little ones all come from the shell together, and are fully equipped
to find their own living. They need the mother only as guard, defender,
and shelter. When they pop out of the eggs they leave the nest forever,
and thenceforth they are at home in Robin Hood’s barn, and sleep wherever
weariness or night overtakes them. A little roving band of downy,
brownie, striped chicks, they keep close together, running here and there,
always hunting, picking insects from grass, ground, and foliage; while
the mother, stalking behind, herds them along with soft and gentle calls,
acting as rear guard, to give warning of any enemy that may be upon
their trail, to lead the destroyer away if she can, to defend them with her
life if she cannot, and to brood them beneath her maternal breast whenever
they are wet, cold, tired, or sleepy. Wherever night finds them there
they snuggle down to sleep, protected from cold and storm by her tireless
devotion. Probably the little ones do not leave much scent; but the
fox, raccoon, mink, weasel, dog, and cat may cross their trail at any
moment, crows, owls, and hawks menace them; yet commonly about
half of them escape all danger and grow and thrive while the summer
waxes and wanes. They learn to
fly by the end of the first week.
Before they are half grown they
leave the ground at night, and
roost with the mother in the trees.

A YOUNG GROUSE

This grouse was but nine months old. At this age the
male is not distinguishable from the female.

When the “leaves begin to
turn” the well grown brood seeks
the wild grapevines and the wild
apple and thorn trees that it
may eat the fruit. When the
first heavy snow falls the few that
have safely run the gantlet of the
guns squat beneath the low-spreading
branches of some evergreen
tree and calmly allow the
snow to cover them if it will.
They are ready for winter now,
and have donned their snowshoes.
What! really? Yes, actually.
They have grown horny processes
on both sides of the toes which
will help to support their weight
on packed snow or thin crust, and
they are perfectly at home on
or under the snow. If a crust
freezes over them, they
make their way beneath
it, feeding on twigs
and ground vegetation
until they can break
out. When pursued
they dive from on wing
into the snow, and push
their way below the
surface, to burst out
again farther on. It
is exceedingly difficult
to starve the grouse.
They will live on frozen
twigs, buds, laurel
leaves, sumac berries,
or birch and alder catkins.
So my notebooks
cover the history of
the grouse through all
the seasons of the livelong year.

THE BOB WHITE

BOB WHITE IN WINTER

These little birds have a hard time
finding food when the snow is on
the ground.

“Bob white! You bob white!” cries a brave
little fowl from the top rail of the old fence.
His call is the embodiment of cheerfulness.
There is something heartening in the sound.
This is due in part to its rich and vigorous
quality, and in part to its rising termination—the
question in the final note—as if it said
“All right there, Fellows?” How different
from the note of the whippoorwill, with its
falling inflection and its general expression of
sad finality. The whippoorwill may be a cheerful bird. One is inclined
to doubt it; but we know Bob White is happy. Just hear him! He looks
it too. Thus this cheerful little optimist makes his way to the hearts
of men. Even the sportsmen who slay him love him, and are often his
best friends,—after the shooting season,—and the epicure loves him—on
toast. Down South they call him partridge. In the North he is
known as the quail; but the ornithologists, who try to settle such matters
for all, have taken his word for it and have named him Bob White.

A YOUNG BOB WHITE

This cheery little manikin is about the most important North American
bird that flies, not excepting even the American eagle. He is the
farmer’s friend. Almost every insect pest of the garden and field is grist
for his mill. All spring and summer he slays his thousands and tens of
thousands, and in the fall he fattens up on millions of weed seeds. Yes,
grain too; but only the waste grain left in the stubble. That is about all
the grain he takes—and, after all this, many farmers get the sportsman
to pay off the taxes on their farms for the privilege of shooting their
little friend! Thus the school taxes are paid, and Bob White settles for
the education of the children.

YOUNG BOB WHITES

The birds in this group are seven weeks old.

The pursuit of Bob White is a blessed boon to many jaded and brain-wearied
business and professional men. Some believe that they have
lengthened their lives by trying to shorten his. How the bird has survived
with so many “friends” thirsting for his blood is hard to tell; but
for all his trustfulness he is not so easily taken. Many gunners have
believed that he can sometimes fool the best dog by “holding his scent.”
I have seen him several times squat close to the ground on the approach
of a dog, draw his head flat
between his shoulders, and
“sit tight” while the dog
poked along, his nose to
the ground, absolutely unconscious
of the whereabouts
of the little bird;
but let a man appear, and
the bird shows more anxiety
and takes greater pains
to get away or hide. I
have seen him, when
alarmed, disappear as if he
had put on a coat of invisibility,
and then, when the
danger was past, grow out
of the scenery, and walk
right toward me from the
very spot on which my
powerful glass had been focused all the time. How he does this is
another story.

Why talk about his habits? Everybody who does not know them
can have a good time studying them; for his life is open for all to see.
What concerns us most is how we can make this useful, companionable
friend to man more plentiful. In the District of Columbia they have
solved the problem by forbidding shooting for the last few years, and there
in some places the chorus of Bob Whites sounds like that of the little frogs
in springtime. A close season for five years on this bird would do more
to stock the country than any other method now known; except, perhaps,
in the northernmost part of its range, where it is sometimes almost
exterminated by a severe winter. Eventually
artificial propagation may solve
our problem; for Bob White is a very
prolific bird.

THE WILD TURKEY

Copyright, 1912, by Outdoor World and Recreation

THE WILD TURKEY

Often called the grandest bird of America.

The ruffed grouse may be the king
of game birds in the field; but the wild
turkey, the largest game bird that flies,
is to my mind king of them all on the
table. A young wild turkey, well
roasted, is a dish for the gods. The
domesticated turkey is not in the same
class; nor is it a descendant of our wild
turkey. It was bred from the Mexican
turkey, a bird of another race, not so
handsome as ours, and having a white
rump. This turkey was domesticated
by the Aztecs, and hundreds of thousands
were bred by them in domestication
long before America was discovered by
Columbus. Europeans received the bird
from the hands of
the Indians. The
white man never
has succeeded in
domesticating any
American game
bird sufficiently to
bring it into general
use. The task
still lies before us.
The American
Ornithologists’
Union now recognizes
but one
species and five
subspecies of the
wild turkey, all of
which are natives
of this continent.

WILD TURKEY

This picture shows a female with its young. It is reproduced from one of the
famous set of plates of “Birds of America,” made by J. J. Audubon.

The range of the species formerly
extended over Mexico, most of the
United States, and into southern Ontario.
The early explorers found it roving
in large flocks along the Atlantic
seaboard, and at times migrating in great
armies in search of food.

A WOODCOCK

We can form little idea today of
the former almost incredible abundance
of these noble birds. Our forefathers
were accustomed to hunt them for the
Thanksgiving dinner, and they rarely
failed to secure a good supply. The bird
is now extinct through the greater part
of its former range. It was hunted, trapped, and shot at all seasons,
and is likely to vanish from the earth unless it can be propagated under
partial domestication and restored to its former habitat.

THE CANADA GOOSE

There is a quality in the cry of the wild geese returning northward
in the spring that stirs the blood of all to whom the “Red Gods” call.
That wild and solemn clamor ringing down the sky is as “the voice of
one crying in the wilderness.” All eyes are turned to follow the baseless
triangle drifting fast across the sky. What memories are awakened by
that resounding call,—memories of open marsh or prairie, sounding shore
and placid bay, lake or river, scenes of a wilderness of waters or of plains;
for the wild goose is a bird of the waste places! Two hundred years ago
it nested over the greater part of the continent; but civilization and market
hunting have confined it now mainly to the vast morasses of the
North, where it seeks some island in the
marshy lands and there makes its nest.

RING-NECK PLOVER

This bird mother is brooding a chick.

The goose normally mates for life,
and as its life is reckoned to last about
one hundred years the partnership, barring
accidents, is a long one; but life is
full of accidents. The goose does not
reach maturity early, and therefore does
not breed for the first few years. The
gander is not such a goose as he looks;
for in his constant watch over mate,
nest, and young he shows both courage
and sagacity. He defends his mate and
brood to the utmost extremity. He is
said to be a victor sometimes over
the crafty fox, and he easily drives
away the deer or elk when his young
are in danger. The goslings take to
the water early; but they like to
go ashore to feed on the green grass
and herbage of the uplands, and there
they often run into trouble. One of
their greatest aquatic enemies is the
snapping turtle. I have known one of
these monsters to capture a full grown
goose by catching its foot. In the
fierce struggle that followed the goose
escaped only by tearing its leg from
the socket, and died a miserable death
from the result of its fearful wound.

CANADA GOOSE

The male is standing and the female sitting.

When advancing winter seals the
waters of their northern home, the
geese gather in flocks, rise in air, and
turn their faces to the south. They
travel by well known landmarks, and
unlike many sea fowl often become
confused in a fog. Therefore, I believe they never intentionally fly
out of sight of land; though they often cross wide bays and inlets.

THE MALLARD

The mallard is a cosmopolitan, the wild duck of the world, the progenitor
of the domestic duck, and the chief water fowl of the game preserve.
Its eggs and flesh formed a considerable part of the food of Indians
and early settlers. Vast numbers of mallards formerly bred not only in
Canada and Alaska, but in the western United States. Tons and tons
of these birds were killed for their feathers by Indians and halfbreeds in the
South and West. Boats loaded to the gunwales, wagons piled with
ducks, to be given away; tons of birds spoiled before they could be shipped,
then hauled out and dumped into the coulées; markets glutted and marketmen
unable to handle the birds,—these were all episodes of the time
of plenty. The result of this appalling waste, and the settlement of a
large part of their breeding grounds, has been a tremendous decrease in
the number of mallards in the country; but the birds may be readily
replaced by protection and artificial propagation, and the mallard is not
in any immediate danger of extinction.

BLACK DUCKS

The birds are gathering to feed.

It nests in marsh or slough wherever it is undisturbed. The little
ones, when hatched, soon reach shallow water, where they are perfectly
at home. They swim about the sedge and water plants, catching insects,
and when danger threatens keep concealed and sheltered by the herbage.
They are often in peril, not only from hawks, owls, eagles, gulls, and
herons, foxes, minks, and dogs, but they are attacked on all sides in their
own element. Great frogs and fish spring to seize them with open mouths.
Turtles prey upon them, and in the South alligators devour many.
When a dog scents the little family in shoal waters and rushes in, the
mother throws herself in his way and flutters off as if sorely wounded.
While he chases her eagerly, his open mouth close to her tail, the little
ones dive and swim away, more under water than above it, and, leaving
the slough, crawl through the grass to the next refuge, hiding there safely
until all danger is passed. Inherited experience has taught them the
way of life, that
their species may be
perpetuated.

THE CANVASBACK

BLACK DUCKS

These birds were purposely flushed and taken on the first upward spring.

Long live the
canvasback! His
fame has gone farther,
perhaps, than
that of any other
American game
bird. Some epicures
rank him above the
little-neck, the lobster,
or the terrapin,
and he is considered
a greater luxury
than quail on toast.
Yet the canvasback,
when deprived
of its favorite food,
the wild celery, is
hardly superior to
the despised mud-hen.
Wilson tells
us that many years
ago a vessel loaded
with wheat was
wrecked near Great
Egg Harbor. The
wheat floated out in quantities, and soon the bay was “covered” with a
new kind of duck unknown to the local gunners. They had great sport
for three weeks, shooting canvasbacks, and sold them for twenty-five
cents a pair; but did not discover the particular excellence of their flesh.
They finally learned what they were and that they might have disposed
of them for four times the sum they had received.

Redheads, which feed to a great extent on wild celery, often appear
on the table masquerading as canvasbacks. In one case, at least, the
gunner sold to some innocent clerks a lot of fish-eating sheldrakes or mergansers
under the name of canvasbacks. I am told that the dishes that
resulted were about as palatable as a bundle of old stewed kerosene lampwicks.

No longer ago than 1850 canvasbacks hovered in interminable flocks
about Chesapeake Bay. Over ten thousand people were accustomed to
shoot there. These ducks were then plentiful in all first class restaurants
and hotels of the East. The glories of Chesapeake Bay as a shooting
ground have largely departed, and canvasback ducks are now rarely seen
on tables where they formerly appeared often; but there is still a stock of
breeding birds left, and with adequate protection it will be long before
we see the last of the species. So far as I know, no one has as yet succeeded
in breeding this bird in captivity. Therefore we cannot depend
on artificial propagation; but must protect the stock of wild birds.

DUCKS SWIMMING ACROSS A BAY

Editorial

The legend of The Mentor must by this
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It is printed on the cover, “A Wise and
Faithful Guide and Friend.” We have
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MENTOR as given by one of the highest
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RUFFED GROUSE

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

ONE

The drumming of a ruffed grouse is like the sound of
a rattlesnake: only those who have heard it know
what it is like. It seems to come from any part of
the thicket or woods, like the voice of a ventriloquist.
Sometimes it resembles distant thunder or the rumble
of wheels. Early in spring the male steps cautiously out on a
log, first making sure that no fox or
weasel is hiding near. His rich chestnut
hue, with purple or bronze on the ruffs,
and white-barred tail, harmonizes beautifully
with the shadows of the surrounding
spruce thicket. Then he rises on tiptoe,
and with wings held out a little way from
the body begins his thump, thump, thump—faster
and faster until it dies away in a
mere rumbling. Hunters at one time supposed
that this sound was made by the
wings striking against the log or stump;
but it is now known to be produced by
rapid vibration of the quill feathers.
Usually there are hen grouse nearby who
sneak up through the leaves to watch his
performance. He takes them all if he can
find them, for the grouse cock prefers a
harem; and they go about in a flock together.
Day after day the drummer returns
to his favorite log, until the warm
weather comes on.

Sportsmen often speak of shooting
pheasants, when in reality they mean
grouse; for there are no native pheasants
in the United States, the nearest approach
being, strangely enough, our wild turkey.
Often the ruffed grouse is spoken of as a
partridge—and where that is so Bob
White is called a quail.

Still plentiful in spite of many thousand
guns aimed at its life, the grouse ranges
over the whole of northern North America,
making short migrations in search of food
or winter quarters. Sometimes when wintering
in tall timber it eats great quantities
of laurel buds; which, gunners say,
makes the flesh highly poisonous for food.
The survival of this game bird in such
great numbers is due in a large measure
to the whir of its flight, which serves a
double purpose, startling the gunner and
warning all other birds in the neighborhood.
Some sportsmen never become accustomed
to the sound; but are always
unnerved and powerless to shoot the bird
that makes it. One gunner, after having
stood paralyzed before each grouse as it
started up near him and whirred away out
of range, roused himself with a desperate
effort, and as the next thundered away
brought the gun to his shoulder, shouting
“Bang!” at the top of his lungs, while the
grouse sped on unharmed.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

BOB WHITE

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

TWO

Bob White is a brisk, enterprising little fellow with
a heart full of hope, as his cheery greeting will tell
you. He has been subjected to much discussion.
“Bob White is quail,” say some; others insist that
there are no quail in America and that Bob White is partridge.
An acknowledged authority states that Bob White is called
quail in the North and East, while in the
South and West he is partridge. Wherever
the ruffed grouse is called pheasant Bob
White is called partridge; where the
grouse is known as partridge Bob White is
called quail.

And we all know what he calls himself
whenever he has his little say—and what
he says of himself is gladly accepted
everywhere. Bob White is a popular
favorite among game birds on account of
his attractive habits and the fact that
he is to be found in almost all sections
of the country—and wherever found he
displays the qualities that make good
hunting. He lives more in the open
than the ruffed grouse, and by his
admirers he is counted a finer game
bird.

Bob White varies in color, in size, and
in quality as a game bird in various sections
of the United States, West Indies,
Mexico, and Central America. As the
ruffed grouse becomes less common and
more difficult to get, on account of the
disappearance of our forests, Bob White
is assuming more and more the rank of
the leading American game bird. For that
reason the game law is strict, and sportsmen
are much concerned in propagating
the species. The effect of this is to
change somewhat the qualities that have
characterized Bob White in different localities.
For example, the robust, hardy,
and large-sized Bob White that was known
in the New England States in past years
is now extinct, and it has been replaced
by a somewhat less sturdy type of bird
introduced from Kansas and the Carolinas.
These birds, not accustomed to the
rigorous winter of the northern states,
have a hard time when the weather is
bitterly cold. In a severe winter in New
England poor little “planted” Bob White
is, in the most pathetic sense of the phrase
of the day, “up against it.” He has to
be sheltered and fed largely by his human
friends. Some day, no doubt, as the
natural law of survival works it out, Bob
White will grow hardy and self-sustaining
under the severest conditions in the northern
states.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

WILD TURKEY

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

THREE

Imagine an old gobbler leading his hens about the
forest near some Puritan settlement. They stretch
their long necks here and there over the leaves,
picking up acorns and chestnuts, when suddenly
one finds a grain of corn, and another, and another, leading
off in a straight line. Away go the turkeys scrambling over
one another, and the greedy gobbler
makes sure of his share. The train of
corn leads along through dense underbrush,
turns sharp to the left and under
an old log. Without noticing what is
beyond, the turkeys go down through a
trench, their heads to the ground, and
come up on the other side of the log,
where there is more grain spread all
round. After a few minutes the corn is
eaten, and the gobbler looks around for
a hole to get out by. He finds that there
are four dark walls surrounding his flock,
and overhead are logs with space enough
between to let in the light, but not to let
out the turkeys. They walk around craning
their necks up at the light; for they
have bad memories, and depend on sharp
eyesight to get them out of trouble. The
trench goes down under the log, and therefore
no light comes through it—a circumstance
that the turkey does not think
about. So the poor gobbler and all his
flock stay in the trap, because they do
not know enough to go out the opening
they came in by.

The turkey does not come from the
Turkish empire; but is a distinctly American
bird. The Pilgrim fathers, when they
heard it say, “Turk, turk, turk” may have
thought of that name, or it may have been
given by those adventurers who first carried
the bird to Europe. Turkeys were
domesticated in Mexico by the Montezumas,
and specimens were taken from there
to the West Indies about 1520, and introduced
from the West Indies into Europe.
Later the European birds were brought to
America. Our domestic turkey therefore
is a Mexican bird, differing from the native
turkey of this region.

Wild birds are now rare. In the southern
Adirondacks and even parts of the
West, where there are still enough to
tempt the hunter, they furnish excellent
sport; for the old gobbler is a wise bird
when traps are forbidden. The usual
method of hunting is by tracks in the
snow,—a difficult sport, requiring especial
skill; for the turkey flies long distances
if pursued. In the West it has been
hunted on horseback with greyhound.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

CANADA GOOSE

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

FOUR

There is no more exhilarating sound in nature than
the sonorous honking of wild geese. Who has not
at some time in his life heard, far aloft, the well-known
trumpet “Honk!” and the prompt answers
all down the two lines as the V-shaped flock winged swiftly
forward? Usually the geese fly in a broad, V-shaped line; but
this is not constant, and one sometimes
sees them flying in a long, whiplike curve.
This seems to be when they are temporarily
disturbed, as by some strong
change in the air currents. But it seldom
lasts long, as the birds soon rearrange
themselves in their geometrical angle formation.
In the raw, windy days at winter’s
end, as the flocks fly north, the old
gander’s cry is accepted as a guarantee of
spring, and hailed with joy.

The Canada goose is the largest of the
wild geese of North America. Its average
length is about thirty-five inches, and it
usually weighs fifteen pounds or even
more. This bird has a jet black head and
neck, with a conspicuous white crescent
encircling the throat. The black on the
neck ends abruptly where the neck joins
the body, and the general tone of the
latter is gray-brown. Its neck is longer,
and generally more slender, than those of
other birds.

There are few warier birds than the
Canada goose. Unless the hunter has
much experience or exceptional advantages,
he will find them very hard to get.
The number of birds that still survive
testify to the wariness, the keenness of
vision, and the good judgment of this
much prized bird. For this reason they
will probably long continue to lend their
wonderful charm to our spring and
autumn skies, and to be an inspiring index
upon which the weatherwise base their
forecasts.

The Canada goose winters in Texas,
along the Gulf of Mexico, and in the
sounds and bays of Virginia and the Carolinas,
and goes north early in the spring.
In the summer it inhabits the far North,
from Labrador and the Saskatchewan
regions north to the Arctic Ocean. In
August, like many of the ducks, these
birds molt the entire wing, and at that
season their chief enemies are the Indians
and Eskimos, who catch them in great
numbers.

However, for eating the gander is not
very good. His flesh is strong, tough,
and unpleasant. The females and tender
goslings are far more highly prized as
food.

The gander is very energetic and courageous
in defending his mate on the nest.
W. T. Hornaday, director of the New
York Zoölogical Park, tells an anecdote
that illustrates this. “Last spring,” he
says, “two of our geese paired off and
built a nest on the south bank of the
Mammals’ Pond, in a very exposed situation.
From that time until the young
were hatched the gander never once wandered
from his post. It was his rule never
to go more than sixty feet from the nest,
and whenever anyone approached it he
immediately hastened to intercept the intruder,
hissing and threatening with his
wings in a most truculent manner. Had
anyone persisted in disturbing the female
he would willingly, even cheerfully, have
shed his blood in her defense. His unswerving
devotion to his duty attracted
the admiring attention of thousands of
visitors, and the proudest day of his life
was when the first live gosling was led to
the water, and launched with appropriate
ceremonies.”

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

MALLARD DUCK

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

FIVE

One day late in May a number of years ago, W. T.
Hornaday, director of the New York Zoölogical
Park, when collecting in Montana, found a little
water hole, hardly ten feet in diameter, hiding in
the sunken head of a dry coulée. All around in every direction
for miles and miles the sagebrush, shimmering in the heat of
the early summer, stretched in a billowy
sea. But as he dismounted for a drink,
up from her nest in the sagebrush by the
side of the pool rose a mallard duck.
“And,” says Mr. Hornaday, “as I gazed
in astonishment at this nest and its contents
beside an insignificant bit of water
in a landscape that was certainly not made
for ducks, I understood how it is that this
bird has been able to spread itself all
around the northern two-thirds of the
globe.”

The mallard is the best known and
most generally distributed of wild ducks.
It is found throughout the entire northern
hemisphere. It is the most cosmopolitan
of all wild fowl, and the original stock of
our numerous varieties of tame ducks.

The mallard is wary and wise. It is
one of the largest ducks; it is one of the
handsomest; it is very strong on the
wing, and highly intelligent. The drake,
with his shining green head, mahogany
breast, violet striped wings and pearl-gray
body, is one of our most striking and
beautiful ducks. The female is a very
different looking bird. She is of a modest
brown color, streaked with black.

Mallards are hardy birds. While the
center of winter abundance is in the southern
middle districts, still a number remain
in the New York state marshes until they
freeze over, frequently into December, so
that they are found in company with canvasbacks,
redheads, and the big bluebills.

In England the mallard is known as the
stock duck, because it was the original
stock from which the domestic duck has
descended. It pairs very early in the
year. The ceremonies of courtship require
some little time; but soon after these are
performed the respective couples separate
in search of suitable nesting places. A
little dry grass is usually collected, and
on it the eggs, from nine to eleven in
number, are laid. As soon as incubation
begins the mother starts in to divest herself
of the down that grows thickly beneath
her breast feathers, and adds it to
the nest furniture; so that the eggs are
deeply imbedded in this heat-retaining
substance—a portion of which she is
always careful to pull, as a coverlet, over
her treasures when she leaves them for food.

However, the mother rarely leaves the
nest during the hatching period. When
all the eggs are hatched the brood is led
carefully to water, and throughout the
summer the mother watches over the
chicks until they are full grown and
feathered.

During the summer the mallard molts
all the wing feathers at once; so that for
a month he is unable to fly. Were the
drake, with his conspicuous coloring, to
be left thus helpless, the species would
not long survive, as he would be an easy
prey for all the carnivorous enemies that
surround him. So nature has provided
a temporary protection in the so-called
“eclipse” plumage, which, closely resembling
that of the female, is worn only
during midsummer while the wings are
growing, to be supplanted by the rich
suit in which we see him on his fall trip
to the South.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.

CANVASBACK DUCK

COPYRIGHTED BY LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES, 1906

SIX

The canvasback, most famous of wild fowl, is a purely
and exclusively American species, ranging during
the year over practically the whole North American
continent. But now this duck is little more than a
bird of history. It has been almost exterminated by the
gunners. Once the delight of the epicure, it promises soon to
become a curiosity. Canvasbacks breed
principally in the interior of British America
and Alaska. They make their first
migration southward during October. As
they are a very hardy bird, many canvasbacks
spend the winter in the northern
states. But it is in the middle and southern
states, particularly in the Chesapeake,
that they congregate in greatest numbers.

When they have fed for sometime upon
the vallisneria or wild celery, their flesh
is unexcelled among wild fowl. But if
they are not able to get this food they
taste very little better than the poorer
species, and are far inferior to such river
ducks as the mallard, the dusky duck,
gadwall, teal, or pintail.

Canvasbacks closely resemble redheads
in general appearance. But the long,
straight black bill and darker forehead are
characteristic of the canvasback alone.
The redhead has a moderately short
bluish gray bill and a uniform light chestnut
fluffy head.

Often redheads are substituted for canvasbacks
upon the unknowing purchaser.
On the same feeding grounds one is about
as good as the other. The fraud consists
in that while the price of the redhead is
very reasonable, that of the canvasback
is fabulous.

The canvasback comes nicely to decoys
usually, particularly if live dusky ducks
are used. But they become very cautious
if they are much hunted, especially in the
North, where they go generally in pairs or
small companies. No statelier duck swims
than the game and cautious canvasback
at such times. Aristocratic head held
high, he warily draws in toward the lures.
Every sense is alert. He is ready for an
instant spring at the slightest movement
or sound. Canvasbacks are expert divers.
If only wounded they are hard to retrieve.
They will dive and swim long distances
under the surface, coming up in the rushes
and cattails at the edge of the water.
There it is almost hopeless to try to recover
them.

These ducks are swift flying and strong.
Their average length is about twenty-two
inches. The males look very white when
on the wing. The females have much the
appearance of redheads.

PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 1, No. 34, SERIAL No. 34
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.