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Title: The Wild Turkey and Its Hunting
Author: McIlhenny, Edward A.
Language: English
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[Illustration: The grandest bird of the American continent]
THE WILD TURKEY
AND ITS HUNTING
BY
EDWARD A. McILHENNY
[Illustration]
_Illustrated from Photographs_
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1914
_Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by_
THE OUTDOOR WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Copyright, 1914, by_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction ix
CHAPTER
I. My Early Training with the Turkeys 3
II. Range, Variation, and Name 12
III. The Turkey Prehistoric 26
IV. The Turkey Historic 39
V. Breast Sponge--Shrewdness 104
VI. Social Relations--Nesting--The
Young Birds 111
VII. Association of Sexes 119
VIII. Its Enemies and Food 134
IX. Habits of Association and Roosting 152
X. Guns I Have Used on Turkeys 163
XI. Learning Turkey Language--Why Does
the Gobbler Gobble 170
XII. On Callers and Calling 181
XIII. Calling Up the Lovelorn Gobbler 198
XIV. The Indifferent Young Gobbler 213
XV. Hunting Turkey with a Dog 218
XVI. The Secret of Cooking the Turkey 233
XVII. Camera Hunting for Turkeys 238
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The grandest bird of the American continent. _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Plate I. Figs. 1 to 5. Types: _M. antiqua_; _M. celer._
Marsh 30
Plate II. Figs. 6 to 10. Views of the skulls of
wild turkeys 45
Plate III. Fig. 11. Left lateral view of the skull
of an old male wild turkey 60
Plate IV. Figs. 12 to 16. Views of the cranium
and skull of the turkey 75
Plate V. Figs. 17 to 19. Views of the skull of
wild turkeys, and skeleton of the left foot of a
wild turkey 80
Plate VI. Figs. 20 to 23. Eggs of wild turkey 90
Plate VII. Fig. 24. Nest of a wild turkey _in situ_ 102
Note the full chest of the gobbler on the left.
This is the breast sponge 106
Nest located in thick brush on top of a ridge in
Louisiana 112
Hen, wild turkey, and three young 116
The beginning of the strut 124
The chief of all his enemies is the "genus homo" 142
An ideal turkey country. They will go a long way
to roost in trees growing in water 156
A hermit. It would take an expert turkey hunter
to circumvent this bird 160
Big woods in Louisiana where the old gobblers
roam at will. A delightful place in which to camp 174
Jordan's Turkey Call (cut in text) 183
I soon saw the old gobbler stealing slowly through
the brush 190
"Cluck," "put," "put," there stands a gobbler,
within twenty paces to the left 202
Suddenly there was a "Gil-obble-obble-obble," so
near it made me jump 206
The soft, gentle quaver of the hen has no effect on
the ear of the young gobbler 216
INTRODUCTION
Although many eminent naturalists and observers have written of the
turkey from the date of its introduction to European civilization
to the present time, there has been no very satisfactory history of
the intimate life of this bird, nor has there been a satisfactory
analysis of either the material from which our fossil turkeys are
known, or the many writings concerning the early history of the bird
and its introduction to civilization. I have attempted in this work
to cover the entire history of this very interesting and vanishing
game bird, and believe it will fill a long-felt want of hunters and
naturalists for a more detailed description of its life history.
This work was begun by Chas. L. Jordan and would have been completed
by him, except for his untimely death in 1909.
Mr. Jordan for more than sixty years was a careful observer and
lover of the wild turkey, and for many years the study of this bird
occupied almost his entire time. I feel safe in saying that Mr.
Jordan knew more of the ways of the wild turkey in the wilds than
any man who ever lived. No more convincing example of his patience
and perseverance in his study of the bird can be given than the
accompanying photographs, all of which were taken of the wild birds
in the big outdoors by Mr. Jordan.
At the time of Mr. Jordan's death he was in his sixty-seventh year
and was manager of the Morris game preserve of over 10,000 acres,
near Hammond, La. He had been most successful in attracting to
this preserve a great abundance of game, and was very active in
suppressing poaching and illegal hunting. His activity in this cause
brought about his death, as he was shot in the back by a poacher
during the afternoon of February 24, 1909, for which Allen Lagrue,
his murderer, is now serving a life sentence in the penitentiary.
I had known Mr. Jordan for a number of years before his death and was
much interested in his work with the turkey, as I, for years, had
been carrying on similar studies. After Mr. Jordan's death, through
the kindness of Mr. John K. Renaud, I secured his notes, manuscript,
and photographic plates of the wild turkey, and with these, and my
knowledge of the bird, I have attempted to compile a work I think he
would have approved.
Mr. Jordan from time to time wrote articles on the wild turkey for
sporting magazines, among them _Shooting and Fishing_, and parts of
his articles are brought into the present publication. I have carried
out the story of the wild turkey as if told by Mr. Jordan, as his
full notes on the bird enable me to do this.
I am indebted to Dr. R. W. Shufeldt for his chapter on the fossil
turkey, the introduction of the turkey to civilization, and
photographs accompanying his two chapters, written at my request
especially for this work.
E. A. M.
THE WILD TURKEY AND ITS HUNTING
CHAPTER I
MY EARLY TRAINING WITH THE TURKEYS
My father was a great all-round hunter and pioneer in the state of
Alabama, once the paradise of hunters. He was particularly devoted to
deer hunting and fox hunting, owning many hounds and horses. He knew
the ways and haunts of the forest people and from him my brothers and
I got our early training in woodcraft. I was the youngest of three
sons, all of whom were sportsmen to the manner born. My brothers and
myself were particularly fond of hunting the wild turkey, and were
raised and schooled in intimate association with this noble bird;
the fondness for this sport has remained with me through life. I
therefore may be pardoned when I say that I possess a fair knowledge
of their language, their habits, their likes and dislikes.
In the great woods surrounding our home there were numbers of wild
turkeys, and I can well remember my brother Frank's skill in calling
them. Every spring as the gobbling season approached my brothers and
myself would construct various turkey calls and lose no opportunity
for practising calling the birds. I can recall, too, when but a mere
lad, coming down from my room in the early morning to the open porch,
and finding assembled the family and servants, including the little
darkies and the dogs, all in a state of great excitement. I hastened
to learn the cause of this and was shown with admiration a big
gobbler, and as I looked at the noble bird, with its long beard and
glossy plumage, lying on the porch, I felt it was a beautiful trophy
of the chase.
"Who killed it?" I asked. "Old Massa, he kill 'im," came from the
mouths of half a dozen excited little darkies. A few days later
my brothers brought in other turkeys. This made me long for the
time when I would be old enough to hunt this bird, and these happy
incidents inspired me with ambition to acquire proficiency in turkey
hunting, and to learn every method so that I might excel in that
sport.
As I grew older, but while still a mere lad, I would often steal to
the woods in early morning on my way to school, and, hiding myself
in some thick bush, sitting with my book in my lap and a rude cane
joint or bone of a turkey's wing for a call in my hand, I would watch
for the turkeys. When they appeared I would study every movement of
the birds, note their call, yelp, cluck, or gobble, and I gradually
learned each sound they made had its meaning. I would study closely
the ways of the hens and their conduct toward the young and growing
broods; I would also note their attention to the old or young
gobblers, and the mannerisms of the male birds toward the females.
All this time I would be using my call, attempting to imitate every
note that the turkeys made, and watching the effect. These were my
rudimentary and earliest lessons in turkey lore and lingo, and what I
have often called my schooling with the turkeys.
At this age I had not begun the use of a rifle or shotgun on turkeys,
although I had killed smaller game, such as squirrels, rabbits,
ducks, and quail. I was sixteen years of age when I began to hunt
the wild turkeys. I discovered then that although I was able to do
good calling I had much more to learn to cope successfully with the
wily ways of this bird. It took years of the closest observation
and study to acquire the knowledge which later made me a successful
turkey hunter, and I have gained this knowledge only after tramping
over thousands of miles of wild territory, through swamps and
hummocks, over hills and rugged mountain sides, through deep gulches,
quagmires, and cane brakes, and spending many hours in fallen
treetops, behind logs or other natural cover, not to be observed, but
to observe, by day and by night, in rain, wind, and storm. I have
hunted the wild turkeys on the great prairies and thickets of Texas,
along the open river bottoms of the Brazos, Colorado, Trinity, San
Jacinto, Bernardo, as well as the rivers, creeks, hills, and valleys
of Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, and Louisiana. With all modesty, I
believe I have killed as many old gobblers with patriarchal beards
as any man in the world. I do not wish to say this boastfully, but
present it as illustrative of the experience I have had with these
birds, and particularly with old gobblers, for I have always found a
special delight in outwitting the wary old birds.
I doubt not many veteran turkey hunters have in mind some old gobbler
who seemed invincible; some bird that had puzzled them for three or
four years without their learning the tricks of the cunning fellow.
Perhaps in these pages there may be found some information which will
enable even the old hunter to better circumvent the bird. I am aware
that there are times when the keenest sportsmen will be outwitted,
often when success seems assured.
How well I know this. Many times I have called turkeys to within a
few feet of me; so near that I have heard their "put-put." And they
would walk away without my getting a shot. Often does this occur
to the best turkey hunter, on account of the game approaching from
the rear, or other unexpected point, and suddenly without warning
fly or run away. No one can avoid this, but the sportsman who
understands turkeys can exercise care and judgment and kill his bird,
where others unacquainted with the bird fail. I believe I can take
any man or boy who possesses a good eye and fair sense, and in one
season make a good turkey hunter of him. I know of many nefarious
tricks by which turkeys could be easily secured, but I shall not
tell of any method of hunting and capturing turkeys but those I
consider sportsmanlike. Although an ardent turkey hunter, I have too
much respect for this glorious bird to see it killed in any but an
honorable way. The turkey's fate is hard enough as it is. The work
of destruction goes on from year to year, and the birds are being
greatly reduced in numbers in many localities. The extinction of
them in some states has already been accomplished, and in others it
is only a matter of time; but there are many localities in the South
and West, especially in the Gulf-bordering states, where they are
still plentiful, and with any sort of protection will remain so. Some
of these localities are so situated that they will for generations
remain primeval forests, giving ample shelter and food to the turkey.
A novice might think it an easy matter to find turkeys after seeing
their tracks along the banks of streams or roads, or in the open
field, where they lingered the day before. But these birds are not
likely to be in the same place the following day; they will probably
be some miles away on a leafy ridge, scratching up the dry leaves and
mould in quest of insects and acorns, or in some cornfield gleaning
the scattered grain; or perhaps they might be lingering on the banks
of some small stream in a dense swamp, gathering snails or small
crustacea and water-loving insects.
To be successful in turkey hunting you must learn to rise early in
the morning, ere there is a suspicion of daylight. At such a time the
air is chilly, perhaps it looks like rain, and on awakening you are
likely to yawn, stretch, and look at the time. Unless you possess the
ardor of a sportsman it is not pleasant to rise from a comfortable
bed at this hour and go forth into the chill morning air that
threatens to freeze the marrow in your bones. But it is essential
that you rise before light, and if you are a born turkey hunter
you will soon forget the discomforts. It has been my custom, when
intending to go turkey hunting, never to hesitate a moment, but, on
awakening in the morning, bound out of bed at once and dress as soon
as possible. It has also been my custom to calculate the distance I
am to go, so as to reach the turkey range by the time or a little
before day breaks. I have frequently risen at one or two o'clock in
the morning and ridden twelve miles or more before daybreak for the
chance to kill an old gobbler.
Early morning from the break of day until nine o'clock is the very
best time during the whole day to get turkeys; but the half hour
after daybreak is really worth all the rest of the day; this is the
time when everything chimes with the new-born day; all life is on the
move; diurnal tribes awakening from night's repose are coming into
action, while nocturnal creatures are seeking their retreats. Hence
at this hour there is a conglomeration of animal life and a babel
of mingled sounds not heard at any other time of day. This is the
time to be in the depths of the forest in quest of the wild turkey,
and one should be near their roosting place if possible, quietly
listening and watching every sound and motion. If in the autumn or
winter you are near such a place, you are likely to hear, as day
breaks, the awakening cluck at long intervals; then will follow the
long, gentle, quavering call or yelp of the mother hen, arousing her
sleeping brood and making known to them that the time has arrived for
leaving their roosts. If in the early spring, you will listen for the
salutation of the old gobbler.
CHAPTER II
RANGE, VARIATION, AND NAME
When America was discovered the wild turkey inhabited the wooded
portion of the entire country, from the southern provinces of
Canada and southern Maine, south to southern Mexico, and from
Arizona, Kansas, and Nebraska, east to the Atlantic Ocean and the
Gulf of Mexico. As the turkey is not a migratory bird in the sense
that migration is usually interpreted, and while the range of the
_species_ is one of great extent, as might be expected, owing to
the operation of the usual causes, a number of _subspecies_ have
resulted. At the present time, ornithologists recognize four of these
as occurring within the limits of the United States, as set forth in
Chapter IV beyond.
In countries thickly settled, as in the one where I now write, there
is a great variety of wild turkeys scattered about in the woods of
the small creeks and hills. Many hybrid wild turkeys are killed
here every year. The cause of this is: every old gobbler that dares
to open its mouth to gobble in the spring is within the hearing of
farmers, negroes, and others, and is a marked bird. It is given no
rest until it is killed; hence there are few or no wild turkeys to
take care of the hens, which then visit the domestic gobbler about
the farm-yards. Hence this crossing with the wild one is responsible
for a great variety of plumages.
I once saw a flock of hybrids while hunting squirrels in Pelahatchie
swamp, Mississippi, as I sat at the root of a tree eating lunch,
about one o'clock, with gun across my lap, as I never wish to be
caught out of reach of my gun. Suddenly I heard a noise in the
leaves, and on looking in that direction I saw a considerable flock
of turkeys coming directly toward me in a lively manner, eagerly
searching for food. The moment these birds came in sight I saw they
had white tips to their tails, but they had the form and action of
the wild turkey, and it at once occurred to me that they were a lot
of mixed breeds, half wild, half tame, with the freedom of the
former. I noticed also among them one that was nearly white and one
old gobbler that was a pure wild turkey; but it was too far off to
shoot him. Dropping the lunch and grasping the gun was but the work
of a second; then the birds came round the end of the log and began
scratching under a beech tree for nuts. Seeing two gobblers put their
heads together at about forty yards from me, I fired, killing both.
The flock flew and ran in all directions. One hen passed within
twenty paces of me and I killed it with the second barrel. A closer
examination of the dead birds convinced me that there had been a
cross between the wild and the tame turkeys. The skin on their necks
and heads was as yellow as an orange, or more of a buckskin, buff
color, while the caruncles on the neck were tinged with vermilion,
giving them a most peculiar appearance; all three of those slain had
this peculiar marking, and there was not a shadow of the blue or
purple of the wild turkey about their heads, while all other points,
save the white-tipped feathers, indicated the wild blood.
Shortly after the foregoing incident, while a party of gentlemen,
including my brother, were hunting some five miles below the same
creek, they flushed a flock of wild turkeys, scattering them; one of
the party killed four of them that evening, two of which (hens) were
full-blood wild ones. One of the remaining two, a fine gobbler, had
as red a head as any tame gobbler, and the tips of the tail and rump
coverts were white. The other bird (a hen) was also a half-breed.
There was no buff on their heads and necks, but the purple and blue
of the wild blood was apparent.
Early the next morning my brother went to the place where the turkeys
were scattered the previous afternoon, and began to call. Very soon
he had a reply, and three fine gobblers came running to him, when he
killed two, one with each barrel; now these were full-blood wild ones.
I have noted that a number of wild turkeys in the Brazos bottoms are
very different in some respects from the turkeys of the piney woods
in the eastern section of that state. In Trinity County, Texas, I
found the largest breed of wild turkeys I have found anywhere, but
in the Brazos bottoms the gobblers which I found there in 1876,
in great abundance, were of a smaller stature, but more chunky or
bulky. Their gobble was hardly like that of a wild turkey, the sound
resembling the gobble of a turkey under a barrel, a hoarse, guttural
rumble, quite different in tone from the clear, loud, rolling gobble
of his cousin in the Trinity country. The gobblers of the Brazos
bottoms were also distinguishable by their peculiar beards. In
other varieties of turkeys three inches or less of the upper end of
the beard is grayish, while those of the Brazos bottoms were more
bunchy and black up to the skin of the breast. There is a variety of
turkeys in the San Jacinto region, in the same state, which is quite
slender, dark in color, and has a beard quite thin in brush, but long
and picturesque. His gobble is shrill. This section is a low plain,
generally wet in the spring, partly timbered and partly open prairie.
It is a great place for the turkey.
Since the days of Audubon it has been prophesied that the wild
turkey would soon become extinct. I am glad to say that the
prophecies have not been realized up to the present time, even
with the improved implements of destruction and great increase of
hunters. There is no game that holds its own so well as the wild
turkey. This is particularly true in the southern Gulf States, where
are to be found heavily timbered regions, which are suited to the
habits of this bird. Here shelter is afforded and an ample food
supply is provided the year round. In the states of Florida, Alabama,
Mississippi, North Carolina, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Arkansas,
Missouri, and the Indian Territory the wild turkey is still to be
found in reasonable abundance, and if these states will protect them
by the right sort of laws, I am of the opinion that the birds will
increase rapidly, despite the encroachment of civilization and the
war waged upon them by sportsmen. It is not the legitimate methods
of destruction that decimate the turkey ranks, as is the case with
the quail and grouse, but it is the nefarious tricks the laws in
many states permit, namely, trapping and baiting. The latter is by
far the most destructive, and is practised by those who kill turkeys
for the market, and frequently by those who want to slaughter these
birds solely for count. No creature, however prolific, can stand
such treatment long. The quail, though shot in great numbers by both
sportsmen and market hunters, and annually destroyed legitimately
by the thousands, stands it better than the wild turkey, although
the latter produces and raises almost as many young at a time as the
quail.
There are two reasons for this: one is, the quail are not baited and
shot on the ground; the other reason is that every bobwhite in the
spring can, and does, use his call, thus bringing to him a mate; but
the turkey, if he dares to gobble, no matter if he is the only turkey
within a radius of forty miles, has every one who hears him and can
procure a gun, after him, and they pursue him relentlessly until he
is killed. Among the turkeys the hens raised are greatly in excess of
the gobblers. This fact seems to have been provided for by nature in
making the male turkey polygamous; but as the male turkey is, during
the spring, a very noisy bird, continually gobbling and strutting
to attract his harem, and as he is much larger and more conspicuous
than the hens, it is only natural that he is in more danger of being
killed. Suppose the proportion of gobblers in the beginning of the
spring is three to fifteen hens, in a certain stretch of woods. As
soon as the mating season begins, these gobblers will make their
whereabouts known by their noise; result--the gunners are after them
at once, and the chances are ten to one they will all be killed. The
hens will then have no mate and no young will be produced; whereas,
if but one gobbler were left, each of our supposed fifteen hens would
raise an average of ten young each, and we would also have 150 new
turkeys in the fall to yield sport and food. It has always been my
practice to leave at least one old gobbler in each locality to assist
the hens in reproduction. If every hunter would do this the problem
of maintaining the turkey supply would be greatly solved.
The greatest of all causes for the decrease of wild turkeys lies in
the killing of all the old gobblers in the spring. Some say the
yearling gobblers will answer every purpose. I say they will not;
they answer no purpose except to grow and make gobblers for the next
year. The hens are all right--you need have no anxiety about them;
they can take care of themselves; provided you leave them a male
bird that gobbles, they will do the rest. Any suitable community can
have all the wild turkeys it wants if it will obtain a few specimens
and turn them into a small woodland about the beginning of spring,
spreading grain of some sort for them daily. The turkeys will stay
where the food is abundant and where there is a little brush in which
to retire and rest.
Some hunters, or rather some writers, claim that the only time the
wild turkey should be hunted is in the autumn and winter, and not in
the spring. I have a different idea altogether, and claim that the
turkey should not be hunted before November, if then, December being
better. By the first of November the young gobbler weighs from seven
to nine pounds, the hens from four to seven pounds; in December and
January the former weighs twelve pounds and the latter nine pounds.
There you are. But suppose you did not hunt in the spring at all. How
many old, long-bearded gobblers (the joy and delight above every sort
of game on earth to the turkey hunter) would you bag in a year, or
a lifetime? Possibly in ten years you would get one, unless by the
merest accident, as they are rarely, if ever, found in company with
the hens or young gobblers, but go in small bands by themselves, and
from their exclusive and retiring nature it is a rare occasion when
one is killed except in the gobbling season.
Take away the delight of the gobbling season from the turkey hunter,
and the quest of the wild turkey would lose its fascination. In so
expressing myself, I do not advise that the gobblers be persecuted
and worried all through the gobbling season, from March to June, but
believe they could be hunted for a limited time, namely, until the
hens begin to lay and the gobblers to lose their fat--say until the
first of April. Every old turkey hunter knows where to stop, and
does it without limitation of law. Old gobblers are in their best
condition until about the first of April, then they begin to lose
flesh very rapidly. At this time hunting them should be abandoned
altogether.
In my hunting trips after this bird I have covered most of the
southern states, and have been interested to note that all the
Indians I have met called the turkey "Furkee" or "Firkee"; the
tribes I have hunted with include the Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks,
Seminoles, and the Cherokees, who live east of the Mississippi River,
and the Alabams, Conchattas, and Zunis of the west. Whether their
name for the bird is a corruption of our turkey, or whether our
word is a corruption of their "Furkee," I am not prepared to state.
It may be that we get our name direct from the aboriginal Indians.
All of the Indian tribes I have hunted with have legends concerning
the turkey, and to certain of the Aztec tribes it was an object of
worship. An old Zuni chief once told me a curious legend of his
people concerning this bird, very similar to the story of the flood.
It runs:
Ages ago, before man came to live on the earth, all birds, beasts,
and fishes lived in harmony as one family, speaking the same
language, and subsisting on sweet herbs and grass that grew in
abundance all over the earth. Suddenly one day the sun ceased to
shine, the sky became covered with heavy clouds, and rain began to
fall. For a long time this continued, and neither the sun, moon,
nor stars were seen. After a while the water got so deep that the
birds, animals, and fishes had either to swim or fly in the air,
as there was no land to stand on. Those that could not swim or fly
were carried around on the backs of those that could, and this kept
up until almost every living thing was almost starved. Then all the
creatures held a meeting, and one from each kind was selected to go
to heaven and ask the Great Spirit to send back the sun, moon, and
stars and stop the rain. These journeyed a long way and at last found
a great ladder running into the sky; they climbed up this ladder
and found at the top a trapdoor leading into heaven, and on passing
through the door, which was open, they saw the dwelling-place of
man, and before the door were a boy and girl playing, and their
playthings were the sun, moon, and stars belonging to the earth. As
soon as the earth creatures saw the sun, moon, and stars, they rushed
for them and, gathering them into a basket, took the children of man
and hurried back to earth through the trapdoor. In their hurry to get
away from the man whom they saw running after them, the trapdoor was
slammed on the tail of the bear, cutting it off. The blood spattered
over the lynx and trout, and since that time the bear has had no
tail, and the lynx and trout are spotted. The buffalo fell down and
hurt his back and has had a hump on it ever since. The sun, moon, and
stars having been put back in their places, the rain stopped at once
and the waters quickly dried up. On the first appearance of land, the
turkey, who had been flying around all the time, lit, although warned
not to do so by the other creatures. It at once began to sink in the
mud, and its tail stuck to the mud so tight that it could hardly fly
up, and when it did get away the end of its tail was covered with mud
and is stained mud color to this day. The earth now having become
dry and the children of man now lords of the earth, each creature was
obliged to keep out of their way, so the fishes took to the waters
using their tails to swim away from man, the birds took to their
wings, and the animals took to their legs; and by these means the
birds, beasts, and fishes have kept out of man's way ever since.
Before dealing with the wild turkeys as they are to-day, it will
be well to make a short study of their prehistoric and historic
standing; this has been ably done for me by Dr. R. W. Shufeldt of
Washington, D. C., who has very kindly written for this work the
next two chapters entitled "The Turkey Prehistoric," and "The Turkey
Historic."
CHAPTER III
THE TURKEY PREHISTORIC
Probably no genus of birds in the American avifauna has received
the amount of attention that has been bestowed upon the turkeys.
Ever since the coming to the New World of the very first explorers,
who landed in those parts where wild turkeys are to be found,
there has been no cessation of verbal narratives, casual notices,
and appearance of elegant literature relating to the members of
this group. We have not far to seek for the reason for all this,
inasmuch as a wild turkey is a very large and unusually handsome
bird, commanding the attention of any one who sees it. Its habits,
extraordinary behavior, and notes render it still more deserving
of consideration; and to all this must be added the fact that wild
turkeys are magnificent game birds; the hunting of them peculiarly
attractive to the sportsman; while, finally, they are easily
domesticated and therefore have a great commercial value everywhere.
The extensive literature on wild and domesticated turkeys is by
no means confined to the English language, for we meet with many
references to these fowls, together with accounts and descriptions
of them, distributed through prints and publications of various
kinds, not only in Latin, but in the Scandinavian languages as well
as in French, German, Spanish, Italian, and doubtless in others of
the Old World. Some of these accounts appeared as long ago as the
early part of the sixteenth century, or perhaps even earlier; for
it is known that Grijalva discovered Mexico in 1518, and Gomarra
and Hernandez, whose writings appeared soon afterward, gave, among
their descriptions of the products of that country, not only the wild
turkey, but, in the case of the latter writer, referred to the wild
as well as to the domesticated form, making the distinction between
the two.
In order, however, to render our history of the wild turkeys in
America as complete as possible, we must dip into the past many
centuries prior to the discovery of the New World by those early
navigators. We must go back to the time when it was questionable
whether man existed upon this continent at all. In other words, we
must examine and describe the material representing our extinct
turkeys handed us by the paleontologists, or the fossilized remains
of the prehistoric ancestors of the family, of which we have at
hand a few fragments of the greatest value. These I shall refer
to but briefly for several reasons. In the first place, their
technical descriptions have already appeared in several widely known
publications, and in the second, what I have here to say about them
is in a popular work, and technical descriptions are not altogether
in place. Finally, such material as we possess is very meagre in
amount indeed, and such parts of it as would in any way interest the
general reader can be referred to very briefly.
The fossil remains of a supposed extinct turkey, described by
Marsh[1] as _Meleagris altus_ from the Post-pliocene of New Jersey,
is, from the literature and notices on the subject, now found to be
but a synonym of the _Meleagris superba_ of Cope from the Pleistocene
of New Jersey. At the present writing I have before me the type
specimen of _Meleagris altus_ of Marsh, for which favor I am indebted
to Dr. Charles Schuchert of the Peabody Museum of Yale University. My
account of it will be published in another connection later on.
Some years after Professor Marsh had described this material as
representing a species to which I have just said he gave the specific
name of _altus_, it would appear that I did not fully concur in the
propriety of doing so, as will be seen from a paper I published
on the subject about fifteen years ago[2]. This will obviate the
necessity of saying anything further in regard to _M. superba_.
So far as my knowledge carries me, this leaves but two other fossil
wild turkeys of this country, both of which have been described
by Professor Marsh and generally recognized. These are _Meleagris
antiqua_ in 1871, and _Meleagris celer_ in 1872. My comments on both
of these species will be found in the _American Naturalist_ for July,
1897, on pages 648, 649.[3]
[Illustration: PLATE I
Types: _M. antiqua_; _M. celer_. Marsh
Fig. 1. Anconal aspect of the distal extremity of the right
humerus of "_Meleagris antiquus_" of Marsh. Fig. 2. Palmar
aspect of the same specimen shown in Fig. 1. Fig. 3. Anterior
aspect of the proximal moiety of the left tarso-metatarsus of
_Meleagris celer_ of Marsh. Fig. 4. Posterior aspect of the
same fragment of bone shown in Fig. 3. Fig. 5. Outer aspect of
the same fragment of bone shown in Figs. 3 and 4. All figures
natural size. Reproduced from photographs made _direct_ from
the specimens by Dr. R. W. Shufeldt.]
It will be noted, then, that _Meleagris antiqua_ of Marsh is
practically represented by the _imperfect_ distal extremity of a
right humerus; and that _Meleagris celer_ of the same paleontologist
from the Pleistocene of New Jersey is said to be represented by the
bones enumerated in a foregoing footnote. In this connection let it
be borne in mind that, while I found fossil specimens of _Meleagris
g. silvestris_ in the bone caves of Tennessee, I found no remains of
fossil turkeys in Oregon, from whence some classifiers of fossil
birds state that _M. antiqua_ came (A. O. U. Check-Listed, 1910, p.
388[4]).
On the 19th of April 1912, I communicated by letter with Dr. George
F. Eaton, of the Museum of Yale University, in regard to the fossils
described by Marsh of _M. antiqua_ and _M. celer_, with the view of
borrowing them for examination. Dr. Eaton, with great kindness, at
once interested himself in the matter, and wrote me (April 20, 1912)
that "We have a wise rule forbidding us to lend type material, but
I shall be glad to ask Professor Schuchert to make an exception in
your favor." In due time Prof. Charles Schuchert, then curator of
the Geological Department of the Peabody Museum of Natural History
of Yale University, wrote me on the subject (May 2, 1912), and with
marked courtesy granted the request made of him by Dr. Eaton, and
forwarded me the type specimen of Marsh of _M. antiqua_ and _M.
celer_ by registered mail. They were received on the 3rd of May,
1912, and I made negatives of the two specimens on the same day. It
affords me pleasure to thank both Professor Schuchert and Dr. Eaton
here for the unusual privilege I enjoyed, through their assistance,
in the loan of these specimens;[5] also Dr. James E. Benedict,
Curator of Exhibits of the U. S. National Museum, and Dr. Charles
W. Richmond of the Division of Birds of that institution, for their
kindness in permitting me to examine and make notes upon a mounted
skeleton of a wild turkey (_M. g. silvestris_) taken by Prof. S. F.
Baird at Carlisle, Penn., many years ago. Mr. Newton P. Scudder,
librarian of the National Museum, likewise has my sincere thanks for
his kindness in placing before me the many volumes on the history
of the turkey I was obliged to consult in connection with the
preparation of this chapter.
From what has already been set forth above, it is clear that Marsh's
specimen (for he attached but scant importance to the _other
fragments_ with it), upon which he based "_Meleagris antiquus_" was
not taken in Oregon, but in Colorado.[6] Both of these fossils I
have very critically compared with the corresponding parts of the
bones represented in each case in the skeleton of an adult wild
turkey (_Meleagris g. silvestris_) in the collection of mounted bird
skeletons in the U. S. National Museum.
Taking everything at my command into consideration as set forth
above, as well as the extent of Professor Marsh's knowledge of the
osteology of existing birds--not heretofore referred to--I am of the
opinion, that in the case of his _Meleagris antiqua_, the material
upon which it is based is altogether too fragmentary to pronounce,
with anything like certainty, that it ever belonged to a turkey at
all. In the first place, it is a very _imperfect_ fragment (Plate
1, Figs. 1 and 2); in the second, it does not typically present the
"characteristic portions" of that end of the humerus in a turkey,
as Professor Marsh states it does. Thirdly, the distal end of the
humerus is by no means a safe fragment of the skeleton of hardly any
bird to judge from. Finally, it is questionable whether the genus
_Meleagris_ existed at all, as such, at the time the "Miocene clay
deposits of northern Colorado" were deposited.
That this fragment may have belonged to the skeleton of some big
gallinaceous fowl the size of an adult existing _Meleagris_--and long
ago extinct--I in no way question; but that it was a _true turkey_, I
very much doubt.
Still more uncertain is the fragment representing _Meleagris celer_
of Marsh. (Plate 1, Figs. 3-5.) The tibia mentioned I have not
seen, and of them Professor Marsh states that they only "probably
belonged to the same individual" (see _antea_). As to this proximal
moiety of the tarso-metatarsus, it is essentially different from the
corresponding part of that bone in _Meleagris g. silvestris_. In it
the _hypotarsus_ is twice grooved, longitudinally; whereas in _M. g.
silvestris_ there is but a single median groove. In the latter bird
there is a conspicuous osseous ridge extending far down the shaft
of the bone, it being continued from the internal, thickened border
of the hypotarsus. This ridge is only _indicated_ on the fossil
bone, having either been broken off or never existed at all. In any
event it is not present in the specimen. The general _facies_ of the
fossil is quite different from that part of the tarso-metatarsus in
an existing wild turkey, and to me it does not seem to have come
from the skeleton of the pelvic limb of a meleagrine fowl at all. It
may have belonged to a bird of the galline group, not essentially a
turkey; while on the other hand it may have been from the skeleton
of some large wader, not necessarily related to either the true
herons or storks. Some of the herons, for example, (_Ardea_) have
"the hypotarsus of the tarso-metatarsus three-crested, graduated in
size, the outer being the smaller; the tendinal grooves pass between
them."[7] As just stated, the hypotarsus of the tarso-metatarsus
in _Meleagris celer_ of Marsh is three-crested, and the tendinal
grooves pass between them. In _M. g. silvestris_ this process is but
two-crested and the median groove passes between them.
The _sternum_ of the turkey, if we have it practically complete, is
one of the most characteristic bones of the skeleton; but Professor
Marsh had no such material to guide him when he pronounced upon his
fossil turkeys. Had I made new species, based on the fragments of
fossil long bones of all that I have had for examination, quite a
numerous little extinct avifauna would have been created.
"It is often a positive detriment to science, in my opinion, to
create new species of fossil birds upon the distal ends of long
bones, and surely no assistance whatever to those who honestly
endeavor to gain some idea of the avian species that really existed
during prehistoric times."[8]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Marsh, O. C. Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci., Phila., 1870, p. 11. Also
Am. Jour. Sci., IV, 1872, 260. In a letter to me under date of April
25, 1912, Dr. George F. Eaton of the Museum of Yale University, New
Haven, Conn., writes that "Type of _Meleagris altus_ is in Peabody
Museum with other types of fossil _Meleagris_." At the present
writing I am not informed as to what these "other types" are; and I
am writing of the opinion that the museum referred to by Doctor Eaton
has no fossil meleagrine material that has not, up to date, been
described. See also Amer. Nat., Vol. IV, p. 317.
Cope, E. D. "Synopsis of Extinct Batrachia, etc." _Meleagris
superbus_ (Trans. Amer. Philos. Soc., N. S. XIV, Pt. 1, 1870, 239).
A long and careful description of _M. superbus_ [superba] will be
found here, where the species is said to be "established on a nearly
perfect right tibia, an imperfect left one, a left femur with the
condyles broken off, and a light coracoid bone, with the distal
articular extremity imperfect."
[2] Shufeldt, R. W., "On Fossil Bird-Bones Obtained by Expeditions
of the University of Pennsylvania from the Bone Caves of Tennessee."
The Amer. Nat., July, 1897, pp. 645-650. Among those bones were many
belonging to _M. g. silvestris_. Professor Marsh declined to allow me
to even see the fossil bones upon which he based the several alleged
new species of extinct _Meleagridæ_ which he had described.
[3] Marsh, O. C. [Title on page 120.] _Meleagris antiqua._ Amer.
Journ. Sci., ser. 3, II, 1871, 126. From this I extract the following
description, to wit:--
_Meleagris antiquus_, sp. nov.
A large Gallinaceous Bird, approaching in size the wild Turkey,
and probably belonging to the same group, was a contemporary
of the _Oreodon_ and its associates during the formation of
the Miocene lake deposits east of the Rocky Mountains. The
species is at present represented only by a few fragments
of the skeleton, but among these is a distal end of a right
humerus, with the characteristic portions all preserved. The
specimen agrees in its main features with the humerus of
_Meleagris gallopavo_ Linn., the most noticeable points of
difference being the absence in the fossil species of the broad
longitudinal ridge on the inner surface of the distal end,
opposite the radial condyle, and the abrupt termination of the
ulnar condyle at its outer, superior border.
Measurements
Greatest diameter of humerus at distal end 12. lines
Transverse diameter of ulnar condyle 3.4 "
Vertical diameter of same 4. "
Transverse diameter of radial condyle 4.25 "
The specimens on which this species is based were discovered
by Mr. G. B. Grinnell of the Yale party, in the Miocene clay
deposits of northern Colorado.
_Ibid._ IV, 1878, 261. [Title on p. 256.] "Art XXX. Notice of some
new Tertiary and Post-Tertiary Birds." From this article by Professor
Marsh I extract the following:
_Meleagris celer_, sp. nov.
A much smaller species of the same genus is represented by two
tibiae and the proximal half of a tarso-metatarsal, which were
found together, and probably belonged to the same individual.
The tibia is slender, and has the shaft less flattened from
before backward than in the last species [_M. altus_]. The
distal half of the shaft has its anterior face more distinctly
polygonal. From the head of the tibia a sharp ridge descends
a short distance on the posterior face, where it is met by an
external ridge of similar length. The tarso-metatarsal has
the external ridge of the proximal end more prominent, and
the posterior tendinal crest more ossified than in the larger
species. The remains preserved indicate a bird about half the
bulk of _M. altus_.
Measurements.
Length of tibia 183. mm
Greatest diameter of proximal end 34. "
Transverse diameter of shaft at middle 9.6 "
Transverse diameter of distal end 16.5 "
Antero-posterior diameter of outer condyle 10. "
Transverse diameter of proximal end of tarso-metatarsus 19. "
Antero-posterior diameter 14. "
On page 260 is described _Meleagris altus_:
_Meleagris altus_ [Marsh]. Proc. Phila. Acad. 1870, p. 11, and
Amer. Nat., Vol. IV, p. 317. (_M. superbus_ Cope, Synopsis Extinct
Batrachia etc., p. 239.)
(Followed by description and the following measurements of the fossil
bones.)
Length (approx.) of humerus 159.5 mm
Greatest diameter proximal end 42. "
Greatest diameter distal end 33. "
Length of coracoid 122. "
Transverse diameter of lower end 37.5 "
Length of femur 150. "
Transverse diameter of distal end 31. "
Length of tibia 243. "
Transverse diameter of distal end 18. "
Length of tarso-metatarsus 176. "
Transverse diameter of proximal end 23. "
Distance from proximal end to spur 110. "
(A number of differences as compared with existing species are
enumerated)
[4] Shufeldt, R. W. A Study of the Fossil Avifauna of the Equus Beds
of the Oregon Desert. Journ. Acad. Nat. Sci., Phila., ser. 2, IX,
1892, pp. 389-425. Pls. XV-XVII. Advance abstracts of this memoir
were published in The Auk (Vol. VIII, No. 4, October, 1891, pp.
365-368). The American Naturalist (Vol. XXV, No. 292, Apr., 1891,
pp. 303-306, and _ibid._ No. 297, Sept., 1891, pp. 818-821) and
elsewhere. Although no turkeys were discovered among these fossils,
there were bones present of extinct grouse.
[5] Upon examining this material after it came into my hands, I found
first, in a small tube closed with a cork, the distal end of the
right humerus of some large bird. The cork was marked on the side,
"Type," on top "_Mel. antiquus_. G. Ranch. Col. G. B. G. August
6, 1870." The specimen is pure white, thoroughly fossilized, and
imperfect. The second of the two specimens received is in a small
pasteboard box, marked on top "Birds. Meleagris, sp. nov. N. J.,
_Meleagrops celer_ (type)." The specimen is the imperfect, proximal
moiety of the left tarso-metatarsus of a rather large bird. It is
thoroughly fossilized, earth-brown in color, with the free borders
of the proximal end considerably worn off. On its postero-external
aspect, written in ink, are the words "_M. celer_."
[6] In making this statement, I take the words of Dr. Geo. Bird
Grinnell as written on the cork of the bottle containing the specimen
to be correct, and not the locality given elsewhere. (The A. O. U.
Check-List of North American Birds. Third Edition, 1910, p. 388.)
Moreover, the specimen is pure white, which is characteristic of
the fossils found in the White River region of Colorado. This is
confirmed by Professor Marsh in his article quoted above.
[7] Shufeldt, R. W. "Osteological Studies of the Subfamily Ardeinæ."
Journ. Comp. Med. and Surg., Vol. X, No. 4, Phila., October, 1889,
pp. 287-317.
[8] Shufeldt, R. W. Amer. Nat, July. 1897. p. 648. I have had no
occasion to change my opinion since.
CHAPTER IV
THE TURKEY HISTORIC
Having disposed of such records as we have of the extinct ancestors
of the American turkeys--the so-to-speak meleagrine records--we can
now pass to what is, comparatively speaking, the modern history of
these famous birds, although some of this history is already several
centuries old.
We have seen in the foregoing chapter that all the described fossil
species of turkeys have been restricted to the genus _Meleagris_, and
this is likewise the case with the existing species and subspecies.
Right here I may say that the word _Meleagris_ is Greek as well as
Latin, and means a guinea-fowl. This is due to the fact that when
turkeys were first described and written about they were, by several
authors of the early times, strangely mixed up with those African
forms, and the two were not entirely disentangled for some time,
as we shall see further on in this chapter. In modern ornithology,
however, the generic name of _Meleagris_ has been transferred from
the guinea-fowls to the turkeys. These last, as they are classified
in "The A. O. U. Check-List of the American Ornithologists' Union,"
which is the latest authoritative word upon the subject, stand as
follows:
Family MELEAGRIDÆ. Turkeys.
Genus MELEAGRIS Linnæus.
_Meleagris_ Linnæus, Syst. Nat., ed. 10, 1, 1758, 156. Type, by
subs, desig., _Meleagris gallopavo_ Linnæus (Gray, 1840).
_Meleagris gallopavo_ (Linnæus).
Range.--Eastern and south central United States, west to
Arizona and south to the mountains of Oaxaca.
a. [Meleagris gallopavo gallopavo. Extralimital.]
b. Meleagris gallopavo silvestris Vieillot. Wild Turkey
[310_a_].
_Meleagris silvestris_ Vieillot Nouv., Dict. d'Hist. Nat., IX,
1817, 447.
Range.--Eastern United States from Nebraska, Kansas, western
Oklahoma, and eastern Texas east to central Pennsylvania,
and south to the Gulf coast; formerly north to South Dakota,
southern Ontario, and southern Maine.
c. Meleagris gallopavo merriami Nelson. Merriam's Turkey [310].
_Meleagris gallopavo merriami_ Nelson, Auk, XVII, April, 1900,
120.
(47 miles southwest of Winslow, Arizona.)
Range.--Transition and Upper Sonoran zones in the mountains of
southern Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, western Texas, northern
Sonora, and Chihuahua.
d. Meleagris gallopavo osceola Scott. Florida Turkey [310_b_].
_Meleagris gallopavo osceola_ Scott, Auk, VII, Oct., 1890, 376.
(Tarpon Springs, Florida.)
Range.--Southern Florida.
e. Meleagris gallopavo intermedia Sennett. Rio Grande Turkey
[310_c_].
_Meleagris gallopavo intermedia_ Sennett. Bull. U. S. Geol. &
Geog. Surv. Terr., V, No. 3, Nov., 1879, 428. (Lomita, Texas.)
Range.--Middle northern Texas south to northeastern Coahuila,
Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas.
The presenting of the above list here does away with giving, in the
history of the wild turkeys, any of the very numerous changes that
have taken place through the ages which led up to its adoption. The
discussion of these changes, as a part of meleagrine history, would
make an octavo volume of two hundred pages or more.
It may be said here, however, that the word _gallopavo_ is from the
Latin, _gallus_ a cock, and _pavo_ a peafowl, while the meanings
of the several words _silvestris_, _merriami_, _osceola_, and
_intermedia_ are self-evident and require no definitions.
Audubon, who gives the breeding range of the wild turkey as extending
"from Texas to Massachusetts and Vermont" (Vol. V., p. 56), says of
them in his long account: "I have ascertained that some of these
valuable birds are still to be found in the states of New York,
Massachusetts, Vermont, and Maine. In the winter of 1832-33, I
purchased a few fine males in the city of Boston"; and further, "At
the time when I removed to Kentucky, rather more than a fourth of a
century ago, turkeys were so abundant that the price of one in the
market was not equal to that of a common barn-fowl now. I have seen
them offered for the sum of three pence each, the birds weighing from
ten to twelve pounds. A first-rate turkey, weighing from twenty-five
to thirty pounds avoirdupois, was considered well sold when it
brought a quarter of a dollar."[9]
From these remarks we may imagine how plentiful wild turkeys must
have been on the North American continent, when Aristotle wrote
his work "On Animals," over three hundred years before the birth of
Christ, upward of twenty-three centuries ago! A good many changes can
take place in the avifauna of a country in that time.
How these big, gallinaceous fowls ever got the name of "turkey" has
long been a matter of dispute; and not a few ornithologists and
writers of note in the 16th and 17th centuries erroneously conceived
that the term had something to do either with the Turks or their
country. But this idea has now been entirely abandoned, for it has
become quite clear that, during the times mentioned, the turkey was
strangely confused with the guinea-fowl, a bird to which the name
turkey was originally applied.
Later on, both these birds became more abundant, as more of them were
domesticated and reared in captivity, and the fact was gradually
realized that they were entirely different species of fowls. During
these times, the word turkey was finally applied only to the New
World species, and the West African form was thereafter called
"Guinea-fowl."[10] After the word turkey was more generally applied
to the bird now universally so known, some believe that there was
another reason as to how it came about, and this "possibly because of
its reputed call-note," says Newton, "to be syllabled _turk, turk,
turk_, whereby it may be almost said to have named itself." (Notes
and Queries, ser. 6, III, pp. 23, 369.)[11]
[Illustration: PLATE II
Fig. 6. Superior view of the skull of an old male wild turkey;
lower jaw removed. No. 9695, Coll. U. S. National Museum. Fig.
7. Lower jaw or mandible of the skull shown in Fig. 6., seen
from above. Fig. 8. Superior view of a skull of a wild turkey
and probably a female. Lower jaw removed and shown in Fig. 9.
No. 19684, Coll. U. S. National Museum. Fig. 9. Lower jaw of
the skull shown in Fig. 8. Superior aspect. Fig. 10. Upper view
of the skull of a wild Florida turkey (_Meleagris g. osceola_);
lower jaw removed and not figured. Female. No. 18797, Coll.
U. S. National Museum. All the figures in this plate are
reproductions of photographs of the specimens made natural size
by Dr. Shufeldt. Reduced about one-fourth.]
So much for the origin of the name _turkey_; and when one comes to
search through the literature devoted to this fowl to ascertain who
first described the wild species, the opinion seems to be pretty
general that this was done by Oviedo in the thirty-sixth chapter of
his "Summario de la Natural Historia de las Indias," which it is
stated appeared about the year 1527.
Professor Spencer F. Baird, apparently quoting Martin, says: "Oviedo
speaks of the turkey as a kind of peacock abounding in New Spain,
which had already in 1526 been transported in a domestic state to the
West India Islands and the _Spanish Main_, where it was kept by the
Christian colonists."[12]
In an elegant and comprehensive article on "The Wild Turkey," Bennett
states: "Oviedo, whose Natural History of the Indies contains the
earliest description extant of the bird, and whose acquaintance
with the animal productions of the newly discovered countries was
surprisingly extensive. He speaks of it as a kind of Peacock found
in New Spain, of which a number had been transported to the islands
of the Spanish Main, and domesticated in the houses of the Christian
inhabitants. His description is exceedingly accurate, and proves that
before the year 1526, when his work was published at Toledo, the
turkey was already reduced to a state of Domestication."[13]
Again, in a very elaborate and now thoroughly classical contribution,
Pennant states: "The first precise description of these birds is
given by Oviedo, who, in 1525, drew up a summary of his greater
work, the History of the Indies, for the use of his monarch Charles
V.[14] This learned man had visited the West Indies and its islands
in person, and paid particular regard to the natural history. It
appears from him, that the Turkey was in his days an inhabitant
of the greater islands and of the mainland. He speaks of them as
Peacocks; for being a new bird to him, he adopts that name from the
resemblance he thought they bore to the former. 'But,' says he, 'the
neck is bare of feathers, but covered with a skin which they change
after their phantasie into diverse colours. They have a horn (in the
Spanish Peçon corto) as it were on their front, and hairs on the
breast.' (In Purchas, III, 995.) He describes other birds which he
also calls Peacocks. They are of the gallinaceous genus, and known by
the name of Curassao birds, the male of which is black, the female
ferruginous."[15]
Dr. Coues, who has also written an article on the history of the
wild turkey, which, by the way, is mainly composed of a lengthy
quotation from the above cited article of Bennett's, says: "Linnæus,
however, knew perfectly well that the turkey was American. He says
distinctly: 'Habitat in America septentrionali,' and quotes as his
first reference (after Fn. Soec. 198), the _Gallopavo sylvestris novæ
angliæ_, or New England Wild Turkey of Ray. Brisson distinguished
the two perfectly, giving an elaborate description, a copious
synonomy, and a good figure of each; and from about this time it may
be considered that the history of the two birds, so widely diverse,
was finally disentangled, and the proper habitat ascribed to each."
(Refers to first describers of the pintado and turkey.)[16]
So much for the earliest describers of the wild turkey, and I
shall now pass on to the general history of the bird, and, through
presenting what has been collected for us by the best authors on the
subject, endeavor to show how, after the wild turkey was found in
America by different navigators and explorers, it was brought, from
time to time, to several of the countries of the Old World--chiefly
Spain and Great Britain--from whence it probably was taken, upon
different occasions, into other countries of the continent.
Wild turkeys have always been easy to capture, and we are aware of
the fact that they are quite capable of crossing the Atlantic on
shipboard in comfort and safety, landing in as good a condition--if
properly cared for during the voyage--as when they left America.
Josselyn (1672) in his _New England Rarities_ (p. 9) has not a little
to say on this point.
As already stated, the literature and bibliography of the turkey
is quite sufficient to fill a good many volumes. Nothing of
importance, however, has been added to it, gainsaying what we now
have as a truthful account of the bird's introduction into Europe.
Indeed Buffon (Ois, II, pp. 132-162), Broderip (_Zool. Recreat._
pp. 120-137), Pennant (_Arct. Zool._ pp. 291-300), and others,
practically cleared up nearly all the points on this part of the
turkey's history, making but a few statements that are not wholly
reliable and worthy of acceptance. Pennant very properly ignored in
his work Barrington's essay (_Miscellanies_, pp. 127-151) in which
the latter attempted to prove that turkeys were known before America
was discovered, and that they were shipped over there subsequently to
its discovery!
I have already cited above Pennant's article in the Philosophical
Transactions of the Royal Society of London (1781), and quoted
from it to some extent. It is one of the standard writings on the
wild turkey invariably referred to by all authors when writing on
the history of that bird. As it is only accessible to the few, and
so full of reliable information, I propose to give here, somewhat
in full, those paragraphs in it having special reference to the
historical side of our subject, and in doing so I retain the spelling
and composition of the original production.
"Belon, ('Hist. des Oys.,' 248) the earliest of those writers," says
Pennant, "who are of the opinion that these birds were natives of the
old world, founds his notion on the description of the Guinea-fowl,
the Meleagrides of Strabo, Athenæus, Pliny, and others of the
ancients. I rest the refutation on the excellent account given by
Athenæus, taken from Clytus Milesius, a disciple of Aristotle, which
can suit no other than that fowl. 'They want,' says he, 'natural
affection towards their young; their head is naked, and on the top
is a hard round body like a peg or nail; from their cheeks hangs a
red piece of flesh like a beard. It has no wattles like the common
poultry. The feathers are black, spotted with white. They have no
spurs; and both sexes are so alike as not to be distinguished by
the sight.' Varro (Lib. III. c. 9.) and Pliny (Lib. X. c. 26) take
notice of the spotted plumage and the gibbous substance on the head.
Athenæus is more minute, and contradicts every character of the
Turkey, whose females are remarkable for their natural affection, and
differ materially in form from the males, whose heads are destitute
of the callous substance, and whose heels (in the males) are armed
with spurs."
"Aldrovandus, who died in 1605, draws his arguments from the same
source as Belon; I therefore pass him by, and take notice of the
greatest of our naturalists Gesner (Av. 481.), who falls into a
mistake of another kind, and wishes the Turkey to be thought a native
of India. He quotes Ælian for that purpose, who tells us, 'That
in India are very large poultry not with combs, but with various
coloured crests interwoven like flowers, with broad tails either
bending or displayed in a circular form, which they draw along the
ground as peacocks do when they do not erect them; and that the
feathers are partly of a gold colour, partly blue, and of an emerald
colour.' (De Anim. lib. XVI, c. 2.).
"This in all probability was the same bird with the Peacock Pheasant
of Mr. Edwards, _Le Baron de Tibet_ of M. Brisson, and the _Pavo
bicalcaratus_ of Linnæus. I have seen this bird living. It has a
crest, but not so conspicuous as that described by Ælian; but it has
not those striking colours in form of eyes, neither does it erect
its tail like the Peacock (Edw. II. 67.), but trails it like the
Pheasant. The _Catreus_ of Strabo (Lib. XV. p. 1046) seems to be the
same bird. He describes it as uncommonly beautiful and spotted, and
very like a Peacock. The former author (De Anim. lib. XVII, c. 23.)
gives more minute account of this species, and under the same name.
He borrows it from Clitarchus, an attendant of Alexander the Great in
all his conquests. It is evident from his description that it was of
this kind; and it is likewise probable that it was the same with his
large Indian poultry before cited. He celebrates it also for its fine
note; but allowance must be made for the credulity of Ælian.
"The _Catreus_, or Peacock Pheasant, is a native of Tibet, and in
all probability of the north of India, where Clitarchus might have
observed it; for the march of Alexander was through that part which
borders on Tibet, and is now known by the name of Penj-ab or five
rivers."
"I shall now collect from authors the several parts of the world
where Turkies are unknown in the state of nature. Europe has no share
in the question; it being generally agreed that they are exotic in
respect to that continent."
"Neither are they found in any part of Asia Minor, or the Asiatic
Turkey, notwithstanding ignorance of their true origin first caused
them to be named from that empire. About Aleppo, capital of Syria,
they are only met with, domesticated like other poultry. (Russel,
63). In Armenia they are unknown, as well as in Persia; having been
brought from Venice by some Armenian merchants into that empire
(Tavernier, 145), where they are still so scarce as to be preserved
among other rare fowls in the royal menagery" (Bell's Travels, I.
128).
"Du Halde acquaints us that they are not natives of China; but were
introduced there from other countries. He errs from misinformation in
saying that they are common in India."
"I will not quote Gemelli Careri, to prove that they are not found in
the Philippine Islands, because that gentleman with his pen traveled
round the world in his easy chair, during a very long indisposition
and confinement, (Sir James Porter's Obs. Turkey, I, 1, 321), in his
native country."
"But Dampier bears witness that none are found in Mindanao" (Barbot
in Churchill's Coll., V. 29).
"The hot climate of Africa barely suffers these birds to exist in
that vast continent, except under the care of mankind. Very few are
found in Guinea, except in the hands of the Europeans, the negroes
declining to breed any on account of the great heats (Bosman, 229).
Prosper Alpinus satisfies us they are not found either in Nubia or in
Egypt. He describes the Meleagrides of the ancients, and only proves
that the Guinea hens were brought out of Nubia, and sold at a great
price at Cairo (Hist. Nat. Ægypti. I, 201); but is totally silent
about the turkey of the moderns."
"Let me in this place observe that the Guinea hens have long been
imported into Britain. They were cultivated in our farm-yards; for
I discover in 1277, in the Grainge of Clifton, in the parish of
Ambrosden in Buckinghamshire, among other articles, six _Mutilones_
and six _Africanæ foeminæ_ (Kennett's Parochial Antiq. 287), for
this fowl was familiarly known by the names of Afra Avis and Gallina
Africana and Numida. It was introduced into Italy from Africa, and
from Rome into our country. They were neglected here by reason of
their tenderness and difficulty of rearing. We do not find them in
the bills of fare of our ancient feasts (neither in that of George
Nevil nor among the delicacies mentioned in the Northumberland
household book begun in the beginning of the reign of Henry VIII);
neither do we find the turkey; which last argument amounts almost to
a certainty, that such a hardy and princely bird had not found its
way to us. The other likewise was then known by its classical name;
for that judicious writer Doctor Caius describes in the beginning
of the reign of Elizabeth, the Guinea-fowl, for the benefit of
his friend Gesner, under the name of Meleagris, bestowed on it by
Aristotle" (CAII Opusc. 13. Hist. An., lib. VI. c. 2).
"Having denied, on the very best authorities, that the Turkey ever
existed as a native of the old world, I must now bring my proofs of
its being only a native of the new, and of the period in which it
first made its appearance in Europe."
"The next who speaks of them as natives of the mainland of the warmer
parts of America is Francusco Fernandez, sent there by Philip II, to
whom he was physician. This naturalist observed them in Mexico. We
find by him that the name of the male was Huexolotl, of the female
Cihuatotolin. He gives them the title of Gallus Indicus and Gallo
Pavo. The Indians, as well as the Spaniards, domesticated these
useful birds. He speaks of the size by comparison, saying that the
wild were twice the magnitude of the tame; and that they were shot
with arrows or guns (Hist. Av. Nov. Hisp. 27). I cannot learn the
time when Fernandez wrote. It must be between the years 1555 and
1598, the period of Philip's reign."
"Pedro de Ciesa mentions Turkies on the Isthmus of Darien (Seventeen
Years Travels, 20). Lery, a Portuguese author, asserts that they are
found in Brazil, and gives them an Indian name (In De Laet's Descr.
des Indes, 491); but since I can discover no traces of them in that
diligent and excellent naturalist Marcgrave, who resided long in that
country, I must deny my assent. But the former is confirmed by that
able and honest navigator Dampier, who saw them frequently, as well
wild as tame, in the province of Yucatan (Voyages, Vol II, part II,
pp. 65, 85, 114), now reckoned part of the Kingdom of Mexico."
"In North America they were observed by the very first discoverers.
When Rene de Landonniere, patronized by Admiral Coligni, attempted to
form a settlement near where Charlestown now stands, he met with them
on his first landing in 1564, and by his historian has represented
them with great fidelity in the fifth plate of the recital of his
voyage (Debry): from his time the witnesses to their being natives
of the continent are innumerable. They have been seen in flocks of
hundreds in all parts from Louisiana even to Canada; but at this time
are extremely rare in a wild state, except in the more distant parts,
where they are still found in vast abundance."
"It was from Mexico or Yucatan that they were first introduced
into Europe; for it is certain that they were imported into England
as early as the year 1524, the 15th of Henry VIII. (Baker's Chr.
Anderson's Dict., Com. 1, 354. Hackluyt, II, 165, makes their
introduction about the year 1532. Barnaby Googe, one of our early
writers on Husbandry, says they were not seen here before 1530. He
highly commends a Lady Hales of Kent for her excellent management of
these fowl, p. 166.)
"We probably received them from Spain, with which we had great
intercourse till about that time. They were most successfully
cultivated in our Kingdom from that period; insomuch that they grew
common in every farm-yard, and became even a dish in our rural
feasts by the year 1585; for we may certainly depend on the word of
old Tusser in his Account of the Christmas Husbandrie Fare." (Five
Hundred Points of good Husbandrie, p. 57.)
"Beefe, Mutton, and Porke, shredpiece of the best,
Pig, Veale, Goose, and Capon, and Turkie well drest,
Cheese, Apples and Nuts, jolie carols to heare,
As then in the countrie, is counted good cheare."
"But at this very time they were so rare in France, that we are told,
that the very first which was eaten in that Kingdom appeared at
the nuptial feast of Charles IX. in 1570 (Anderson's Dict. Com. 1,
410)."[17]
[Illustration: PLATE III
Fig. II. Left lateral view of the skull of an old male wild
turkey (_Meleagris gallopavo_). See Plate II, Fig. 6, No.
9695, Coll. U. S. National Museum. Photo natural size by Dr.
Shufeldt. _pmx_, premaxillary; _n_, nasal bone; _l_, lacrymal
bone; _eth_, ethmoid; _p_, parietal; _so_, supraoccipital;
_pl_, palatine; _ju_, jugal; _ty_, tympanic; _q_, quadrate;
_a_, angular of lower jaw; _d_, dentary. There are many more
bones in the skull than those indicated, while the latter serve
to invite attention to the principal ones as landmarks.]
A little later on Bartram in his travels in the South published some
notes on the wild turkey [now _M. g. osceola_] as he found them
in Florida during the latter part of the eighteenth century. The
original edition of his book, which I have not seen, appeared in
1791. I have, however, examined the edition of 1793, wherein on page
14 he says: "Our turkey of America is a very different species from
the Meleagris of Asia and Europe; they are nearly thrice their
size and weight. I have seen several that have weighed between twenty
and thirty pounds, and some have been killed that have weighed near
forty."
And further on in the same work he adds [Florida, p. 81]: "Having
rested very well during the night, I was awakened in the morning
early by the cheering converse of the wild turkey-cocks (Meleagris
occidentalis) saluting each other from the sun-brightened tops of
the lofty Cupressus disticha and Magnolia grandiflora. They begin
at early dawn and continue till sunrise, from March to the last of
April. The high forests ring with the noise, like the crowing of the
domestic cock, of these social sentinels; the watchword being caught
and repeated, from one to another, for hundreds of miles around,
insomuch that the whole country is for an hour or more in a universal
shout. A little after sunrise, their crowing gradually ceases, they
quit then their high lodging places, and alight on the earth, where,
expanding their silver-bordered train, they strut and dance round
about the coy female, while the deep forests seem to tremble with
their shrill noise."[18]
Another of the early writers (1806), who paid some attention to the
history and distribution of the wild turkeys was Barton. I find
the following having reference to some of his observations, viz.:
"A memoir has been read before the American Philosophical Society
in which the author has shown that at least two distinct species
of Meleagris, or turkey, are known within the limits of North
America. These are the _Meleagris gallopavo_, or Common Domesticated
Turkey, which was wholly unknown in the countries of the Old World
before the discovery of America; and the Common Wild Turkey of the
United States, to which the author of the memoir has given the name
_Meleagris Palawa_--one of its Indian names.
"The same author has rendered it very probable that this latter
species was _domesticated_ by _some_ of the Indian tribes living
within the _present_ limits of the United States, before these tribes
had been visited by the Europeans. It is certain, however, that the
turkey was not domesticated by the _generality_ of the tribes, within
the limits just mentioned, until _after_ the Europeans had taken
possession of the countries of North America."[19]
Nine or ten years after Barton wrote, De Witt Clinton, who was a
candidate for President of the United States in 1812, and a son
of James Clinton, was one of the writers of that time on the wild
turkey. He pointed out how birds, the turkey included, change their
plumage after domestication, and, after giving what he knew of the
introduction of the turkey into Spain from America and the West
Indies, he adds: "From the Spanish turkey, which was thus spread over
Europe, we have obtained our domestic one. The wild turkey has been
frequently tamed, and his offspring is of a large size." (p. 126.)[20]
Nearly a quarter of a century after Clinton's article appeared, the
_anatomy_ of the wild turkey began to attract some attention. Among
the first articles to appear on this part of the subject was one by
the late Sir Richard Owen, who, apparently taking the similarity of
the vernacular names into account, made anatomical comparisons of the
organs of smell in the turkey and the turkey buzzard. Naturally, he
found them very different,--quite as different, perhaps, as are the
olfactory organs of an owl and an ostrich, which I, for one, would
not undertake to make a comparison of for publication, simply for the
fact that in both these birds their vernacular name begins with the
letter o.[21]
Even twenty years after this paper appeared there were those who
still entertained doubts as to the origin of the domesticated
turkeys, and believed that they had nothing to do with the wild
forms. Among the doubters, no one was more prominent than Le Conte,
who published the following as his opinion at the time, stating:
"The conviction that these two birds were really distinct species
has long existed in my mind. More than fifty years ago, when I first
saw a Wild Turkey, I was led to conclude that one never could have
been produced from the other." [Bases it on differences of external
characters] (p. 179), adding toward the close of his article: "I defy
anyone to show a Turkey, even of the first generation, produced from
a pair hatched from the eggs of a wild hen," etc. "I repeat, contrary
to the assertions of many others, that no one has ever succeeded in
domesticating our Wild Turkey," etc. "Thoroughly believe that the
tame and wild bird are different species, and the latter not the
ancestor of the tame one." (p. 181.)[22]
During the year 1856, the papers Gould published on the wild turkeys
attracted considerable attention, and they have been widely quoted
since. In one of his first papers on the subject he quotes from
Martin the same paragraph which Baird quoted in his article in the
Report of the Commissioner of Agriculture (1866 _antea_), while
Baird in his article misquotes Gould by saying that the turkey
was introduced into England in 1541; whereas Gould states the
introduction took place in 1524.[23]
Before passing to the more recent literature on these birds, and
what I will have to say further on about their comparative osteology
and their eggs, it will be as well to reproduce here a few more
statements made by Bennett, whose work, "The Gardens and Menagerie of
the Zoölogical Society Delineated," I have already quoted.[24]
Bennett was also of the opinion that "Daines Barrington was the last
writer of any note who denied the American origin of the turkey, and
he seems to have been actuated more by a love of paradox than by any
conviction of the truth of his theory. Since the publication of his
Miscellanies, in 1781, the knowledge that has been obtained of the
existence of large flocks of turkeys, perfectly wild, clothed in
their natural plumage, and displaying their native habits, spread
over a large portion of North America, together with the certainty
of their non-existence in a similar state in any other part of
the globe, have been admitted on all hands to be decisive of the
question." (p. 210).
I have already cited the evidence above to prove that it was Oviedo
who first published an accurate description of the wild turkey,--his
work being published at Toledo in about the year 1526, at which time
the turkey had already become domesticated. In other words, it was
the Spaniards who first reduced the bird to a state of domestication,
and very soon thereafter it was introduced into England. Spain and
England were the great maritime nations of those times, and this fact
will amply account for the early introduction of the bird into the
latter country. Singularly enough, however, we have no account of any
kind whatever through which we can trace the exact time when this
took place. As others have suggested, it is just possible that it may
have been Cabot, the explorer of the then recently discovered coasts
of America, who first transported wild turkeys into England. Baker
quotes the popular rhyme in his Chronicle:
"Turkeys, carps, hoppes, picarel and beer,
Came into England all in one year,"
that is, about 1524, or the 15th of the reign of Henry VIII.[25]
What was said by the German author Heresbach was translated by a
writer on agricultural subjects, Barnaby Googe, who published it in
his work. This appeared in the year 1614, and he refers to "those
outlandish birds called Ginny-Cocks and Turkey-Cocks," stating that
"before the yeare of our Lord 1530 they were not seene with us!"
Further, Bennett points out that "A more positive authority is
Hakluyt, who in certain instructions given by him to a friend at
Constantinople, bearing date of 1582, mentions, among other valuable
things introduced into England from foreign parts, 'Turkey-Cocks and
hennes' as having been brought in 'about fifty years past.' We may
therefore fairly conclude that they became known in this country
about the year 1530."[26]
Guinea-fowls were extremely rare in England throughout the sixteenth
century, while tame turkeys became very abundant there, forming by
no means an expensive dish at festivals,--the first were obtained
from the Levant, while the latter were to be found in poultry yards
nearly everywhere. In one of the Constitutions of Archbishop
Cranmer it was ordered that of fowls as large as swans, cranes, and
turkey-cocks, "there should be but one in a dish."[27]
When in 1555 the serjeants-at-law were created, they provided for
their inauguration dinner two turkeys and four turkey chicks at a
cost each of only four shillings, swans and cranes being ten, and
half a crown each for capons. At this rate, turkeys could not have
been so very scarce in those parts.[28] "Indeed they had become so
plentiful in 1573," continues Bennett, "that honest Tusser, in his
'Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandrie,'" enumerates them among the
usual Christmas fare at a farmer's table, and speaks of them as "ill
neighbors" both to "peason" and to hops. (pp. 212, 213.)
"A Frenchman named Pierre Gilles has the credit of having first
described the turkey in this quarter of the globe, in his additions
to a Latin translation of Ælian, published by him in 1535. His
description is so true to nature as to have been almost wholly
relied on by every subsequent writer down to Willoughby. He speaks of
it as a bird that he has seen; and he had not then been further from
his native country than Venice; and states it to have been brought
from the New World.
"That turkeys were known in France at this period is further proved
by a passage in Champier's 'Treatise de Re Cibaria,' published in
1560, and said to have been written thirty years before. This author
also speaks of them as having been brought but a few years back from
the newly discovered Indian islands. From this time forward their
origin seems to have been entirely forgotten, and for the next two
centuries we meet with little else in the writings of ornithologists
concerning them than an accumulation of citations from the ancients,
which bear no manner of relation to them. In the year 1566 a present
of twelve turkeys was thought not unworthy of being offered by the
municipality of Amiens to their king, at whose marriage, in 1570,
Anderson states in his History of Commerce, but we know not on what
authority, they were first eaten in France. Heresbach, as we have
seen, asserts that they were introduced into Germany about 1530;
and that a sumptuary law made at Venice in 1557, quoted by Zanoni,
particularizes the tables at which they were permitted to be served.
"So ungrateful are mankind for the most important benefits that
not even a traditionary vestige remains of the men by whom, or the
country from whence, this most useful bird was introduced into any
European states. Little therefore is gained from its early history
beyond the mere proof of the rapidity with which the process of
domestication may sometimes be effected." (pp. 213, 214.)
Some ten or more years ago, at a time when I was the natural history
editor of _Shooting and Fishing_, in New York City, I published a
number of criticisms and original articles upon turkeys, both the
wild and domesticated forms.[29]
About twelve years ago, Mr. Nelson contributed a very valuable
article on wild turkeys, portions of which are eminently worthy of
the space here required to quote them.[30] He says among other things
in this article that "All recent ornithologists have considered the
wild turkey of Mexico and the southwestern United States (aside
from _M. gallopavo intermedia_) as the ancestor of the domesticated
bird. This idea is certainly erroneous, as is shown by the series of
specimens now in the collection of the Biological Survey. When the
Spaniards first entered Mexico they landed near the present city of
Vera Cruz and made their way thence to the City of Mexico.
[Illustration: PLATE IV
Fig. 12. Superior view of the cranium of a large male tame
turkey, with right nasal bone (_n_) attached _in situ_.
Specimen in Dr. Shufeldt's private collection. Fig. 13. Left
lateral view of the skull of a female turkey, probably a wild
one. No. 19684, Coll. U. S. National Museum. (See Fig. 8, Pl.
II.) _e_, bony entrance to ear. Compare contour line of cranium
with Fig. 14. Fig. 14. Left lateral view of the cranium of a
tame turkey; male. Dr. Shufeldt's private collection. Fig. 15.
Direct posterior view of the cranium of a tame turkey, probably
a female. _pf_, postfrontal. Specimen in Dr. Shufeldt's
collection. Fig. 16. Skull of a wild Florida turkey, seen from
below (_M. g. osceola_). (See Fig. 10, Pl. II.) Bones named in
Fig. 18. Photo natural size by Dr. Shufeldt and considerably
reduced.]
"At this time they found domesticated turkeys among the Indians of
that region, and within a few years the birds were introduced into
Spain.[31]
"The part of the country occupied by the Spanish during the first
few years of the conquest in which wild turkeys occur is the eastern
slope of the Cordillera in Vera Cruz, and there is every reason to
suppose that this must have been the original home of the birds
domesticated by the natives of that region.
"Gould's description of the type of _M. mexicana_ is not sufficiently
detailed to determine the exact character of this bird, but
fortunately the type was figured in Elliot's "Birds of North
America."... In addition Gould's type apparently served for the
description of the adult male _M. gallopavo_ in the 'Catalogue of
Birds Brit. Mus.' (xxii, p. 387), and an adult female is described
in the same volume from Ciudad Ranch Durango.... Thus it will become
necessary to treat _M. gallopavo_ and _M. mexicana_ as at least
subspecifically distinct. Whatever may be the relationship of _M.
mexicana_ to _M. gallopavo_, the _M. g. merriami_ is easily separable
from _M. g. mexicana_ of the Sierra Madre of western Mexico, from
Chihuahua to Colima. Birds from northern Chihuahua are intermediate."
In this article Mr. Nelson names _M. g. merriami_ and gives full
descriptions of the adult male and female in winter plumage.
What has thus far been presented above on the first discovery of
the American wild turkeys, their natural history in the New World,
their introduction into Spain, England, France, and elsewhere, is
practically all we have on this part of our subject up to date.
What I have given is from the very best ornithological and other
authorities. Domesticated turkeys are now found in nearly all parts
of the world, while in only a very few instances has any record been
kept of the different times of their introduction. With the view of
accumulating such data, one would have to search the histories of all
the countries of all the civilized and semi-civilized peoples of the
world, which would be the labor of almost a man's entire lifetime,
and in only too many instances his search would be in vain, for the
several records of the times of introducing these birds were not made.
Apart from the description of the wild turkeys, there is still a
very large literature devoted to the domesticated forms of turkeys
as they occur in this country and abroad, as well as descriptions of
their eggs. I have gone over a large part of this literature, but
shall be able to use only a small, though nevertheless essential,
part of it here. This I shall complete with an account of _turkey
eggs_, which will be presented quite apart from anything to do with
their nests, nesting habits, and much else which will be fully
treated in other chapters of this book. In some works we meet with
the literature of all these subjects together, others have only a
part, while still others are confined to one thing, as the eggs.[32]
Darwin in his works paid considerable attention to the wild and
tame turkeys. He states that "Professor Baird believes (as quoted
in Tegetmeier's 'Poultry Book,' 1866, p. 269) that our turkeys are
descended from a West Indian species, now extinct. But besides the
improbability of a bird having long ago become extinct in these large
and luxuriant islands, it appears, as we shall presently see, that
the turkey degenerates in India, and this fact indicates that this
was not aboriginally an inhabitant of the lowlands of the tropics.
"F. Michaux," he further points out, "suspected in 1802 that the
common domestic turkey was not descended from the United States
species alone, but was likewise from a southern form, and he went
so far as to believe that English and French turkeys differed from
having different proportions of the blood of the two parent-forms.[33]
"English turkeys are smaller than either wild form. They have not
varied in any great degree; but there are some breeds which can be
distinguished--as Norfolks, Suffolks, Whites, and Copper-Coloured
(or Cambridge), all of which, if precluded from crossing with other
breeds, propagate their kind truly. Of these kinds, the most distinct
is the small, hardy, dull-black Norfolk turkey, of which the chickens
are black, with occasionally white patches about the head. The other
breeds scarcely differ except in colour, and their chickens are
generally mottled all over with brownish-grey.[34]
"In Holland there was formerly, according to Temminick, a beautiful
buff-yellow breed, furnished with an ample white topknot. Mr.
Wilmot has described a white turkey-cock with a crest formed of
'feathers about four inches long, with bare quills, and a tuft of
soft down growing at the end.'[35] Many of the young birds whilst
young inherited this kind of crest, but afterwards it either fell
off or was pecked out by the other birds. This is an interesting
case, as with care a new breed might probably have been formed;
and a topknot of this nature would have been, to a certain extent,
analogous to that borne by the males in several allied genera, such
as _Euplocomus_, _Lophophorus_, and _Pavo_."[36]
Darwin has further pointed out that "The tuft of hair on the breast
of the wild turkey-cock cannot be of any use, and it is doubtful
whether it can be ornamental in the eyes of the female birds; indeed,
had the tuft appeared under domestication, it would have been called
a monstrosity.
"The naked skin on the head of a vulture is generally considered as
a direct adaptation for wallowing in putridity; and so it may be, or
it may possibly be due to the direct action of putrid matter; but
we should be very cautious in drawing any such inference, when we
see that the skin on the head of the clean-feeding male turkey is
likewise naked."[37]
[Illustration: PLATE V
Fig. 17. Left lateral view of the skull, including lower jaw,
of a wild turkey; probably a female. No. 19684, Coll. U. S.
National Museum. (See Fig. 8, Pl. II, and Fig. 13.) _ena_,
external narial aperture. Fig. 18. Skull of wild Florida
turkey. (See Fig. 16.) _pmx_, premaxillary; _l_, lacrymal;
_pt_, pterygoids; _q_, quadrate; _c_, occipital condyle;
_mxp_, maxillo-palatine; _pl_, palatines. Fig. 19. Skeleton
of the left foot of a wild turkey (female?) No. 19684, Coll.
U. S. National Museum. Several views of the skull of this
individual are given above. The shortest toe is the hind toe
or hallux, and has a claw and a joint; then there are 3, 4,
and 5 phalangeal joints to the second, third, and fourth toes
respectively--that is in the inner, middle, and outer one.
This count includes the distal or claw joints (ungual joints).
All three figures photo natural size by Dr. Shufeldt and
considerably reduced in reproduction.]
Newton has pointed out that the topknotted turkeys were figured by
Albin in 1738, and that it "has been suggested with some appearance
of probability that the Norfolk breed may be descended from the
northern form, _Meleagris gallopavo_ or _americana_, while the
Cambridgeshire breed may spring from the southern form the _M.
mexicana_ of Gould (P. Z. S. 1856, p. 61), which indeed it very
much resembles, especially in having its tail-coverts and quills
tipped with white or light ochreous--points that recent North
American ornithologists rely upon as distinctive of this form. If
this supposition be true, there would be reason to believe in the
double introduction of the bird into England at least, as already
hinted, but positive information is almost wholly wanting." (_Ibid._,
p. 996.).
It is an interesting fact that the males of both the wild and tame
forms of turkeys frequently lack spurs;[38] and Henshaw has pointed
out that in the case of _M. g. merriami_ "A few of the gobblers had
spurs; in one instance these took the form of a blunt, rounded knob
half an inch long. In others, however, it was much reduced, and in
others still the spur was wanting; though my impression is that all
the old males had this weapon."[39]
One of the best articles which have been contributed to the present
part of our subject, appeared several years ago from the pen of
that very excellent naturalist, the late Judge Caton of Chicago.
This contribution is rather a long one, and I shall only select
such paragraphs from it as are of special value in the present
connection.[40]
It is a well-known fact that the author of this work made a long
series of observations on wild turkeys which he kept in confinement.
He raised many from the eggs of the wild turkey taken in nature and
hatched out by the common hen on his own preserves. At one time he
had as many as sixty such birds, and he lost no opportunity to study
their habits. They were of the pure stock with all their characters
as in the wild form. These turkeys became very tame when thus raised
from the eggs of the wild birds, and they did not deteriorate, either
in size or in their power of reproduction. "This magnificent game
bird," says Caton, "was never a native of the Pacific Coast. I have
at various times sent in all about forty to California, in the hope
that it may be acclimatized in the forests. Their numerous enemies
have thus far prevented success in this direction, but they have done
reasonably well in domestication, and Captain Rodgers of the United
States Coast Survey has met with remarkable success in hybridizing
them with the domestic bronze turkey. Last spring I sent some which
were placed on Santa Clara Island, off Santa Barbara. They remained
contentedly about the ranch building and, as I am informed, raised
three broods of young which are doing well. As there is nothing
on the island more dangerous to them than a very small species of
fox, we may well hope that they will in a few years stock the whole
island, which is many miles in extent. As the island is uninhabited
except by the shepherds who tend the immense flocks of sheep there,
they will soon revert to the wild state, when I have no doubt they
will resume markings as constant as is observed in the wild bird
here, but I shall be disappointed if the changed condition of life
does not produce a change of color or in the shades of color, which
would induce one unacquainted with their history to pronounce them
specifically different from their wild ancestors here. Results will
be watched with interest.
"My experiments in crossing the wild with the tame have been
eminently successful." (Followed by a long account, p. 329.)
"My experiments establish first that the turkey may be domesticated,
and that each succeeding generation bred in domestication loses
something of the wild disposition of its ancestors.
"Second, that the wild turkey bred in domestication changes its
form and the color of its plumage and of its legs, each succeeding
generation degenerating more and more from these brilliant colors
which are so constant on the wild turkey of the forest, so that it is
simply a question of time--and indeed a very short time--when they
will lose all of their native wildness and become clothed in all the
varied colors of the common domestic turkey; in fact be like our
domestic turkey,--yes, be our domestic turkey.
"Third, that the wild turkey and the domestic turkey as freely
interbred as either does with its own variety, showing not the least
sexual aversion always observed between animals of different species
of the same genus, and that the hybrid progeny is as vigorous, as
robust, and fertile as was either parent.
"It must be already apparent that I, at least, have no doubt that
our common domestic turkey is a direct descendant of the wild turkey
of our forests, and that therefore there is no specific difference
between them. If such marked changes in the wild turkey occur by
only ten years of domestication, all directly tending to the form,
habits, and colorings of the domestic turkey,--in all things which
distinguish the domestic from the wild turkey,--what might we not
expect from fifty or a hundred years of domestication? I know that
the best ornithological authority at the present time declares them
to be of a different species, but I submit that this is a question
which should be reconsidered in the light of indisputable facts which
were not admitted or established at the time such decision was made.
"There has always been diffused among the domestic turkeys of the
frontiers more or less of the blood of the wild turkey of the
neighboring forests, and as the wild turkey has been driven back by
the settlement of the country, the domestic turkey has gradually lost
the markings which told of the presence of the wild; though judicious
breeding has preserved and rendered more or less constant some of
this evidence in what is called the domestic bronze turkey, as the
red leg and the tawny shade dashed upon the white terminals of the
tail feathers and the tail-coverts, the better should the stock be
considered, because it is the more like its wild ancestor.
"That the domestic turkey in its neighborhood may be descended from
or largely interbred with the wild turkey of New Mexico, which in its
wild state more resembles the common domestic turkey than our wild
turkey does, may unquestionably be true, and it may be also that the
wild turkey there has a large infusion of the tame blood, for it is
known that not only our domestic turkey, but even our barnyard fowls,
relapse to the wild state in a single generation when they are reared
in the woods and entirely away from the influence of man, gradually
assuming uniform and constant colorings. But I will not discuss
the question whether the Mexican wild turkey is of a different
species from ours or merely a variety of the same species, only with
differences in color which have arisen from accidental causes, and
certainly I will not question that the Mexican turkey is the parent
of many domestic turkeys, but I cannot resist the conclusion that our
wild turkey is the progenitor of our domestic turkey."
We have now come to where we can study the eggs of these birds, and
in the same article I have just quoted so extensively from, Judge
Caton says on page 324 of it, "The eggs of the wild turkey vary much
in coloring and somewhat in form, but in general are so like those of
the tame turkey that no one can select one from the other. The ground
color is white, over which are scattered reddish-brown specks. These
differ in shades of color, but much more in numbers. I have seen some
on which scarcely any specks could be detected, while others were
profusely covered with specks, all laid by the same hen in the same
nest. The turkey eggs are more pointed than those of the goose or
the barnyard fowl, and are much smaller in proportion to the size of
the bird."
This, in the main, is a fair description of the eggs of _Meleagris_,
while at the same time it may be said that the ground color is not
always "white," nor the markings exactly what might be denominated
"specks."
Turkey eggs of all kinds, laid by hens of the wild as well as by
those of the domesticated birds, have been described and figured in a
great many popular and technically scientific books and other works,
in this country as well as abroad. A large part of this literature
I have examined, but I soon became convinced of the fact that _no
general description_ would begin to stand for the different kinds
of eggs that turkeys lay. They not only differ in size, form, and
markings, but in ground colors, numbers to the clutch, and some other
particulars. Then it is true that no wild turkey hen, of any of the
known subspecies or species of this country, has ever laid an egg
but what some hen of the domestic breeds somewhere has not laid one
practically exactly like it in all particulars. In other words, the
eggs of our various breeds of tame turkeys are like the eggs of the
several forms of the wild bird, that is, the subspecies known to
science in the United States avifauna. Therefore I have not thought
it necessary to present here any descriptions of the eggs of the tame
turkeys or reproductions of photographs of the same.
Among the most beautiful of the wild turkey eggs published are those
which appear in Major Bendire's work. They were drawn and painted
by Mr. John L. Ridgway of the United States Geological Survey.[41]
These very eggs I have not only examined, studied and compared, but,
thanks to Dr. Richmond of the Division of Birds of the Museum, and
to Mr. J. H. Riley, his assistant, I had such specimens as I needed
loaned me from the general collection of the Museum, in that I might
photograph them for use in the present connection. Dr. Richmond did
me a special kindness in selecting for my study the four eggs here
reproduced from my photograph of them in Plate VI. These are all of
_M. g. silvestris_.
Of these, figures 20 and 21 are from the same clutch, and doubtless
laid by the same bird. (Nos. 30014, 30014.) They were collected by J.
H. Riley at Falls Church, Va. Figure 20 is an egg measuring 66 mm. x
45 mm., the color being a pale buffy-brown, finely and nearly evenly
speckled all over with umber-brown, with very minute specks to dots
measuring a millimetre in diameter. The finest speckling, with no
larger spots, is at the greater end (butt) for a third of the egg.
[Illustration: PLATE VI
Eggs of wild turkey (_M. g. silvestris_)
Names and descriptions given in the text. All the specimens
photo natural size by Dr. Shufeldt and somewhat reduced in
reproduction. Fig. 20. Upper left-hand one. Fig. 21. Upper
right-hand one. Fig. 22. Lower left-hand one. Fig. 23. Lower
right-hand one.]
Figure 21 measures 63 mm. x 45 mm., the ground color being a pale
cream, speckled somewhat thickly and uniformly all over with fine
specks of light brown and lavender, with larger spots and ocellated
marks of lavender moderately abundant over the middle and the apical
thirds, with none about the larger end or remaining third. Figure
22 (Plate VI) is No. 31185 of the collection of the U. S. National
Museum (ex Ralph Coll.); it was collected at Bridgeport, Michigan,
by Allan Herbert (376, 4700, '77) and measures 68 x 46. It is of
a rather deep buffy-brown or ochre, very thickly and quite uniformly
speckled all over with more or less minute specks of dark brown.
Figure 23 was collected by H. R. Caldwell (91310), the locality being
unrecorded (Coll. U. S. Nat. Museum, No. 32407), and measures 63 x
48. It is of a pale buffy-brown or pale _café au lait_ color, quite
thickly speckled all over with fine dots and specks of light brown.
Some few of the specks are of noticeably larger size, and these are
confined to the middle and apical thirds. Speckling of the butt or
big end extremely fine, and the specks of lighter color.
Referring to the wild turkey (_M. g. silvestris_) Bendire says (_loc.
cit._, p. 116): "In shape, the eggs of the Wild Turkey are usually
ovate, occasionally they are elongate ovate. The ground color varies
from pale creamy white to creamy buff. They are more or less heavily
marked with well-defined spots and dots of pale chocolate and reddish
brown. In an occasional set these spots are pale lavender. Generally
the markings are all small, ranging in size from a No. 6 shot to that
of dust shot, but an exceptional set is sometimes heavily covered
with both spots and blotches of the size of buckshot, and even
larger. The majority of eggs of this species in the U. S. National
Museum collection, and such as I have examined elsewhere, resemble in
coloration the figured type of _M. gallopavo mexicanus_, but average,
as a rule, somewhat smaller in size.
"The average measurement of thirty-eight eggs in the U. S. National
Museum collection is 61.5 by 46.5 millimetres. The largest egg
measures 68.5 by 46, the smallest 59 by 45 millimetres."
At the close of his account of _M. g. mexicanus_ Bendire states
that "The only eggs of this species in the U. S. National Museum
collection, about whose identity there can be no possible doubt, were
collected on Upper Lynx Creek, Arizona, in the spring of 1870, by Dr.
E. Palmer, whose name is well known as one of the pioneer naturalists
of that Territory.
"The eggs are ovate in shape, their ground color is creamy white, and
they are profusely dotted with fine spots of reddish brown, pretty
evenly distributed over the entire egg. The average measurements of
these eggs is 69 by 49 millimetres. The largest measures 70.5 by 49,
the smallest 67 by 48 millimetres.
"The type specimen (No. 15573, U. S. National Museum collection, Pl.
3, Fig. 15) is one of the set referred to above" (_loc. cit._ p. 119).
This set of three eggs I have personally studied; they are of _M. g.
merriami_, and I find them to agree exactly with Captain Bendire's
description just quoted.[42]
In the Ralph Collection (U. S. Nat. Mus. No. 27232; orig. No. 10/6)
I examined six (6) eggs of _M. g. intermedia_. They are of a pale
ground color, all being uniformly speckled over with minute dots of
lightish brown. These eggs are rather large for turkey eggs. They
were collected at Brownsville, Texas, May 26, 1894.
Another set of _M. g. intermedia_ collected by F. B. Armstrong (No.
25765, coll. U. S. Nat. Mus.) are practically _unspotted_, and such
spots as are to be found are very faint, both the minute and the
somewhat large ones.
In Dr. Ralph's collection (U. S. Nat. Mus. No. 27080) eggs of _M.
g. intermedia_ are _short_, with the large and fine dots of a pale
_orange yellow_. I examined a number of eggs and sets of eggs of
_M. g. osceola_, or Florida turkey. In No. 25787 the eggs are short
and broad, the ground color being pale whitish, slightly tinged
with brown. Some of the spots on these eggs are unusually large, in
a few places, three or four running together, or are more or less
confluent; others are isolated and of medium size; many are minute,
all being of an earth brown, varying in shades. In the case of
No. 25787 of this set, the dark-brown spots are more or less of a
size and fewer in number; while one of them (No. 25787) is exactly
like the egg of Plate VI, Fig. 22; finally, there is a pale one
(No. 25787) with _fine_ spots, few in number in middle third, very
numerous at the ends. There are _scattered large spots_ of a dark
brown, the surface of each of which latter are raised with a kind
of incrustation. Another egg (No. 27869) in the same tray (_M. g.
osceola_) is _small_, pointed; pale ground color with very fine spots
of light brown (coll. W. L. Ralph). Still another in this set (No.
27868) is markedly _roundish_, with minute brown speckling uniformly
distributed. There are nine (9) eggs in this clutch (No. 27868), and
apart from the differences in form, they all closely resemble each
other; and this is by no means always the case, as the same hen may
lay any of the various styles enumerated above, either as belonging
to the same clutch, or at different seasons.
As it is not the plan of the author of the present work to touch,
in this chapter, upon the general habits of wild turkeys--their
courtship, their incubation, the young at various stages, nesting
sites, and a great deal more having to do with the natural history of
the family and the forms contained in it--it would seem that what has
been set forth above in regard to the eggs of the several subspecies
in our avifauna pretty thoroughly covers this part of the subject.
Shortly after the last paragraph was completed I received a valuable
photograph of the nest and eggs of _M. g. merriami_, and this I
desire to publish here with a few notes, although in so doing it
constitutes a departure from what I have just stated above in regard
to the nests of turkeys.
This photograph was kindly furnished me by my friend Mr. F. Stephens
of the Society of Natural History of San Diego, California, with
permission to use it in the present connection. It has not to my
knowledge been published before, though the existence of the negative
from which it was printed has been made known to ornithologists by
Major Bendire, who says, in his account of the "Mexican Turkey" in
his _Life Histories of North American Birds_ (_loc. cit._ p. 118):
"That well-known ornithologist and collector, Mr. F. Stephens, took a
probably incomplete set of nine fresh eggs of this species, on June
15th, 1884. He writes me: 'I was encamped about five miles south of
Craterville, on the east side of the Santa Rita Mountains in Arizona;
the nest was shown to my assistant by a charcoal burner. On his
approach to it the bird ran off or flew before he got within good
range. He did not disturb it but came to camp, and in the afternoon
we both went, and I took my little camera along and photographed it.
The bird did not show up again. The locality was on the east slope
of the Santa Rita Mountains, in the oak timber, just where the first
scattering pines commenced, at an altitude of perhaps 5000 feet.'
"A good photograph, kindly sent me by Mr. Stephens, shows the nest
and eggs plainly. It was placed close to the trunk of an oak tree on
a hillside, near which a good-size yucca grew, covering, apparently,
a part of the nest; the hollow in which the eggs were placed was
about 12 inches across and 3 inches deep. Judging from the photograph
the nest was fairly well lined."
In order to complete my share of the work, I will now add here a
few paragraphs and illustrations upon the skeletal differences to
be found upon comparison of that part of the anatomy of wild and
domesticated turkeys. This is a subject I wrote upon many years
ago; what I then said I have just read over, and I find I can do no
better than quote the part contained in the "Analytical Summary" of
the work. It is more or less technical and therefore must be brief,
though it is none the less necessary to complete the subject of the
present treatise.[43]
1. As a rule, in adult specimens of _M. g. merriami_, the posterior
margins of the nasal bones indistinguishably fuse with the frontals;
whereas, as a rule, in domesticated turkeys these sutural traces
persist with great distinctness throughout life.
2. As a rule, in wild turkeys we find the craniofrontal region more
concaved and wider across than it is in the tame varieties.
3. The parietal prominences are apt to be more evident in _M. g.
merriami_ than they are in the vast majority of domesticated turkeys;
and the median longitudinal line measured from these to the nearest
point of the occipital ridge is longer in the tame varieties than it
is in the wild birds. Generally speaking, this latter character is
very striking and rarely departed from.
4. The figure formed by the line which bounds the occipital area is,
as a rule, roughly semicircular in a domesticated turkey, whereas
in _M. g. merriami_ it is nearly always of a cordate outline, with
the apex upward. In the case of the tame turkeys I have found it
to average one exception to this in every twelve birds; in the
exception, the bounding line of the area made a cordate figure as in
wild turkeys.
5. Among the domesticated turkeys, the interorbital septum almost
invariably is pierced by a large irregular vacuity; as a rule this
osseous plate is entire in wild ones.
6. The descending process of a lacrymal bone is more apt to be longer
in a wild turkey than in a tame one; and for the average the greater
length is always in favor of the former species.
7. In _M. g. merriami_ the arch of the superior margin of the orbit
is more decided than it is in the tame turkey, where the arc formed
by this line is shallowed, and not so elevated.
8. We find, as a rule, that the pterygoid bones are rather longer and
more slender in wild turkeys than they are among the tame ones.
9. At the occipital region of the skull, the osseous structures are
denser and thicker in the tame varieties of turkeys; and, as a whole,
the skull is smoother, with its salient apophyses less pronounced
in them than in the wild types. There is a certain delicacy and
lightness, very difficult to describe, that stamps the skull of a
wild turkey, and at once distinguishes it from any typical skull of a
tame one.
10. I have predicted that the average size of the brain cavity will
be found to be smaller and of less capacity in a tame turkey than it
is in the wild one. In the case of this class of domesticated birds,
as pointed out above, this would seem to be no more than natural,
for the domestication of the turkey has not been of such a nature
as to develop its brain mass through the influences of a species of
education; its long contact with man has taught it nothing--quite the
contrary, for the bird has been almost entirely relieved from the
responsibilities of using its wits to obtain its food, or to guard
against danger to itself. These factors are still in operation in the
case of the wild types, and the advance of civilization has tended
to sharpen them.
From this point of view, then, I would say that mentally the average
wild turkey is stronger than the average domesticated one, and I
believe it will be found that in all these long years the above
influences have affected the size of the brain-mass of the latter
species in the way above indicated, and perhaps it may be possible
some day to appreciate this difference. Perhaps, too, there may
have been also a slight tendency on the part of the brain of the
wild turkey to increase in size, owing to the demands made upon its
functions due to the influence of man's nearer approach, and the
necessity of greater mental activity in consequence.
Recently I examined a mounted skeleton of a female wild turkey in
the collection of the United States National Museum, and apart from
the skull it presented the following characters: There were fifteen
vertebræ, the last one having a pair of free ribs, before we arrived
at the fused vertebræ of the dorsum. Of these latter there were three
coössified into one piece.
The sixteenth vertebra supports a pair of free ribs that fail to meet
the sternum, there being no costal ribs for them. They bear uncinate
processes.
Next we find four pairs of ribs that articulate with hæmapophyses,
and through them with the sternum. There are two free vertebræ
between the consolidated dorsal ones and the pelvis; and the pelvis
bears a pair of free ribs, the costal ribs of which articulate by
their anterior ends with the posterior border of the pair of costal
ribs in front of them.
A kind of long abutment exists at the middle point on each, there
to accommodate the articulation. There are six free tail vertebræ
plus a long pointed pygostyle. The os furcula is rather slender,
being of a typical V-shaped pattern, with a small and straight
hypocleidium. With a form much as we find it in the fowl, the pelvis
is characterized by _not_ having the ilia meet the sacral crista
in front. The prepubis is short and stumpy. The external pair of
xiphoidal processes of the sternum are peculiar in that their
posterior ends are strongly bifurcated.
[Illustration: PLATE VII
Fig. 24. Nest of a wild turkey _in situ_. (_M. g. merriami._)
Photo by Mr. F. Stephens, San Diego, California.]
In the skeleton of the manus, the pollex metacarpal projects forward
and upward as a rather conspicuous process. Its phalanx does not bear
a claw, and on the index metacarpal the indicial process is present
and overlaps the shaft of the next metacarpal behind it. In the leg
the fibula is free, and extends halfway down the tibiotarsal shaft.
The hypotarsus of the tarso-metatarsus is grooved mesially for the
passage of tendons behind, and is also once perforated near its
middle for the same purpose. As I have already stated, the remainder
of the skeleton of this bird is characteristically gallinaceous
and need not detain us longer here. I would add, however, that the
"tarsal cartilages" in the turkey extensively ossify.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Audubon, J. J. "The Birds of America," Vol. V, pp. 54-55. Even
in Audubon's time the wild turkeys were being rapidly exterminated.
At this time _M. g. silvestris_ does not occur east of central
Pennsylvania.
[10] Columella. (_De Re Rustica_, VIII, cap. 2.) Edwards
(_Gleanings_, II, p. 269). 1760?
[11] Newton, Alfred. _A Dictionary of Birds._ (Assisted by Hans
Gadow, with contributions from Richard Lydekker, Chas. S. Roy, and
Robert W. Shufeldt, M. D.) Pt. IV, 1896, p. 994. The quotation
is from the Art. "Turkey," and in further reference to its name,
Professor Newton remarks, "The French _Coq_ and _Poule d'Inde_
(whence _Dindon_) involve no contradiction, looking to the general
idea of what India then was. One of the earliest German names for the
bird, _Kalekuttisch Hiim_ (whence the Scandinavian _Kalkun_) must
have arisen through some mistake at present inexplicable; but this
does not refer, as is generally supposed, to Calcutta, but to Calicut
on the Malabar coast (Notes and Queries, ser. 6, X, p. 185).
"But even Linnæus could not clear himself of the confusion,
and, possibly following Sibbald, unhappily misapplied the name
_Meleagris_, undeniably belonging to the guinea-fowl, as the
generic term for what we now know as the turkey, adding thereto
as its specific designation the word _gallopavo_, taken from the
_Gallopavus_ of Gesner, who, though not wholly free from error, was
less mistaken than some of his contemporaries and even successors."
[12] Baird, Spencer F. _The Origin of the Domestic Turkey._ Rep. of
the Comm. of Agricul. for the year 1866. Washington Gov. Printing
Office, 1867, pp. 288-290. In this article Professor Baird undertakes
to demonstrate "that there are two species of wild turkey in North
America; one confined to the more eastern and southern United States,
the other to the southern Rocky Mountains and adjacent part of Texas,
New Mexico, and Arizona; that the latter extends along eastern Mexico
as far south at least as Orizaba, and that it is from this Mexican
species and not from that of eastern North America that this domestic
turkey is derived." [Reprinted in Hist. of N. Amer. Birds, III, p.
411, footnote.]
[13] Bennett, E. T. "The Gardens and Menagerie of the Zoölogical
Society delineated." [The Drawings by William Harvey; Engr. by
Branston and Wright, assisted by other artists] London, 1835. Further
on, this article will be quoted on other points, as it treats of the
entire history of the wild turkey.
[14] In the original work, here quoted, names of persons and some
other nouns are printed in capitals--an old custom which publishers
of the present work decided not to follow. My MS. was made to agree
with the original in all particulars. R. W. S.
[15] Pennant, Thos. Esqr. F. R. S. "An Account of the Turkey." Phil.
Trans. of the Royal Society of London. Vol. LXXI for the year 1781.
London [Art.] No. 1. Communicated by Joseph Banks, Esqr., P. R. S.
Read December 21, 1781, pp. 77, 78.
Pennant's contribution fills a large place in the literature of the
wild turkey, and further on I shall take occasion to quote still more
extensively from it. It starts in by giving in brief the characters
of the turkey, and in describing the wild turkey he cites the
previous works of Josselyn (Voyage); Clayton (Virginia); Catesby,
Belon, Gesner, Aldrovandus, Ray, Buffon, and others. He gives a
"Description" of the bird, especially the "Tail," and adds that a
"White Turkey"--"A most beautiful kind has of late been introduced
into England of a snowy whiteness, finely contrasting with its
red head. These I think came from Holland, probably bred from an
accidental white pair; and from them preserved pure from any dark or
variegated birds." (p. 68.)
He presents variation in "Size," quoting Josselyn (New-Eng.
Rarities); Lawson (History of Carolina); and Clayton (Phil. Trans.).
Also their "Manners"; their being "Gregarious"; "Their Haunts,"
"Place," and much else, having more to do with their habits than
their history, and consequently not legitimately to be touched upon
in this chapter.
[16] Coues, Elliott. "History of the Wild Turkey." _Forest and
Stream_, XIII, January 1, 1879, p. 947.
Another work I have examined on this part of our subject is D. G.
Elliot's "Game Birds of America," and the turkey cuts in this book
were copied by Coues into the last edition of his "Key to North
American Birds," and very poorly done. Dr. D. G. Elliot's superb
work, illustrated by magnificent colored plates by the artist Wolfe,
on "A Monograph of the Phasianidæ or the Family of the Pheasants,"
I have not examined. The copy in the Library of Congress was out on
a loan when I made application for it. Several plates of different
species of wild turkeys are to be found in it.
[17] Pennant's article is illustrated by a folding plate giving the
leg of a turkey bearing a supernumery toe situated in front of the
tibiotarsus with the claw above. The note in reference to it is here
reproduced in order to complete the article. Philos. Trans., Vol.
LXXI, Ab. III, p. 80:
"To this account I beg leave to lay before you the very extraordinary
appearance on the thigh of a turkey bred in my poultry yard, and
which was killed a few years ago for the table. The servant in
plucking it was very unexpectedly wounded in the hand. On examination
the cause appeared so singular that the bird was brought to me. I
discovered that from the thigh-bone issued a short upright process,
and to that grew a large and strong toe, with a sharp and crooked
claw, exactly resembling that of a rapacious bird."
[18] Bartram, William. Travels through North and South Carolina,
Georgia, East and West Florida, the Cherokee Country, the Extensive
Territories of the Muscogalges or Creek Confederacy, and the Country
of the Choctaws. Containing an account of the soil and Natural
Productions of those regions; together with the observations on the
manners of the Indians. Embellished with Copper Plates.
The original edition of Bartram is cited in the _Third Instalment
of American Ornithological Bibliography_ by Elliott Coues (the
references being pp. 83 and 290 _bis_). Bull. U. S. Geol. and Geogr.
Surv. Terr. 1879, p. 810, Govm't Printing Office. It is here in
this work of his that Bartram designates the domestic turkey as
_Meleagris gallopavo_, Linn.; and the wild turkey of this country
(_M. occidentalis_) (p. 83) as _M. americanus_ (p. 290 _bis_).
[19] Barton, P. S. _The Philadelphia Medical and Physical Journal_,
Vol. II, 1806, pp. 162-164. Coues, in his _Ornitho. Biblio._, cited
above, omits the words, "The Philadelphia," which gives trouble to
find the work in a library; he also has the year wrong, giving 1805
for 1806--the latter being correct. The copy I consulted had no Pl.
1, with the article, that I happened to see.
[20] Clinton, De Witt. _Trans. Lit. and Philos. Soc._, New York, 1,
1815, pp. 21-184. Note S. pp. 125-128.
[21] Owen, R. P. Z. S., V. 1837, pp. 34, 35.
[22] Le Conte, John. _Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci. of Phila._ IX, 1857,
pp. 179-181. The distinctive characters and the habits, as given
by this author of the wild and domesticated turkeys of the United
States, are doubtless of some value; but the deductions he draws from
the comparisons made are, as we know, quite erroneous. I have not
examined the article by E. Roger in the _Bull. Soc. Acclim._ cited
by Coues in his _Ornitho. Biblio._ as having appeared in the "2c
Ser. VII, 1870, pp. 264-266." Either the year or the pagination, or
both, of the citation is wrong, and as many of the copies were out
at the time of my search, and the others distributed through several
libraries, I failed to obtain it. R. W. S.
[23] Gould, J. 2. On a new turkey, _Meleagris Mexicana_. P. Z. S.
XXIV, 1856, pp. 61-63. (In his _Ornithol. Bibliogr._) Coues remarks
upon this as follows: "Subsequently determined to be the stock whence
the domestic bird descended, and hence a synonym of _M. gallopavo_,
Linn."
This paper was extensively republished at the time, generally under
the title of "A new species of turkey from Mexico" [all citing the
P. Z. S. article]. One journal quoted it as follows: "Mr. Gould
exhibited a specimen of turkey which he had obtained in Mexico,
and which differed materially from the wild turkey of the United
States. At the same time this turkey so closely resembled the
domesticated turkey of Europe that he believed naturalists were
wrong in attributing its origin to the United States species. The
present specimen was therefore a new species, and he proposed to
call it _Meleagris Mexicana_, which, if his theory was correct, must
henceforth be the designation of the common turkey." Amer. Jour. Sci.
XXII, 1856, p. 139. Under the same title this latter was reprinted in
Edinb. _New Philos. Journ._ n. s., iv, 1856, pp. 371, 372. See also
Bryant, H. "_Remarks on the supposed new species of turkey, Meleagris
Mexicana, recently described by Mr. Gould._" Proc. Bost. Soc. Nat.
Hist. vi, 1857, pp. 158, 159. "In the Proceedings of the Zoölogical
Society of London for 1856, page 61," says Professor Baird, "Mr.
Gould characterizes as new a wild turkey from the mines of Real del
Norte, in Mexico, under the name of _Meleagris Mexicana_, and is the
first to suggest that it is derived from the domesticated bird, and
not from the common wild turkey of eastern North America, on which he
retains the name of _M. gallopavo_, of Linnæus. He stated that the
peculiarities of the new species consist chiefly in the creamy white
tips of the tail feathers and of the upper tail coverts, with some
other points of minor importance. I suggest that the wild turkey of
New Mexico, as referred to by various writers, belongs to this new
species, and not to the _M. gallopavo_." (loc. cit. p. 289.) Compare
the above with what Professor Baird states in the series of the
_Pacif. Railroad Reports_, vol. ix, p. 618, with the remainder of the
above quoted article, which is too long to reproduce here.
[24] Bennett, E. T. "Publ. with the sanction of the council under the
superintendence of the Secretary and Vice Secretary of the Society.
Birds. Vol. II. London, 1835, pp. 209-224." There is a very excellent
wood-cut of a turkey illustrating this article (left lateral view),
of which the author says: "Our own figure is taken from a young male,
in imperfect plumage, brought from America by Mr. Audubon. Another
specimen, in very brilliant plumage, but perhaps not purely wild,
forms a part of the Society's Museum" (p. 223). Bennett derived most
of his information about the habits of the wild turkey in nature
"from an excellent memoir by M. Charles Lucien Bonaparte, in his
continuation of Wilson's American Ornithology."
"In that work M. Bonaparte claims credit for having given the first
representation of the wild turkey;* and justly so, for the figures
introduced into a landscape in the account of De Laudonniere's Voyage
to Florida in De Bry's Collection, and that published by Bricknell
in his Natural History of North Carolina, cannot with certainty be
referred to the native bird. They are besides too imperfect to be
considered as characteristic representations of the species. Much
about the same time with M. Bonaparte's figure appeared another, in
M. Viellot's Galerie des Oiseaux, taken from a specimen in the Paris
Museum.
"It is somewhat singular that so noble a bird, and in America at
least by no means a rare one, should have remained unfigured until
within five years of the present time; all the plates in European
works being manifestly derived from domestic specimens." Bennett was
aware that Audubon's Plates were published about this time, for he
mentions them. He also was well informed in matters regarding the
crossing of the wild male turkey with the female domestic one, and
with the improvement in the breed thus obtained.
* Note: Newton disputes this and says: "In 1555 both sexes were
characteristically figured by Belon (Oiseaux, p. 249), as was
the cock by Gesner in the same year, and these are the earliest
representations of the bird known to exist." (Dict. of Birds,
pp. 995, 996.)
[25] Newton states that this assertion "is wholly untrustworthy," as
carp, pickerel (and other commodities) both lived in this country
(England) long before 1524, "if indeed they were not indigenous to
it." (Dict. of Birds, p. 995).
[26] No two authors seem to agree upon the exact date when the turkey
was really introduced into England. Here Bennett states positively
1530; Professor Baird has it 1541; Alfred Newton 1524, and so on.
[27] Leland's Collectanea, (1541).
[28] _Dugdale._ "Origines Juridiciales."
[29] Shufeldt, R. W. "The Ancestry of the American Turkey," _Shooting
and Fishing_, Vol. 24, No. 13, New York, July 14, 1898, p. 246. "Wild
and Domesticated Turkeys," _Ibid._ No. 17, August 11, 1898, p. 331.
"A Reply to the Turkey Hunters," _Ibid._ No. 23, September 22, 1898,
pp, 451, 452. "The Wild Turkey of Arizona," _Ibid._ Vol. 32, No. 5,
New York, May 22, 1902, pp. 108, 109.
[30] Nelson, E. W. "Description of a New Subspecies of _Meleagris
gallopavo_ and proposed changes in the nomenclature of certain North
American birds." Auk, XVII, April 1900, pp. 120-123.
[31] Among the luxuries belonging to the high condition of
civilization exhibited by the Mexican nation at the time of the
Spanish conquest was the possession of Montezuma by one of the most
extensive zoölogical gardens on record, numbering nearly all the
animals of that country, with others brought at much expense from
great distances, and it is stated that turkeys were supplied as food
in large numbers daily to the beasts of prey in the menagerie of the
Mexican Emperor. (Baird, _ibid._ pp. 288, 289.)
[32] Ogilvie-Grant, W. R. "A Hand-book to the Game-Birds." (Lloyd's
Nat. Hist., London, 1897, pp. 103-111.) Genus _Meleagris_. Describes
briefly some of the North American Turkeys, and also _M. ocellata_
(full page colored figure). Nest and eggs of all described in brief.
[33] Michaux, F. "Travels in N. Amer." 1802 Eng. Trans., p. 217. See
also the following: Blyth, E., "Ann. and Mag. of Nat. Hist.," 1847,
vol. xx., p 391. This author points out that these turkeys in India
are flightless, black in color, small, and the appendage over the
bill of great size.
[34] Dixon, E. S. "Ornamental Poultry," 1818, p. 34. This author also
noted the interesting fact that the female of the domesticated turkey
sometimes has the tuft of hair on her breast like the male. Bechstein
refers to the old German fable or superstition that a hen turkey lays
as many eggs as the gobbler has feathers in the under tail-coverts,
which, as we know, vary in number. (Naturgesch. Deutschlands, B iii,
1793, s. 309.).
[35] "Gardener's Chronicle," 1852, p. 699.
[36] Darwin, Charles. "Animals and Plants Under Domestication," Vol.
1, 1868, pp. 352-355. Other facts of this character are set forth
here which are of interest in the present connection.
[37] Darwin, Charles. "The Origin of Species," 1880, pp. 70, 158. He
also shows that the young of wild turkey are instinctively wild.
[38] Woodhouse, Dr. (Amer. Nat. vii, 1873, p, 326.).
[39] Henshaw, H. W. Rept. Geogr. and Geol. Expl. and Surv. West of
the 100th meridian. 1875. Chap. III. The Ornith. Coll. 1871-1874, p.
435.
[40] Caton, J. D. "The Wild Turkey and Its Domestication." Amer. Nat.
xi, No. 6, 1877, pp. 321-330, also _Ibid._ vii, 1873, where this
author states that "The vision of the wild turkey is very acute but
the sense of smell is very dull." (p. 431.)
[41] Bendire, Charles, "Life Histories of North American Birds with
Special Reference to Their Breeding Habits and Eggs." Washington,
Govmt. Printing Office, 1892.
[42] Some of the English books contain descriptions of the eggs of
our wild turkeys, as for example "A Hand-book to the Game-birds." By
W. R. Ogilvie-Grant. (Lloyd's Nat. Hist.) London, 1897, pp. 103-111.
[43] Shufeldt, R. W. "Osteology of Birds," Education Dept. Bull.
No. 447, Albany, N. Y., May 15, 1909. N. Y. State Mus. Bull. 130,
pp. 222-224; based upon a former contribution which appeared in
_The Journal of Comparative Medicine and Surgery_, July, 1887,
entitled "A Critical Comparison of a Series of Skulls of the Wild
and Domesticated Turkeys." (_Meleagris gallopavo silvestris_ and _M.
domestica_.)
CHAPTER V
BREAST SPONGE--SHREWDNESS
Nature has provided the old gobbler with a very useful appendage.
Audubon calls it the "breast sponge," and it covers the entire upper
part of the breast and crop-cavity. This curious arrangement consists
of a thick mass of cellular tissue, and its purpose is to act as a
reservoir to hold surplus oil or fat. It is quite interesting to
study its function, and it is a very important one for the gobbler.
This appendage is not found on the hen or yearling gobbler. At the
beginning of the gobbling season, about March 1st, this breast sponge
is full of rich, sweet fat, and the gobbler is plump in flesh; but
as the season advances and he continues to gobble, strut, and worry
the hens, his plumpness is reduced, and finally the bird becomes
emaciated and lean. Often during the whole day he gobbles and struts
about, making love to the hens, and at this time he eats almost
nothing, being kept alive largely by drawing on his reservoir of fat.
As the gobbler begins to grow lean, his flesh becomes rank and wholly
unfit for food, and one should never be killed at this time. It is a
fact that the young male turkeys gobble but seldom, if at all, the
first year. Neither do these young birds possess the breast sponge,
or reservoir to hold fat, and consequently they are unfit to mate
with the hens. The hens visit the males every day or alternate days;
consequently, if among the gobblers there are no mature birds, the
eggs laid are not fertile. I wish every hunter, sportsman, and farmer
could read these lines, and recognize the importance of sparing at
least one of the adult male turkeys in each locality. The benefit of
such a policy would soon be apparent in the increase of the turkeys.
I dwell at length on this point in order to make clear the necessity
of sparing some old gobblers in each section.
It has frequently been stated that the wild turkey will not live and
propagate within the haunts of man. This depends upon how the birds
are treated. No bird or animal can survive eternal persecution. There
is no trouble about the birds thriving in a settled community, if the
proper territory is set apart for their use, and proper protection
given. The territory should consist of a few acres of woodland, or of
some broken ground, thicket, or swamp to afford a little cover. In
such a retreat, a trio of wild turkeys may be turned loose, and in a
few years, if properly protected, the vicinity would be stocked with
them.
I have ample evidence that wild turkeys will not shrink from
civilization. It is the trapping, snaring, baiting, and killing of
all old gobblers that decimates their numbers, not the legitimate
hunting by sportsmen.
[Illustration: Note the full chest of the gobbler on the left.
This is the breast sponge. (Photographed in March)]
The shrewdness of the turkey is shown by his having no fear of the
peaceable farmer at the plow, no more than the crow or the blackbird
has. The wild turkey will go into the open field and glean food
from the stubble or upturned furrows in full view of the plowman.
This I have often seen, and I will cite one incident of this kind,
which came under my observation some time ago when hunting in the
State of Mississippi. It was a clear, beautiful morning in the month
of March. Three old turkeys were gobbling in different directions,
along a creek in a swamp, which was about half a mile wide, with
fields on each side. Having selected the one I thought the oldest
and biggest, I approached it as near as I dared; then, hiding myself
in the brush, I began to call. In a short time the other two birds
quit gobbling and came quickly to the call, while the one I had
chosen continued his gobbling, but in the same place as when first
heard. Suddenly I heard "_Put-put_" directly behind me; turning my
head, I saw, within twenty paces of me, a fine gobbler. "_Put_"--then
he was gone. This caused the one gobbling in front of me to become
suspicious. He refused to come an inch nearer, and, having heard that
alarm, "_put_," he began to make a detour in order to gain a certain
heavily wooded ridge. To do this, without getting too near the spot
where he heard the warning cry of his comrade, he had to go over a
high rail fence, going through a part of the field just plowed up,
while the plowman was there at work in his shirt sleeves, not over
one hundred yards away and in full view of the gobbler. The man was
moving all the time and frequently holloaing to his mules, "Whoa,"
"Gee," or "Haw," in such a loud voice that one could hear him a
long distance. The turkey would gobble every time the plowman would
holloa. He appeared to be perfectly fearless of the plowman, but was
employing all his sagacity to avoid the spot where I was. I could not
understand this at first, but discovered the reason a little later.
The bird had reached the field and was flanking me, but I could not
see it on account of the undergrowth. I rose, and by making a detour
of about two hundred yards around the angle of the field, keeping
well in the woods, I finally discovered the gobbler striding sedately
across the field between me and the plowman, who was busily engaged
in attending to his furrows, still loudly holloaing from time to
time. The gobbler at intervals stopped, strutted, gobbled, and then
proceeded on its way. Seeing that I could get no nearer to him, I
waited until he was about to cross the fence, when I dropped by a
stump, lifted my rifle, and waited for him to mount the fence. This
he was some time in doing, but I finally heard the _flop, flop_,
when his fine form with long, pendent beard was seen broadside on by
me on the top rail, about eighty-five yards away. In a second the
bead of my rifle covered the spot at the wing, and, as I fired, the
bird tumbled dead into the field. It was a grand old specimen, and
on examining it dry blood was discovered where a buckshot had passed
through its leg. There was another shot across the rump, and a third
had creased the back of the neck near the head. In my opinion, the
bird hearing the "_put-put_" of the gobbler who came up behind me
suspected a hidden enemy, and, having lately been wounded, thought it
best to give suspicious places a wide berth.
There are thousands of acres in the South which were once cultivated,
but which are now abandoned and growing up with timber, brush, and
grass. Such country affords splendid opportunity for the rearing and
perpetuation of the wild turkey. These lands are vastly superior for
this purpose than are the solid primeval forests, inasmuch as they
afford a great variety of summer food, such as green, tender herbage,
berries of many kind, grasshoppers by the million, and other insects
in which the turkeys delight. Such a country also affords good
nesting retreats, with brier-patches and straw where the nest may
be safely hidden, and where the young birds may secure safe hiding
places from animals and birds of prey; but alas! at present not from
trappers, baiters, and pot hunters. Check these, and the abandoned
plantations of the South would soon be alive with turkeys.
CHAPTER VI
SOCIAL RELATIONS--NESTING--THE YOUNG BIRDS
The wild turkey differs in its domestic relations from the majority
of birds, for it does not take one partner or companion, or pair off
in the spring, as do most gallinaceous birds. Charles Hallock has
stated that turkeys pair off in the spring. I beg to differ with Mr.
Hallock. The male turkey does not confine himself to one mate.
He is a veritable Mormon or Turk, polygamous in the extreme, and
desires above all a well-filled harem. He cares not a bit for the
rearing or training of his family; in fact, it has been alleged that
he follows his mates to their nests and destroys and eats the eggs.
This I do not believe, nor will I accuse him of such conduct. He is
a vain bird and craves admiration, and acts as if he were a royal
prince and a genuine dude, and he will have admiration though it
costs him his life. He is a gay Lothario and will covet and steal his
neighbors' wives and daughters; and if his neighbors protest, will
fight to the finish. He is artful, cunning, and sly, at the same time
a stupendous fool. One day no art can persuade him to approach you,
no matter how persuasively or persistently you call; the next day he
will walk boldly up to the gun at the first call and be shot. He has
no sentiment beyond a dudish and pompous admiration for himself, and
he covets every hen he sees. He will stand for hours in a small sunny
place, striving to attract the attention of the hens by strutting,
gobbling, blowing, and whining, until he nearly starves to death. I
believe he would almost rather be dead than to have a cloudy day,
when he is deprived of seeing the sun shining on his glossy plumage;
and if it rains, he is the most disconsolate creature on the face of
the earth.
[Illustration: Nest located in thick brush on top of a ridge in
Louisiana]
The methods employed by the wild turkey hen in nesting and rearing
a family do not differ materially from those of the tame turkey.
The nest itself is a simple affair, fashioned as if made in a
hurry, and consists of a depression scratched in the earth to fit
her body comfortably, then a few dry leaves are scratched in to line
the excavation. Again, the nest may be under an old fallen treetop
or tussock of tall grass, or beside an old log, against which sundry
brush, leaves, and grass have drifted, or in an open stubble field
or prairie. There is one precaution the hen never neglects, however
slovenly the nest is built; this is to completely cover her eggs with
leaves or grass on leaving the nest. This is done to protect them
from predaceous beasts and birds, particularly from that ubiquitous
thief and villain, the crow.
The eggs, usually from eight to fifteen in number, are quite pointed
at one end, a little smaller than the eggs of the domesticated
turkey, showing considerable variation in size and shape. In color
they are uniform cream, sometimes yellowish, and, when quite fresh,
with a decided pink cast, spotted and blotched all over with reddish
brown and sometimes lilac.
The period of incubation is four weeks. On its first appearance
the young wild turkey is covered with a suit of light gray fluffy
down, dotted with dusky spots, and with two dusky stripes from the
top of the head, down the sides of the back to the rump; but this
is soon replaced by a covering of deciduous feathers, and this in
turn by the permanent suit at molting in August and September. The
first crop of feathers which takes the place of the down grow very
rapidly, assuming in their maturity the precise shape and color of
the subsequent and permanent growth, and at three months the turkey
is in appearance the same as one of nine months. The young bird
of two or three pounds weight has the same outline of form as the
yearling, but the little fellow in down bears a striking resemblance
to a young ostrich. The deciduous feathers mature quickly, and the
quill-ends dry before the young bird is a quarter grown; hence the
feathers grow no more. But the bird grows until molting-time arrives,
when the young fowl, if a gobbler, will weigh from seven to nine
pounds. The molting season comes on apace, and the bird is out of
humor; for its clothes, as it were, do not fit, the mosquitoes and
ticks bite it, and the deciduous quills of the wings begin to get
loose and drop out, one at a time at long intervals, so that some
feathers are growing while others are falling. This is also true of
the body covering. The tail becomes snaggled and awry, and at the
time the young turkey presents anything but a pleasing appearance.
The molting begins in August, and it is the last of December before
the full second suit of feathers is completed. It is the irregular
growth of the feathers that often deceives the hunter as to the age
of the fowl. Once a friend of mine and I, after a morning's hunt,
stopped to rest and got into our boat. He had three fine turkeys, the
time being early in November, and he remarked that he wished he had
killed at least one gobbler to put with his hens. On examination I
showed him that two of his three were young gobblers and the third an
old hen, although the birds were about the same size and the plumage
almost identical.
The tuft or beard does not appear on the young gobbler even in the
Southern climate until late in October or November, nor have I known
them to gobble or strut at this early age, although the tame ones
sometimes do. The gobbler's beard grows quite rapidly until the end
of the third year, and then slowly until eleven or twelve inches
long, when it seems to stop. It may be owing to its wearing off at
the lower end by dragging on the ground while feeding; but a close
inspection will not substantiate this, for the hairs at the extreme
end of the beard are blunt and rounding, and do not indicate wear
from friction. The young gobbler's beard is two inches long by the
end of November of the first year of his life. By March it is three
inches long and stands out of the feathers one inch. At the end of
the second year it is five inches long, and at three years about
eight inches long.
[Illustration: Hen, wild turkey, and three young. On account of
the extreme shyness of the mother, young turkeys are very hard
to photograph]
Hens have beards only in rare cases, but not in one out of a hundred
will a hen be found with one and then never more than four inches
long. I have seen gobblers with two or three beards, and one at
Eagle Lake, Texas, with five separate, long and distinct beards; but
such cases are freaks. I once called up and killed a turkey hen on
the banks of the Trinity River, in Texas, which was covered with
precisely the same bronze feathers that distinguish the gobbler--the
same thick, velvety black satin breast, and the same beautifully
decorated neck and head, except the white turban cap of the gobbler.
She had a five-inch beard and looked in every way like a gobbler,
except being smaller in size. She weighed twelve pounds and had the
form of the hen, the legs of a hen, and was a hen, but the most gaudy
and beautiful specimen I ever saw. Possibly this was a barren hen, as
she had all the visible characteristics of the male, but she did not
gobble, she yelped.
The parasite which troubles the turkey is much larger than those
which infest chickens. It is yellow in color and crawls rapidly.
Turkeys have a habit of rolling themselves in dust and ashes to
remove vermin from the skin and feathers; but I believe a bath of dry
wood ashes, where an old log or stump has been burned, is preferred
by them on account of the cleansing effect of the ashes.
When the young turkeys are four or five months old they are fairly
independent of their mother, and become quite self-reliant, so far
as roosting, feeding, and flying into trees is concerned. They are
not, however, entirely independent of their mother's care until fully
grown, but usually the entire brood remains under her guidance more
or less until December or January. At this time the young males begin
to follow the ways of the old gobbler, separating from the females
and going in bands by themselves; therefore there are at this time
three classes of turkeys socially (if I may use the term) in the same
district. These flocks will incidentally meet, and will feed and
scratch together for an hour or so; they then separate into their
respective classes and disappear in different directions with great
system and little ado.
CHAPTER VII
ASSOCIATION OF SEXES
Once I saw fifteen gobblers feeding in a hollow between two ridges. I
dismounted from my horse, crawling to the brow of the hill in order
that I might peep over and have a good look at them. I had no gun
with me at the time, so I lay upon the ground and watched the turkeys
feeding and scratching for about two hours. They were apparently all
of one flock; but finally a party of nine, all of which were old
gobblers, having long beards that trailed upon the ground as they
fed, withdrew in one direction, while the other six, which were young
or yearling gobblers and beardless, departed in another direction.
This was done without any signal that I could discern. A few days
later, as I was passing the same place with my rifle, I found, right
on the identical spot, the same fifteen gobblers, nine old ones and
six young ones, scratching and feeding as before. They soon began
to feed away from me, and as I saw they were to pass over a ridge,
I fired at the nearest, which was about one hundred and twenty-five
yards away, tumbling him over, and the rest of the flock ran away.
Two weeks after this incident I was driving in the same woods for
deer. The hounds flushed one detachment of this flock of turkeys (the
nine old gobblers), which took refuge in the trees; and my brother,
who was on a stand near where they lit, shot two of the turkeys as
they perched in the tall pines within rifle shot of him. These birds
were noble fellows, weighing twenty-one pounds each, and they were
fat. This was in January.
As shown, the young gobbler will occasionally associate with the old
ones, but he seldom remains long in their company. Why this is so I
do not know, as I have never known them to quarrel, jostle, fight,
or disagree in any way. I have come to the conclusion that the cause
of the separation must be the want of congeniality between old age
and youth. This division and separation into classes embraces about
three months, December, January, and February, and part of March.
The hens are more sociable and gregarious in their ways than the
males, collecting in immense flocks. The flocks of the gobblers are
seldom more than fifteen or twenty, while I have seen from thirty to
seventy-five hens in a single flock in which there was not a single
male. I imagine the greater size of the flocks containing females to
be on account of the gobblers being killed in far greater numbers
than the hens. Just before the time of the final separation of the
sexes, the young males, their sisters, their mothers, and other
old hens that have lost their broods, associate in a very sociable
manner, traveling and roosting together. Audubon says: "The turkey
is irregularly migratory, as well as irregularly gregarious. In
relation to the first of these circumstances, I have to state that
whenever the mast in one part of the country happens to exceed that
of another, the turkeys are insensibly led to that spot by gradually
meeting in their haunts with more fruit the nearer they advance
toward the places of greatest plenty. In this manner flock follows
flock until one district is entirely deserted while another is
overflowed by them, but as these migrations are irregular, and extend
over vast expanse of country, it is necessary that I should describe
the manner in which they take place. About the beginning of October,
when scarcely any seed and fruit has yet fallen from the trees, the
birds assemble in flocks and gradually move toward the rich bottom
lands of the Ohio and the Mississippi. The males, or as they are
commonly called, gobblers, associate in parties from ten to one
hundred, and search for food apart from the females, while the latter
are singly advancing, each with its brood about two thirds grown,
or in connection with other families, often amounting to seventy or
eighty individuals all intent on shunning the old cocks, which, even
when the young brood have attained this size, will fight and often
destroy them by repeated blows on the head." This last assertion of
the great author I feel obliged to criticise. In my vast experience
with the turkey I have never met with anything to justify such a
statement. I have never seen an old gobbler attempt to fight a young
one, from the egg to maturity. It is wholly unnatural from the fact
that the old birds are never in a bellicose temper except during the
love season or gobbling time in the spring, when jealousies arise
from sexual instincts. Not in any instance, however, have I known
of one turkey killing another. I have often seen two old gobblers
strut up to each other, blow, puff, and rub their sides together.
I watched, expecting to see a crash, but there was not a motion to
strike, and this was in the love season while there was a bevy of
hens all around. They do not fight in the summer, fall, and winter,
but of course now and then old gobblers will fight in the beginning
of the mating season.
The young broods and their mothers do not associate at any time
with the old gobblers, except as I have described, neither do they
run away from them in fear. If all that Audubon and other writers
say about the wild gobbler were believed, he would be universally
regarded as the most bellicose and brutal villain in the bird world;
for, according to various writers, he spends the greater part of
his time making war on his own kind, besides murdering his tender
offspring. Certainly there is no bird more affectionate to its female
under the same condition, or more gallant and proud of her company,
and it does not seem likely that he would wilfully destroy in cold
blood his own family.
The old hens that have not succeeded in raising a brood of their own
will join hens who have, and assist in rearing the young. Again,
Audubon says: "When they come upon a river they partake themselves to
the highest eminence, and there often remain a day or two as if in
consultation. During this time the males are heard gobbling, calling,
and making much ado, and are seen strutting about as if to raise the
courage to a pitch before the emergency of crossing."
[Illustration: The beginning of the strut. These gobblers are
strutting before the camera hidden by brush in an endeavor
to attract the hen turkey whose love call the camera man is
imitating with his "caller."]
I will say in this connection that turkeys may so act in rare
instances, if the stream be exceptionally wide, thus delaying their
progress for an hour; for turkeys do not like to fly under any
conditions, nor will they use their wings save when necessary. But I
have never seen a river that they could not easily cross, starting at
the water's edge, rising as they fly, and alighting in the tops of
the trees on the opposite bank. Mr. J. K. Renaud, of New Orleans, and
I, while paddling a skiff up a small lake in Alabama, once counted a
flock of sixteen turkeys flying across the lake some distance ahead
of us. We noticed that they just barely skimmed over the water and
rose to the top of a higher ridge on the opposite side, where they
alighted, and not even one touched the water. This lake was probably
three hundred yards wide.
Audubon says: "Even the females and young assume something of the
pompous demeanor, spreading their tails and running around each
other, purring loudly, and making extravagant leaps. I have seen this
running round, purring, dancing, and 'ring-around a rosy' in the
spring, but not to any extent at any other time."
As many of my readers have never had the opportunity or pleasure of
reading the beautiful and expressive lines of Audubon on the wild
turkey, I will be pardoned if I introduce some extracts from this
great author. He says: "As early as the middle of February they [the
turkeys] begin to experience the impulse of propagation. The females
separate and fly from the males. The latter strenuously pursue and
begin to gobble, or utter the notes of exultation. The sexes roost
apart, but at no great distance from each other. When a female utters
a call-note, all the gobblers within hearing return the sound,
rolling note after note with as much rapidity as if they intended
to emit the last and first together, not with the spread tails as
when fluttering round the hens on the ground, or practising on the
branches of trees on which they have roosted for the night, but much
in the manner of the domestic turkey when an unusual noise elicits
its singular hubbub."
By this he means, when the wild gobbler on the roost hears the call
of the hen, he gobbles, and dances on the limb without strutting, the
same as the tame gobbler will gobble when hearing a shrill whistle or
other sudden acute sound, without evincing any amorous feelings; but
it is not always so. I have often seen the wild gobbler strut on his
roost, and I have shot them in such an act when in full round strut.
Audubon also says: "If the call of the hen is from the ground, all
the males immediately fly toward the spot, and the moment they reach
it, whether the hen be in sight or not, spread out and erect their
tails, draw the head back on the shoulders, depress the wings with
a quivering motion, and strut pompously about, emitting at the same
time successions of puffs from their lungs, stopping now and then
to listen and look, but whether they spy females or not, continue
to puff and strut, moving with as much celerity as their ideas of
ceremony seem to admit."
Now, here are some of the greatest errors of the great naturalist in
all his turkey lore, or else the wild turkey gobbler has materially
changed his ways. The gobblers do not immediately fly to the call of
the hen, and no turkey hunter of experience will admit this.
There are perhaps instances, extremely rare ones though, when a
gobbler will fly instantly to a hen on hearing her call, or even
at sight of her. Only in two instances in my life have I witnessed
it, and on both occasions the gobblers were young birds two years
old, and acted a good deal like a schoolboy with his first
sweetheart--who smiles and laughs at everything she says and does.
With the young turkey it may be his first gobble on hearing the
quaver of the hen. He is made crazy, and may unceremoniously rush to
any sound that in the least resembles the cry of the hen, without a
thought of what he is about or of the possible consequences. This
is generally the kind of gobbler the novice in calling bags as his
first, a two-year-old with a five-inch beard.
In the early morning, during the spring, a gobbler will fly from
his roost to the ground, strutting and gobbling, whether a hen is
in sight or not; this is done to attract the hens, and it is then
you will hear the puffs to which Audubon refers. This sound is
produced by the gobbler in expelling the air from its lungs, at the
beginning of the strut, the sounds and motions of which have never
been satisfactorily described. While going through the strut the
gobbler produces a number of notes and motions that are of interest;
first, the wings are drooped until the first six or eight feathers
at the end of the wings touch the ground; at the same time the
tail is spread until like an open fan and erected at right angles
to the body; the neck is drawn down and back until the head rests
against the shoulder feathers, and the body feathers are all thrown
forward until they stand about at right angles to their normal
place. At the same time the body is inflated with air, which, with
the drooping wings, spread tail, and ruffled feathers, gives the
bird the appearance of a big ball. Having blown himself up to the
full capacity of his skin, the gobbler suddenly releases the air,
making a puff exactly as if a person, having inflated the cheeks to
their full capacity, suddenly opens the mouth. As the puff is given,
the bird steps quickly forward four or five paces, dragging the
ends of the stiff wing feathers along the ground, making a rasping
sound; he throws forward his chest, and, gradually contracting the
muscles, forces the air from his body with a low, rumbling boom, the
feathers resuming their normal position as the air is expelled. Three
distinct sounds are produced: "_Puff, cluck, b-o-o-r-r-r-m-i_." At
the termination of the gobbling season the primaries of the wings,
which are used to produce the cluck, are badly worn by the continued
dragging on the ground.
"While thus occupied," continues Audubon, "the males often encounter
each other, and desperate battles take place, ending in bloodshed and
often in the loss of many lives, the weaker falling under repeated
blows inflicted upon their heads by the stronger. I have often been
much diverted while watching two males in fierce conflict by seeing
them move alternately back and forth as either had obtained a better
hold, their wings dropping, tails partly raised, body feathers
ruffled, and heads covered with blood. If in their struggle and gasps
for breath one of them should lose his hold, his chance is over, for
the other, still holding fast, hits him violently with his spurs and
wings and in a few moments brings him to the ground. The moment he is
dead the conqueror treads him underfoot; but what is stranger, not
with hatred, but with all the emotions he employed in caressing the
female."
I differ with Audubon, not in the case of the conqueror using
affectionate conduct upon a fallen foe, should he get him down,
as that is truly a freak with them; but I have not seen such a
performance with wild birds, although I have noticed the domestic
gobbler act similarly toward the body of a dead wild gobbler that
I had placed before him on the ground. I have very often brought
such a bird into the presence of a tame one, when, at the very sight
of the dead bird on my back, the tame one would begin to droop his
wings, purr, bow his neck, and bristle for a fight, and at once
pounce upon the dead bird, even pounding me until I laid it down and
allowed him to vent his rage by pounding it. After this he would
begin to strut and gobble, and the red of his head becoming intense
he would go through the caressing motions. More often though, under
the circumstances, the tame bird would, at the sight of the dead
wild gobbler, retire a little way and strut in a furious manner for
an hour or two. This does not apply to one instance or individual,
but many times in many places. I must differ with Audubon as to
the results of these conflicts ever being fatal. I have seen many
encounters as he describes, but have never in all my life seen one
gobbler killed by another, or even crippled, although I have seen
two or three birds fight together for hours at a time. Nor have
I ever found a gobbler dead in the woods as a result of such an
encounter, or even in a worried condition. I have killed many old
gobblers and found their heads and necks covered with blood, with
spur punctures all over their breasts; but this never stopped them
from gobbling, nor are these wounds deep, as the spur, which is an
inch and a quarter long in the oldest of them, can only penetrate the
skin of the body after passing through the heavy mail of thick, tough
feathers.
Another proof that the gobblers in my hunting grounds were not killed
this way is that I should have missed them. How would you know? you
might ask. In the same way that a stock owner knows when he misses a
yearling from his herd. Being constantly in the woods, I knew every
gobbler and his age (at least the length of his beard) within a
radius of several miles, although there be three in one locality and
five in another. During the time they were in flocks or bands, if
one were missing, surely I would find it out ere long; and it has
never yet happened that, when one was missing, I could not trace it
to a gunshot and not to turkey homicide. I will not flatly dispute
that there have been such incidents as cited by Audubon, met with
by others; but I do claim that murder is not common among turkeys,
and such incidents must be extremely rare, or I would have witnessed
them. I can see no way by which one turkey can kill another; for,
as I have said before, the spur is not long enough except to barely
penetrate the thick feathers, and the biting and pinching of the
tough skin on the neck and head could not cause contusion sufficient
to produce death, nor are the blows from the wings sufficiently
severe to break bones.
CHAPTER VIII
ITS ENEMIES AND FOOD
No bird on earth can boast of more or a greater variety of enemies
than the wild turkey. The chief of them all is the genus _Homo_,
with his sundry and sure methods of destruction. After man comes a
host of wild beasts and birds, including the lynx, coyote, wolf,
fox, mink, coon, skunk, opossum, rat, both golden and white-headed
eagles, goshawk, Cooper's and other hawks, horned owl, crow, etc.,
all of whom prey more or less upon the poor birds from the egg to
maturity. There is never a moment in the poor turkey's life that
eternal vigilance is not the price of its existence. Still, many
pass the gauntlet and live to a great age, the limit of which no man
has discovered. I have been a lifelong hunter of all sorts of game
indigenous to the Southern States, and I have never seen or heard of
a wild turkey dying a natural death, nor have I heard of any disease
or epidemic among them; and were it not for the eternal war upon
this fast-diminishing species, especially by man, they would be as
plentiful now as fifty years ago.
The first in the list of natural enemies of the turkey, if we admit
the testimony and belief of nearly every turkey hunter, is the common
lynx or wildcat, often known as bobcat. Many hunters believe that
of all the enemies of the wild turkey the wildcat is the chief. In
all my experience I have never seen a turkey attacked by a cat, nor
have I ever seen the skeleton of a turkey which had been killed and
eaten by cats. I have never seen a cat crouching and creeping up on
a turkey, nor have I had one of them come to me while calling, and
I have had more than fifty years' experience in turkey hunting in
all the Gulf States where the cat is common. Numerous persons of
undoubted veracity, however, have assured me that they have seen cats
creep up near them while calling turkeys, and in some instances the
evidence seems conclusive that the cat had no other business than
to steal up and pounce upon the turkey. Like any other carnivorous
beast, the lynx may partake of turkey as an occasional repast, if
they are thrown in his way, but this is an exception and not the rule.
My brother, who is a well-known turkey hunter in Mississippi, has
furnished me with the following incident: As he sat on the bank of
a small lagoon, in the early morning, with his back against a log
that lay across the lagoon, calling a gobbler which was slow to come,
he heard the soft tread of something on the log very near his head,
on the side next to the lagoon. Turning slowly, he saw a large cat
within three feet of him, apparently having crossed the water in an
attempt to spring upon the supposed turkey that had been yelping on
that side. When my brother faced the cat, it beat a rapid retreat,
and my brother, springing to his feet, waited until the cat left the
log, thus turning its side toward him, when he fired, killing it on
the spot. There is little doubt but that in another minute the cat
would have jumped on my brother's head. Another time he was sitting
calling a gobbler, when suddenly he heard a growling and purring
noise in the cane near him. Presently there appeared three large
cats, but they seemed to be playing or having a love feast, as they
walked about, sprang upon each other, squalled, scratched, springing
up the trees, then down again, until he broke up the fun by a couple
of shots that laid out a brace of them. Another time he was calling
a gobbler which was gobbling vehemently, when suddenly there was a
great commotion among the turkeys, clucking and flying up in trees. A
cat then appeared out of the cane and was shot.
Now, does this prove, in either of the last two cases, that the cats
were trying to catch the turkeys? By no means. For, had the cats
been trying to get a turkey, they would not have shown themselves.
I believe the cats were simply lounging about in quest of rabbits
or squirrels, and happened to pass near the birds, which became
frightened at the appearance of so uncanny a visitor. In the last
incident, had the cat been attempting to seize or pounce upon the
turkeys, they would not have gobbled again, but would have left the
place in a hurry. Another reason why I claim that wildcats do not
habitually feed on turkeys is, that one may find a given number of
turkeys in a piece of woodland, and never miss one from the flock,
unless trapped or killed by a gun--that is, after they are grown.
I will cite another incident connected with the habits of the lynx or
wildcat that came under my observation while in quest of wild turkeys
in the State of Alabama, in company with my friend John K. Renaud, of
New Orleans, an enthusiastic and inveterate sportsman. We were in the
Tombigbee Swamp, and one morning, while sitting together in a fallen
treetop, calling turkeys, our backs against a log, I felt something
soft against my hip. As it felt a little warmer than the earth should
feel, I pulled away the leaves with my hands, and there lay an
immense cane rabbit dead. Upon pulling it out, I found its head was
eaten off close to the shoulders, with no other part touched. This
was the work of a lynx. Two days after, we were sitting by another
log, not over a hundred yards from the first spot, and for the same
purpose. I found there a similar object, a large rabbit freshly
killed and half eaten, the head and forepart of the body gone. That
was the work of a cat. There were plenty of turkeys frequenting that
ridge every day, but never one of them was taken by a lynx, as I knew
positively just how many gobblers and hens there were in that piece
of woods.
I do not think wildcats ever eat the eggs of the turkey when they
come across a nest of them; they may catch the sitting birds, but
all other animals named in the foregoing list eagerly eat the eggs,
if they are lucky enough to find the nests; this is also true of the
crow, who, on locating a nest, will watch until the mother leaves
it in search of food, when it will quickly destroy as many eggs
as possible. All the animals and birds named will catch the young
turkeys, and the larger birds and animals will kill grown turkeys
when they can catch them.
Snakes give the turkey very little trouble. I do not believe any
snake we have can swallow a turkey egg, except possibly the largest
of the colubers (chicken snakes). I have never met one that was
guilty of it, although I have seen them swallow the eggs of the tame
turkey.
Mr. John Hamilton, who has had great experience as a turkey hunter,
tells me of seeing horned owls catch turkeys in the Brazos Bottoms in
Texas, a number of times, as follows:
On going into the woods before daylight, and, taking a stand near
some known turkey roost, to be ready to call them on their leaving
the roost, he has, a number of times, been led directly to the tree
in which the turkeys were roosting by a horned owl who was after a
turkey for breakfast. By walking quietly under the tree, and getting
the birds outlined against the sky, he could see what was going on.
Turkeys prefer to roost on limbs parallel to the ground, and the owl,
selecting a hen perched on a suitable limb, would alight on the same
limb between her and the trunk of the tree, moving sedately along
the limb toward the victim, and when very near her would voice a low
"_who, who_." The turkey, not liking the nearness of such a neighbor,
who spoke in such sepulchral tones, would reply, "_Quit, quit_," and
move farther out on the limb. After a few moments the owl would again
sidle up to the hen, repeating his first question, "_Who, who_."
"_Quit, quit_," would answer Miss Turkey, moving a little farther
out on the limb. This would be kept up until the end of the limb was
reached and the turkey would be obliged to fly, and then the owl
would catch her. From personal observation I know horned owls always
push chickens from the roosts and catch them while on the wing.
A great destroyer of the turkey is rain and long wet spells, just
after they are hatched in the months of May and June. I have always
noticed that, if these months were reasonably dry, there would be
plenty of turkeys and quail the following fall. After all, the
weather controls the crops of turkeys more than all else.
The local range of the wild turkey varies in proportion as the food
supply is generous or scanty. If food is plentiful, the turkey
remains near where hatched, and does not make extensive rambles,
its daily journeys being limited to a mile or so, and often to not
a fourth of that distance. I can not agree with writers who claim
that wild turkeys are constantly on the move, travelling the country
over with no intention of ever stopping. Of course, when the food
supply is limited and scant, as during the seasons of dearth of mast,
the turkeys are necessarily compelled to wander farther in order to
secure sufficient food; but they will always return to their native
haunts when their appetites are appeased.
[Illustration: The chief of all his enemies is the "Genus homo"]
In the early morning, all things being favorable, their first move
after leaving the roost is in search of food, which search they
undertake with characteristic vigor and energy, scratching and
turning over the dry leaves and decaying vegetation. Two kinds of
food are thus gained: various seed or mast, fallen from the trees and
bushes, and all manner of insects, of both of which they are very
fond, and which constitute a large part of their food supply. There
is no bird of the gallinaceous order that requires and destroys more
insects than wild turkeys. They will scratch with great earnestness
over a given space, then, all at once, start off, moving rapidly,
sometimes raising their broad wings and flapping them against their
sides, as if to stretch, while others leap and skip and waltz about.
Then they will go in one direction for some distance. Suddenly,
one finds a morsel of some kind to eat, and begins to scratch among
the leaves, the whole flock doing likewise, and they will keep this
up until a large space, perhaps half an acre of land, is so gone
over. What induces them to scratch up one place so thoroughly and
leave others untouched would seem a mystery to the inexperienced;
but close observation will show that such scratching indicates the
presence of some kind of food under the leaves. It may be the nuts of
the beech, oak, chestnut, chinquapin, black or sweet gum tree, pecan
nut, grape, or muscadine seed. If one will observe the scratchings,
it will be seen that they occur under one or another of such trees or
vines. Thus they travel on, stopping to scratch at intervals until
their crops are filled.
Under certain conditions, wild turkeys are compelled to seek numerous
sources to obtain a supply of food, as when there is a failure of
the mast crop, which affords the principal supply of their food, or
when there is an overflow of the great swamps or river bottoms, which
turkeys so often inhabit. When such overflows occur, the turkeys
are either forced to take up their abode in the trees, or to leave
their feeding ground and retreat to the high lands that are not
overflowed. In the latter case there is little trouble in procuring
food by scratching in the dry leaves or gleaning in the grain fields.
But turkeys are hard to drive from their haunts, even by high waters,
and more often than not they will stubbornly remain in the immediate
locality of their favorite swamps and river bottoms by taking to the
trees until the waters have subsided; they will persistently remain
in the trees even for two or three months, with the water five to
twenty-five feet in depth beneath them. At such times they subsist
upon the green buds of the trees upon which they perch, and the few
grapes and berry seeds that may remain attached to the vines which
they can reach from the limbs. It is truly remarkable how long these
birds can subsist and keep in fair flesh under such conditions. There
is a critical time during these overflows, when turkeys are hard
pressed in that they may obtain sufficient food to sustain life;
this is when the rivers overflow in December, January, or February,
before the buds have appeared or have become large enough to be of
any value as food. Under these conditions they must fly from tree to
tree until they reach dry ground, or starve to death.
Although I have never known of a gobbler being thus starved to death,
I have seen them so emaciated they could hardly stand. One incident
of this sort I will relate: I found four very large old gobblers in
an overflowed swamp on the Tombigbee River in Alabama, and as it was
in February, it was too early in the year for herbage to begin the
spring growth. The river had overflowed the bottoms suddenly, and it
was a long way to dry land, perhaps three miles, so the turkeys could
get little or nothing to sustain life. I shot one of these gobblers,
not thinking of their probable condition, and found I had bagged a
skeleton.
If the bottoms are not over three miles wide, turkeys will usually,
on approach of rising water, start for the dry ridges farther back
from the river, and there remain until the waters steal upon them,
when they will fly into the trees. Sometimes a ridge is an island
at sundown when they go to roost, but is covered during the night,
and when the morning comes there is no dry land in sight for the
poor birds to alight upon. This is bewildering to them and presents
a new state of affairs. If there be an old mother hen in the flock,
she will at once take in the situation, and by certain significant
clucks and a peculiar cackle, which is a part of their elaborate
language, she will take wing and fly two or three hundred yards in
the direction of dry land, alighting in the trees, when, after a
rest, with another cluck or two, the party will continue in the same
direction. This is kept up until the dry land is reached, when, with
wild acclaim and a general cackle of exultation, they all alight on
the ground and proceed at once, at a fearful rate, to scratch up the
leaves in search of food.
The hunter, aware of these habits after the swamps begin to overflow,
will lose no opportunity for an early visit to the hummock at the
margin of the backwaters. The turkeys do not remain near the edge
of the overflow for any length of time, but very soon extend their
range farther into the high forests and fields. They seem to know
instinctively that it is unsafe to linger near the edge of the water.
In case the overflow occurs in March or April, when the trees are
full of fresh buds and blossoms, the turkeys have an easy time,
living in the treetops, fluttering from branch to branch, gathering
the tender buds and young leaves of such trees as the ash, hackberry,
pin oak, and the yellow bloom of the birch, all of which are favorite
foods, while of the beech and some other trees it is the fringe-like
bloom they eat. They will remain in the trees out of sight of land
for months if they have plenty of buds and young leaves to eat, and
keep in fair flesh; but the flesh is not so palatable as when feeding
on mast or grain.
I once knew a flock of fifteen turkeys to remain in trees above an
overflow for two months. I could see them daily from my cabin on the
bank of a lake in Alabama, and could sit at my table and watch them
fluttering as they fed on the hackberry buds. They were in sight of
a dry, piney wood, and a flight of three hundred yards across a lake
would have taken them to the dry land, but not once did they seem
inclined to go to it. They remained in the trees until the water went
down, and the next I saw of them was in an open plantation, with the
lake on one side and the river on the other. The water had barely
left the surface in places, and it was muddy and sloppy. They never
once went to dry land, but returned to their swamp haunts as the
water abated.
On one occasion, as I was going down the river in my skiff, I saw and
passed a great number of wild turkeys, one hundred or more, in small
flocks in the timber near and along the river banks. The adjoining
swamps were overflowed, with no land above the water. Most of these
turkeys were sitting in cottonwood trees immediately on the river
banks or a little way out in the timber, eating the buds. Many of
them were in the trees that hung over the river, and, although most
of the trees were leafless, thus exposing the turkeys to view, they
remained there quite unconcerned while steamboats passed right by
them. As I had three turkeys already in my boat, I felt no desire to
molest them as I drifted by and under them. I passed right under
some fine gobblers on their perches, not over thirty feet up, and
they only looked curiously down at me; they seemed to be busily
engaged in feeding, and sailed from tree to tree, keeping up a great
stir and racket. It is a beautiful sight to watch a flock of wild
turkeys budding, especially on beech buds. The branches of the beech
trees are long and so limber that the birds with all their efforts
can barely hold on to the tiny twigs while they gather their food;
hence they are kept in a constant wobble and flutter, bobbing up
and down with their wings spread out to sustain an equilibrium, and
their broad tails waving and tossing, bringing them into all manner
of attitudes, thus enabling the hunter to see and hear them a quarter
of a mile through the timber. Some get upon very small limbs, then
stretch out their long necks and pick the buds; others will spread
out both wings for support and lie prone on a bunch of twigs while
they feed. There is little or no trouble for the hunter to approach a
flock so engaged and pick off his choice. They are so bent on eating
that they take no note of what is going on around them; even if over
dry land they will often remain in the trees half a day eating buds,
if other food is scarce, and when tired or satiated they will sit
calmly on some large limb and go to sleep or preen their feathers.
This is one of the best opportunities afforded the crafty hunter
with his good rifle to steal up behind a tree and deliberately drop
one, as at this time the leaves are too small to afford much cover,
and the turkeys are exposed to open view, giving the prettiest shots
imaginable for the rifle. While this is one of the most successful
and easiest ways of securing turkeys, there are few hunters who know
enough about it to take advantage of it. Persons will often pass
under trees in a turkey locality, when suddenly one or more turkeys
will fly out. The hunter looks up, but sees only the turkeys on the
wing, and cannot understand why they were in the trees at that time
of day, as he has not flushed any. He wonders how they came to be
there and does not know they were up there budding, having probably
been there all the morning.
The budding season lasts but a short time, if the birds are not
forced to it by an overflow. On dry land it lasts a month or six
weeks, for by that time the buds have matured into full-grown leaves,
and are too old and tough for the birds to eat.
CHAPTER IX
HABITS OF ASSOCIATION AND ROOSTING
After obtaining a supply of food, the wild turkeys become moody and
careless, lounging about the sunny slopes if the weather be cool, or
if it be hot, seeking the shade of the hummock or thicket, preening
their feathers or wallowing in the dust. They thus pass the middle
hours of the day in social harmony and restful abandon. About three
or four o'clock in the afternoon the line of march is resumed in
the direction of the roosting place, and they gather their evening
meal as they journey along. They are excellent timekeepers, usually
winding up the day at one of their favourite roosts; but in case
this calculation is faulty and sundown overtakes them a mile or so
from the desired spot, they will start on a run in single file, the
old hens leading, and keep going rapidly until their destination is
reached. They will then stop suddenly in a close group, peer about,
uttering low purring sounds, while having a breathing spell from the
long run. Having regained their composure, the old hens will sound
several clucks in rapid succession, terminating in a guttural cackle,
when the whole of the flock will take wing. With a wild roar, up
they go in different directions, alighting in the largest trees with
seldom more than two or three turkeys in a single tree. If they are
not satisfied with their first selection of a roosting place, they
will fly from tree to tree until a satisfactory place is found; then
they settle down quietly for the night.
Wild turkeys have a preference for roosting over water, and they will
often go a long way in order to secure such a roost. The backwater
from the overflowing streams, when it spreads out widely through the
standing timber of the river bottoms, affords them great comfort;
also the cypress ponds to be found in our Southern river districts.
They evidently fancy that there is greater safety in such places.
The turkey is happy when it can traverse the ridges, glades, and
flats in a day's ramble from one watercourse to another, having a
roosting place at one ridge one night and the next night at another.
This sort of arrangement suits them admirably, as they dislike to
roost in the same trees two or more consecutive nights. I have
known them to make such regular changes as to roost in three or
four different places in a week, bringing up at the same place not
exceeding once or twice a week, and that on or about certain days.
These are facts peculiar to the wild turkey, especially if localities
are favorably arranged. But often they will roost very many nights
near the same place. If the range is unlimited, however, they will
seldom roost oftener than twice a week at a given spot. There are
exceptions though, for I have known positively of old gobblers who
took up their abode at a certain spot and roosted, if not in the same
tree, in the same clump of trees, night after night and year after
year with the persistent regularity of the peacock, which will roost
on the same limb of a tree for ten or twenty years if undisturbed.
When an old gobbler does take to this hermitlike custom, he is the
most difficult bird to bag in the world. His life seems immune from
attacks of any nature, and he seems to know the tactics of every
hunter in the vicinity of his range. He keeps aloof from any old logs
or stumps where an enemy may lurk, and never gobbles until daylight,
so that he can take in every inch of his surroundings. I have killed
from four to six old gobblers, in a given range, while trying to
bag a certain stubborn old chap whose vigilance and good luck have
saved him from bullets for years; but through patience and dogged
persistence in the hunter he succumbed at last. Although some hold
out longer in their reserved and retired course, I can truthfully say
that I have yet to encounter one that can not be brought to the gun
by fair and square calling. Many experienced and worthy hunters will
criticise this assertion, and are honest in their convictions that I
am in error; but I will take the dissenter to the haunts of the most
astute old gobbler he may select, and call the turkey right up to the
muzzle of his gun, or near enough to see the glint of his eye.
A flock may be met one morning on the skirts of the backwater from
an overflow river bottom, probably a flock of hens and gobblers
together. There would be a great commotion among them and a general
mixing up, yelping, and gobbling. On visiting this place the next
morning one would not be seen or heard. Crossing to another lake or
backwater, one might find the whole flock, or possibly the gobblers,
with not a hen around. If in the gobbling season, and the males are
gobbling, in less than half an hour the hens would be among them,
but if not in the gobbling season the former may not meet the latter
again for a month, as in the spring the sexes have no more attraction
for each other than were they birds of entirely different groups.
Except in the spring you may flush and scatter a flock of hens and
gobblers, and after a reasonable wait begin to call with the notes of
the hen. Not a gobbler will answer or notice you at all, but the hens
will reply by yelping, squealing, and clucking. The gobblers meantime
are as stolid as an Indian and as silent as a dead stump. Wait until
the hens have gone, then begin the lingo of the gobbler and you find
another result.
[Illustration: An ideal turkey country. They will go a long way
to roost in trees growing in water]
Usually there are plenty of wild turkeys in the Southern river
bottoms, in fall and winter, and there they remain until driven to
the uplands by overflows, where they must subsist on pine mast, or
remain in the trees over the water, and live on the young buds and
tender leaves. I have repeatedly noticed this in the Tombigbee swamps
in the State of Alabama. Those that do not go to the hills and pine
forests will hug the margin of the overflow until the waters subside,
when they will immediately return to their former haunts, however wet
and muddy. When incubating time comes they seek the higher, dryer,
and more open places, grassy and brush-covered abandoned plantations,
there to carry out the duties of reproduction.
After the season of incubation is at an end the gobblers cease,
almost entirely, associating with the hens, collecting, as the
summer advances, in bands of from two to a dozen. Thus they remain
all through the summer, autumn and winter, acting the rôle of old
bachelors or widowers, and never separating unless disturbed by an
enemy. The females care for and rear the young broods, returning to
the swamps or hummocks in the fall, where their favorite food has
matured and shed.
One of the last seasons I spent in the vicinity of the Tombigbee
country in Alabama there were no grapes or muscadines in the bottoms,
but a good pin oak crop of acorns, such as the turkeys like. In the
higher woods there was a heavy black gum and berry crop, and there
the turkeys were, while in the oak bottoms there was scarcely a flock.
During the summer months, old gobblers, like old bucks, having banded
together, become very friendly and attached to each other, feeding in
perfect harmony. They stroll together wherever their inclinations may
lead them, and are then very shy and retiring. One seldom sees them
in the summer, but when they do it is generally in an open prairie
or old field, eating blackberries, wallowing in an old ash hole,
or chasing grasshoppers. These old bachelors do not get fat until
fall, although they have an ample supply of food. They are lean and
ugly and forlorn looking until after the molting season is over, in
August and September, and their new bronze suits are donned; they
then begin to fatten, and by December are in excellent condition of
flesh and feathers, continuing to improve until the gobbling season
returns next spring. These confirmed old bachelors will not associate
with the other turkeys, but the old hens that have had their nests
broken up and have reared no broods will associate all winter with
the young broods and their mothers. I have often observed that these
old patriarchs, as a rule, never associate with any other age or sex
of turkeys. In summer you will often see an old gobbler or two with
a flock of hens early in the morning; but see the same flock three
hours later and he is not with them. In the early morning hours of
spring, while there is a general gobbling and strutting parade, all
ages and sexes mingle in the exuberance of the season and hour; but
when this outburst of frolic and revelry is over, the different bands
return to the sterner business of the day, that of searching for
food. The old gobblers remain gobbling, strutting, gyrating round,
picking at and teasing each other, or strumming now and then with the
tip of wings, until a riot is precipitated and a fight ensues, in
which two become engaged, while the more peaceful or timid quickly
leave the vicinity. The gladiators then begin a tug of war, and after
a few blows and jams with wings and spurs, one seizes another by the
loose skin of the head, which is very limp, affording an excellent
hold; then No. 2 gets his opponent by the nape of the neck, and they
pull, push, and shove, standing on tiptoes, prancing and hauling
away, each endeavoring to stretch his neck as high as possible, as
if determined to pull the other's head off, while both necks are
twisted around each other, their wattles aglow with the red sign
of anger, while their hazel eyes sparkle with wrath. They writhe,
twist, and haul away, until perhaps a quarter of an acre of earth is
trampled, and keep it up until the foolish combat ends from sheer
exhaustion, when one of them runs away. The victor, if not too much
used up, having recovered breath and strength, will set up a gobbling
and strutting that will cause the leaves of the trees to tremble. He
thus proclaims his victory and assumes the rôle of monarch of all he
surveys.
[Illustration: A hermit. It would take an expert turkey hunter
to circumvent this bird]
By these fights one gobbler establishes his claim as lord of a
certain range, which no other gobbler will dispute during the rest of
the season.
Sometimes, though rarely, I have known an old monarch to take a
companion gobbler into the very bosom of his harem, however strange
this may appear. I have known of half a dozen instances of this
nature where two old gobblers have formed an inseparable alliance and
remained together staunch friends for years. Hens are seldom seen
in their company and they are extremely difficult to call. I hunted
one such brace three years, killing many other gobblers in the long
effort to bag these two; never did I call them within gunshot, until
one day by some accident they got separated, when it was no trouble
to call and kill one of them; the other is, for all I know, alive now.
Such fights as I have described break up the social ring of old
bachelors, and until the love season is over each male takes up a
range to himself, calling to his side as many of the females within
hearing of his voice as will come to him. Several gobblers can be
heard in the morning gobbling within a radius of a few hundred
yards, but each keeps to himself, and by frequent and persistent
gobbling and strutting secures the society of such hens as may favor
him with their presence.
After the disbanding of the old gobblers is the best time in the
whole season to bring them to call, as they will come to almost any
call, yelp, or cluck; except the mogul himself. His bigotry and
vanity render him most indifferent to the seductive coquetry of
the females, much less to human imitators. Being assured of, and
satisfied with, a well-filled harem, he gives little care to the
discordant piping of the hunter, or even the gentle quaver of a hen.
In this latitude--from 30 degrees to 33 degrees north--the gobbling
season begins about the first week of March, ending the last of May,
embracing about three months, though the time depends much on the
thermal conditions of the spring. If the weather be dry and pleasant
the season will not last as long as if wet and chilly.
CHAPTER X
GUNS I HAVE USED ON TURKEYS
The rifle is, _par excellence_, the arm for hunting the wild turkey
under nearly all conditions. It matters little what calibre rifle is
used. Years ago when I began to hunt turkeys the muzzle-loading round
ball rifle was the only arm thought fit, and it surely did the work
well and satisfactorily.
It is said that Davy Crockett when a boy was compelled by his father
to shoot enough game in the morning to supply his dinner, and was
allowed one load of powder and a ball to do it with. If he missed and
got no game he got no dinner.
In the old days the .38 calibre, shooting a round ball, was about the
proper size, with not too much twist in the rifle; one twist or turn
in five feet was about the thing. Those rifles were reliable and did
not lacerate the flesh unless too much powder was used.
Next came the breech-loading rifle with small charge of powder and
heavy bullet; like the Winchester model '66 and Frank Wesson's single
shot. These guns shot with remarkable correctness at short range,
especially the Frank Wesson rifle; but none of them had enough
velocity to do as fine shooting as is required in turkey shooting
above 75 to 100 yards. With me the .38 calibre Wesson rifle did more
certain work on old gobblers than any other rifle I have ever seen
or used, nor was the powder charge sufficient to tear the flesh
severely, but it would drive the bullet through two old gobblers.
The next best gun, and the best all-round shooting gun I ever used
on turkeys was a .32-20 Winchester, model '73, but this gun tore the
flesh badly.
The points to be desired in a turkey rifle are these: A bullet that
will kill under ordinary conditions and at the same time leave a
minimum trace through the bird; and a flat trajectory for fine
shooting at 125 or 150 yards, as that is as far as one will be apt to
risk a shot at them.
I found that the .32 calibre killed as well as the .50 calibre--I
mean the .32-20--if the shot was placed right. It must be remembered
that the skin of birds is very thin and delicate; the flesh under it,
especially the breast, is extremely tender and juicy, and a rifle
bullet passing through it with great velocity will spatter the flesh
like soft butter, the bullet having mushroomed against the thick,
hard feathers, or even on striking the flesh itself.
I believe the best rifle that could be made for turkey shooting
would be .30 or .32 calibre, with about 15 grains of powder, and the
weight of the bullet reduced as much as possible without injury to
accuracy. It would have ample force and not tear the flesh and give
even greater penetration than the .32-20. A turkey rifle should not
mushroom its bullets, for, although the turkey possesses remarkable
vitality, he is easily killed if shot in the right place.
As to shotguns, there is little choice so far as the shooting is
concerned. Any good modern choke bored gun will answer--the choked
being greatly to be preferred, as it concentrates its shot--which is
a desirable quality in scoring--on the head or neck, the only mark
for a shotgun on a turkey. No. 6 is by all means the size shot for
this purpose; one barrel with No. 6 for the head, the other No. 3 or
4 for the body, is the proper thing.
Wing shooting turkey is so out of line with my idea of turkey hunting
under any conditions that I have little to offer in that respect. To
see a big, fine gobbler with his rich bronze plumage all messed up
by shot and grime, legs and wings all broken and bloody, dangling
about, is a disgusting sight to the true turkey hunter. The turkey is
not built or in any way adapted to being so shot, but there are men
so nervous and excitable that they cannot still-hunt turkeys. Such
men must be going all the time, and their only chance is to scare up
the birds and shoot them on the wing. They are not of the stuff that
make good turkey hunters, and they will never succeed, no matter how
they try. They have no patience to wait on the movement of a turkey
when coming to the call, but can sit around a hotel all day spinning
yarns, talking politics, and perhaps playing cards all night. This
type of man can never become a quiet, contemplative, thoughtful
turkey hunter.
Unless killed or wing broken, a turkey may receive while on the wing
a mortal hurt and yet be lost, for it has such vitality that it will
prolong its flight to such a distance as to be lost. At short range
turkeys on the wing are easily dropped with a shotgun, but then the
whole body is usually filled with shot. Hallock says: "If the hunter
be so fortunate as to get within reach of a turkey, let him take
deliberate aim at the head if he has a rifle, but the possessor of a
shotgun should cover the whole body." To me this seems absurd, for
it is the reverse of this that I would suggest to successfully kill
the bird. Should the man of average nerve and excitability take aim
at the head of a turkey with a rifle he will miss it. I have done it
myself under certain conditions, and under ordinary circumstances I
would not suggest that any sportsman take such chances.
The turkey hunter who uses his rifle gets more real enjoyment out
of the sport than with any other arm. He gets more chances to kill
the bird, because of the greater killing range of the rifle, and
consequently is surer of his game, particularly if he is a marksman
with a cool head, steady hand, and good vision. If one desires to
be a first-class, all-round turkey hunter, my advice is to employ
the rifle, and when a turkey is found, aim for the body, and that
part of it that covers the vitals. If you do not do this you are
likely to see your game running away as fast as his legs can carry
him, for, unless your bullet has passed through his body, striking
a vital part, the bird is likely to escape. If circumstances are
such that you cannot procure a rifle, or are wedded to a shotgun,
I should advise the use of No. 6 shot, and would recommend aiming
at the head of the bird, unless they are young birds and quite near
enough to make sure your shot. Do not use buckshot if you can procure
any other. Should you use No. 5 or 6 shot and aim at the head, you
will be surprised to learn at what range you can kill a turkey. Some
hunters who use a shotgun prefer No. 6 in one barrel and No. 4 in the
other, using one for the head and the other for the body. The reason
that I do not recommend the use of buckshot in turkey hunting is
because the vital parts of the turkey are very small, and at forty
yards the chances of reaching these parts with buckshot are slim.
Those who have tried buckshot at this range note that they have
knocked their birds over nearly every time, but are surprised to see
them get up and run away. This never happens if the sportsman uses a
good rifle and places his bullet in the right place.
CHAPTER XI
LEARNING TURKEY LANGUAGE--WHY DOES THE GOBBLER GOBBLE
To learn to imitate the cry of a turkey is no great feat, if you
have something to call with and know the sounds you wish to imitate.
One can become proficient in the use of the call with reasonable
effort; but to expect to call intelligently, without a proper
knowledge of the interpretation of the notes produced, is as absurd
as to read a foreign language and not know the meaning of the words.
Unless you know the meaning of the gobble, the yelp, and cluck, in
all their variations, you cannot expect to use the turkey language
intelligently. Without such knowledge you will fail to interest the
bird you try to call, unless by accident or sheer good luck you
brought the cautious thing within sight. It is not desirable, though,
that we depend upon luck; one should prefer skill in calling,
so that he can at all times depend with a degree of certainty on
accomplishing his purpose of fooling the bird. I was once hunting
with a friend, and as we sat together by White Rock Creek calling
an old gobbler; two or three other hunters, at different points but
within hearing, were also calling, keeping the turkey continually
gobbling. My friend asked why I did not call oftener, fearing the
others would decoy the turkey away from us. I told him that I had
already put in my call and the gobbler understood it, and the other
fellows were calling by simply making sounds with no apparent meaning
or reason, and when the gobbler got ready he would come to us. I
then took out my pipe and had a smoke. Meantime the calling by the
other hunters was going on at a terrific rate, and the gobbler was
apparently tickling their ambition with his constant rattle and
strut. Ere long he came directly to us and we shot him.
I have known men who could in practice yelp almost as well as the
turkey, but when attempting to call the wild bird would do little
better than the veriest novice. If such persons' confidence and
ability to call did not fail them, their judgment would, and the
opportunity would be spoiled by some absurd act.
It is not so much what one should do in calling, but what one should
not do, as it is better to leave things undone unless done right.
This subject requires the most minute and careful knowledge of
turkey lore, and will require much of your patience before you are
proficient, and I trust you will find in these lines more for your
contemplation than you might suspect.
The conditions under which you call are daily varied, while the
methods to be employed each time are quite complex. In spring the
males are gobbling, and the love-call of the hen is then the one to
use. In the fall and winter, when the turkeys are in flocks and do
not gobble, this not being the love season, you do not then make
love-call, but such as suits the occasion and the temper of the game.
First, as to gobbling: We will analyze that feature, as it involves
great interest to the hunter. As a matter of fact, more people hunt
the turkey during the gobbling season than at any other time, and
strange to say get fewer turkeys, simply from the fact that the call
is not understood.
Why do they go in quest of turkeys at that season? For the reason
that they are much more easily located, as the gobbling of the turkey
indicates its whereabouts, removing the necessity of spending much
time in search of them; hence, were it not for the gobbling many
hunters would never attempt to hunt the birds, knowing too well it
would be useless.
The first and most important thing that you should impress on your
mind is, that the turkey-cocks gobble for a reason.
Why does the gobbler stand in one spot and make a great ado? Every
turkey, whether born in Florida or Mexico, does the same, and at the
same period of the year, because his gobbling and strutting is to let
the hens know where he is, and if he keeps it up every hen in hearing
will come to him. The gobble of the male turkey is his love-call.
In the early spring, when nature begins to unfold its latent
energies and develop its dormant resources for creating new life,
the old gobbler feels its impulses, and is not slow in asserting
his place as leader of the grand aggregation of noisy choristers
that make the deep solitudes of the forests ring to the echo. From
some tall pine or cypress he loudly proclaims the approach of dawn.
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble, quit, quit cut_," comes the love-call from
his excited throat, so suddenly and unexpectedly that all the smaller
species within a hundred yards are dazed with fright. I often thought
that, if he possessed any faculty of humor, he must be greatly amused
at the commotion he creates all by himself.
[Illustration: Big woods in Louisiana where the old gobblers
roam at will. A delightful place in which to camp]
He stands erect on his high perch, peering in all directions to
determine the next thing to do, or to ascertain the result of that
already done, and it often happens that this is the last and only
gobble he will produce that morning, owing to its being accidental.
But he will stand upon the limb of his roost quietly looking about,
and after preening his plumage for a few moments, and seeing that no
enemy lurks near, he stoops, spreading his great curved wings, and
silently as a summer's breeze leaves the tree and sails to the earth
fifty to seventy-five yards from his perch. He stands perfectly
still some moments until satisfied all is well, then he carefully
places the tip of one wing on the other across his back once or
twice, and walks slowly away to feed. A few mornings later, if the
air be crisp, clear, and not too cold, he will gobble lustily many
times before he flies down, for the first warm days of spring begin
to arouse his animal instincts and he longs for the society of his
mates.
He is now in the prime of turkeyhood, in his finest feather and
flesh. He is fat and plump, hence this is the stage at which the
hunter, most of all, prefers to bag him; but he is no easy game to
secure just now.
If he ever were afraid of his own voice, step, or shadow, it is at
this time; but the forest is ringing with a din of bird song, and it
is impossible to restrain his impulse to "_gil-obble-obble-obble_."
Making one or two quick steps, he raises his head and says
"_put-put_," then stands perfectly still, his great hazel eyes
scanning every leaf or bird that moves.
Why does he gobble? It is the call of nature to break up his
loneliness and secure the society of his mates. Turkeys do not mate
in pairs, they are polygamous, loving many wives.
I wish to direct attention to the common and erroneous belief, even
among expert turkey hunters, that it is the call-note of the hen
that brings the sexes together. This is incorrect. It is the call of
the male. It was after years of study that I discovered this fact,
which, once plain to my mind, assured my success as a turkey hunter.
I found that the gobbler was doing the same thing I was doing; I was
struggling with all my ability and tact to draw him out, while he was
playing the same game on me; it was a question of who had the greater
patience. If I remained and insisted on his approach, he would yield
and come to me. Here is his customary method: At the very break of
day, the weather being favorable, he begins to gobble in the tree
in which he is roosting. The gobbling is produced at very irregular
intervals, sometimes with long, silent spaces between, at others in
rapid succession. Some turkeys gobble a great deal more than others.
Some will gobble but once or twice before they come down, and gobble
no more that day; others will not gobble until they fly down, and
then keep it up for hours. Some will gobble all day from sunrise to
sunset. All these various idiosyncrasies the knowledge of the hunter
must meet. Some will come to the yelp or cluck at the first imitation
of the sound, while others will take hours to make up their minds
whether to come at all. Take it all together, the gobbler has most
obstinate ways, purposely or not; the wily hunter must bring all his
faculties to bear if he would outwit him.
If the old turkey begins to gobble on the roost at the early dawn and
to strut (although all do not strut in the trees), he will gobble,
watch, and wait, hoping he may catch sight of the female--located
by her responsive yelp or cluck--that may be roosting in a tree
near him, or one approaching on foot or flying toward him through
the timber. If not so fortunate, he will usually fly to the ground,
scan the surroundings with his keen eye a moment or so, then drop
his wings, spread his semicircular tail, strut, and gobble. Then
he lets his dress slowly down as the spasmodic paroxysm subsides,
listens, and looks, gobbles a time or two, listens again, and struts,
and so on. If he sees no hen or hears no sound resembling that which
he desires, he begins to calmly walk toward his feeding grounds,
gobbling at long intervals; he then usually stops for the day. This
applies to the first weeks of the gobbling season, and he is quite
easily called then, as it is too early for the hen to crave his
attentions; but later it all changes.
The hens seek his presence as the procreative impulses begin to stir
them. The gobbler then will take up a chosen territory in a certain
piece of woods, the most favorable to required conditions, and roost
in the vicinity nearly every night, that is, in case he has secured
a fair harem of six or eight hens; but if he is not so fortunate he
will run all about the country, having no special place to spend
the night. But now we are contemplating the gobbler who has been so
fortunate as to secure a fair-sized harem, and has confined himself
to one locality, in which he will peaceably and contentedly remain
all the gobbling season. I have heard them gobble late in June when
they have one or two hens with them, who evidently have had their
nests and eggs destroyed and are again associating with the males. It
is usual for the hen to visit the gobbler every morning, staying in
his company only for a short time; and when she departs he follows
her slowly a few steps, then begins to strut and gobble violently
until she is out of sight. He knows his complement of hens, and
does not cease to strut and gobble until all hens come to him; he
then quits gobbling and strutting and steals away to feed on tender
leaves, buds, and grasshoppers. At such times the hunter, by piping
seductive quavers, may tickle his vanity and stir anew his passion,
when he will stop in his hunt for food and commence to gobble, strut,
and gyrate enough to exhaust your patience, but if you call properly
and are cool and quiet he will come.
The turkey's gobble is easily heard at a distance of from one to two
miles if the air is still and clear.
These are the rules that apply to turkeys in general, but there are
exceptions; for instance, some old gobblers never secure the favor
of even one hen during the whole season, but will run and prowl the
country over, seeking such stray females as may be met with, even
visiting the grangers' domestic flocks, which is not an unfrequent
circumstance in settled neighborhoods. These solitary old birds when
met with are easy prey to the expert caller.
CHAPTER XII
ON CALLERS AND CALLING
There are in use by all hunters who still-hunt the turkey,
instruments used for imitating the call-notes of this bird; a few
lines on these useful implements will not be amiss here.
The box or trough call, the splinter and slate, the leaf call, all
have their merits, and can be made to imitate the different notes
of the hens and young gobblers. The leaf call is simply a tender
leaf from particular trees, held between the lips, and when well
executed, the call with it is good. The box call is said to make
excellent imitation of the hen call, but I have yet to see one
that satisfied me. The box call is made by taking a piece of wood,
preferably poplar, or some other soft wood, about four inches long,
two inches deep, by one and a quarter thick. Mortise a square hole
in this block, leaving the ends one half inch thick, one side one
eighth, the other quite thin. The mortise is one and a half inches
deep. A piece of slate some four inches long by half an inch wide
is drawn across the thin edge of this box in various positions, and
one skilled in the use of this call can obtain very good results.
The call most in use by the backwoods turkey hunters in the Southern
States, and one that causes the death of more turkeys than all other
call devices put together, is simply the hollow wing bone from the
second joint of a hen turkey, with both ends cut off to allow free
passage of air. One end is held with the lips in such a manner that
the inside portion of the lips covers the end of the bone. The breath
is then drawn in sharply, and when one is skilled in its use the
different call-notes of the hen turkey can be produced perfectly.
There are several other devices much after this order, but I have
never found use for any of them; in fact their defects prompted me
to invent a call of my own, which I prefer. First, get the smaller
bone from the wing of a wild hen turkey: the radius of the forearm.
Hallock says the larger bone, but he is wrong. The bone should be
thoroughly cleansed of all its marrow. After cutting off nearly one
half inch from each end of the bone, the ends are made quite smooth
with a file, all rough surface removed, and the bone finished with
fine sandpaper or emery. The round end of this bone is packed and
glued into the end of a piece of reed cane joint two inches long
and three-eighths in diameter. Then a nice nickel-plated ferrule or
thimble is fitted on the cane to prevent splitting, and the sloping
end is wrapped with silk. Next, get another joint of cane that the
first piece will just fit into and glue them tightly together; then
cut off until the right tone is produced. The flat end of the bone
is used as the mouth-piece. The end of the bone that is inserted in
the cane is wrapped with tissue paper wet with glue and pushed firmly
into the cane three quarters of an inch, and care must be taken to
make this call air-tight at the joints; when the glue dries, it
will be strong, air-tight, and durable. The bands or ferrules are
intended to make the instrument doubly strong, as well as to improve
its looks. It is a tedious job to make a good call, but when you
have one properly made, it will last a great while, and I think this
particular call is the best in the world.
[Illustration: JORDAN'S TURKEY CALL]
There is one objection to the box, slate, or similar calls: they
make quite a noise near by but can not be heard any distance. The
instrument I make can be heard a half or three quarters of a mile
away.
This call is used by taking the flat bone end between the lips and by
measured sucking motion the notes are produced. The cluck is produced
by placing the tip of the tongue on the end of the mouth-piece, and
giving a sudden jerk and suck. This, according to my opinion, is the
most natural cluck that was ever made by any instrument, and it can
be modulated so as to seduce or alarm at the will of the operator.
It is necessary to practise the use of a caller until proficiency
is attained, the same as you would do in playing a flute or violin.
Calling, in my opinion, is the most important thing to be considered
when in quest of the turkey, and the knowledge of how to do it is
difficult to impart to others.
There are four distinct calls of the wild turkey one should become
familiar with to become an expert turkey hunter; these are the call
of the young hen, the old hen, the young gobbler, and the gobble of
the old male bird. The latter is almost impossible to learn, and
I have seen but two or three men in my life who could imitate the
gobble. The sound is made with the throat, and I know of no way it
can be taught. The notes of the hen turkey consist of a variety of
quavering sounds such as are given by the domestic fowl, but which
require study and practice, with the best devised caller, to imitate.
The plain yelp or "_keow-keow_" are the chief notes to learn, and
once mastered and employed in concert with the cluck, will usually be
all that is necessary in calling turkey, be it a flock of scattered
individuals or an old gobbler (in the gobbling season), but it would
avail nothing on the latter at any other time. "_Keow-keow-keow_,"
or "_keow-kee-kee_," "_cut_," "_cut_"--these are the variety
of notes, and each has its meaning, however singular that may
appear. The turkey has no song, and the notes it employs are either
conversational, call, distress, or alarm notes.
Early morning, when they are dropping down from their roost, is the
best time to study their language as well as their habits. If you
go near a flock of tame turkeys and begin to yelp and cluck, they
will reply and keep it up as long as you do, so you can soon learn
their language. If the turkeys be wild ones, keep well out of sight,
for they will stand no familiarity. I am not, however, a stickler
about keeping out of sight when calling. I prefer to sit in front
of a tree that is on the side from which the turkey is expected to
approach, rather than to get behind it. I sit in front of the tree in
such a manner that a turkey with the keenest eye in the world will
not identify me, if properly fixed, clothed, and motionless. The
explanation of this is that the gobbler is not looking for a person,
but for another turkey; and as it can think of but one thing at a
time, it sees nothing that does not resemble that which it is in
quest of; but if you move, its keen eye will quickly detect you.
The turkeys seem to have no special power of smell, so if the
hunter's clothes are gray or drab, he may sit at the base of a tree,
and by keeping quiet, the turkey will many times come within ten or
twenty feet, and, although looking directly at him, will fail to make
him out and walk leisurely away.
I once had a flock of wild turkeys come very near me, and some of
them jumped up and stood on the log I was resting my back against;
one hen was within three feet of me, and she stood for a few
minutes purring and looking me over, finally leaping off. Then a
young gobbler came in front and took a good look at me. He seemed
to have a suspicion that I was not a stump, for he walked back a
little and stopped to meditate. Not being satisfied with his first
investigation, he came up again and took a better look; after
satisfying himself he walked leisurely away. He looked so quizzically
at me that I could scarcely refrain from laughing. At the same time
these inquisitive birds were looking me over, my rifle was trained
on an immense gobbler within eighty yards strutting in plain view.
Upon him my attention was chiefly fastened, and in a few minutes the
old fellow came to bag. A dead grass colored suit is not so good for
a turkey hunting suit as one gray or brown.
If the game you seek be an old gobbler, and the time spring, you will
employ the call fully as much as when calling the scattered brood
in fall or winter. I generally use the plain, quaint, easy measured
yelp or quaver and cluck of the female; this same call has a hundred
variations, but it is not necessary that you employ all of them.
The simple "cluck-cluck-cluck" and now and then plain "keow-keow,"
when properly done, is generally effective. I have called as loud
as I could, so as to be heard a mile away, while an old gobbler was
standing near enough for me to see the light of his eyes without
alarming him. Again I have called very low, just as a test, with
the same result. Sometimes the old bird is unusually cautious;
then the less calling the better; then, after you have engaged the
attention of the turkey so that it will stop and gobble and strut,
the less you call him the better, for the reason that in gobbling and
strutting it is using all its own persuasive power to draw you to
him, thinking you are a hen. Under these conditions so long as you
continue to call or reply he will remain and gobble, and insist on
your coming to him. But if you have commanded his attention and stop
calling and wait, he will make up his mind to come to you, as he has
come to the conclusion that the hen is indifferent to his company and
is moving away from him; this will excite his anxiety and cause him
to make haste toward you.
Under such circumstances, and they occur very often, the hunter will
very soon note, after he has quit calling, the gobbler will gobble
oftener, more furiously, and strut with greater vigor. This is the
time when most turkey hunters make a fatal mistake, for if you call
after the gobbler starts toward you, he will stop a while at that
point, and go through all the maneuvers he has been worrying you with
for some time, march back and forth to his recent stand and give you
another hour or two of waiting, or perhaps he will go away to return
no more. Do not make this mistake, but keep still, wait, and watch.
Let the gobbler do the gobbling and strutting, and you do nothing but
keep your eye on your rifle sights and watch for his appearance. When
he suddenly stops gobbling and strutting look sharp and keep your gun
leveled in the direction from which he is expected, but by no means
have your gun in such a position that you will have to move it after
the turkey is in sight. Some men have a habit of moving their guns
about, although they have their heads and bodies hidden and quiet.
They might as well get up and say "hello."
[Illustration: I soon saw the old gobbler stealing slowly
through the brush]
If a gobbler stops, and gobbles and struts in one place some time,
while you are calling him, this is good evidence that he will come
to you, if you have but patience and keep quiet; nine hunters out of
ten, however, take the opposite view of it, and for the lack of good
understanding of the turkey, and of patience, get up and go home at
the very time when success would have crowned their efforts. Now,
if a hen has gone to the gobbler, as will often occur, and they are
out of your sight in the brush, you will know this to be the case
by the long interval between gobbles; if it be fifteen to twenty
minutes, you may be certain a hen is with him.
You cannot always be sure that a cessation of gobbling is for the
purpose of attending the hen or of coming to you, but you will soon
find out if you wait, as the turkey is sure to strut and gobble near
the place after the caress is over; this has been my experience
hundreds of times; in fact it is characteristic and habitual, and
it rarely happens otherwise. Here is an instance: Two young men
accompanied me once to a creek near the margin of a large prairie in
Texas to see me call an old gobbler. At the dawn of day the gobbler
broke forth into a lively gobbling, when we proceeded to an old
fallen pine log to call him. Having waited for him to fly down from
his roost, I began the regulation series of calls, clucks, etc. The
turkey was a great gobbler and did his share of it, but he would not
come immediately to the call. After a while one of the boys remarked
that he heard a hen yelping near the gobbler, and then all gobbling
ceased, and the boys remarked he had gone off with the hen. I said,
"No, he is there yet." This silence lasted fifteen or twenty minutes,
while the mosquitoes were covering the faces of the boys; but they
were bent on seeing the play out and would squirm and rub off the
pests, then listen and look, as they lay prone on the pine straw and
peered over the log. Once in a while I would yelp, but no response
came until the gobbler's attention to the hen had ceased; he then
began to gobble again as vigorously as though nothing had occurred.
Then I began calling again, but he would not come to me, and soon
another hen came flying and lighted in a tree near him, and a moment
or two after flew down to him. This caused another long wait. When
through with the second hen there was another long strutting and
then another hen paid him a visit. By this time the boys had become
impatient, and were anxious to go home; the mosquitoes were biting
them severely and their stomachs were craving nourishment; so was
mine, but I knew what I was about, and in a low whisper remarked:
"Boys, if you can endure it no longer we will go home, but it is
hard to have come this far before daylight, six miles, and have such
a fine gobbler within our grasp, then give it up and go home without
him."
"Oh, well," both said in a whisper, "if you think you will get him,
we will stay all day."
"That is all I ask," I replied. "On these terms he goes home with us."
By this time the gobbler had finished his attention to the third hen
and was gobbling furiously in the same spot. I began to call again
and the gobbler responded lustily. Having given him a few well-meant
calls, I put the caller in my pocket. Seeing this move, one of the
boys asked me if I was going to give up. "No," I replied, "it is his
turn to parley and he will come now if no other hen comes to him, so
you fellows keep still as death, but keep a careful watch."
Very soon, after a series of rapid and excited gobbling, all was
still. My rifle got into position, and I whispered to the boys to
peer over the log, but to keep their heads still, as the gobbler was
coming and would soon be in sight. The woods had been burned and the
low scrub in our region was black and charred, save small spots that
had escaped the fire. I soon saw the white top of the old gobbler's
head stealing slowly through the dead brush a hundred yards away,
but the boys could not see him until he walked upon a small mound
some three feet in height, that brought his whole form above the dead
bushes. His feathers were all down, lying close to his body, and his
long beard hung low; a noble bird he was. The most thrilling and
picturesque object to my eye is the long beard of the turkey; just
as the big horns of a buck are to the deer hunter. In a low whisper
I asked the boys if they saw him. "Yes, yes," both answered in a
trembling whisper. Then the rifle cracked and the bird sprang into
the air and fell back dead. The two boys, wild with delight, sprang
to their feet and went crashing through the burned underbrush to get
hold of the fallen turkey. One of the young men, quite a hunter,
remarked: "That beats all the maneuvering with a gobbler I have ever
seen and was well worth the long ride to witness." So presenting him
with the big twenty-two pound bird, we went home.
As soon as possible select a place to call from. To a novice there is
no special rule by which one can at all times be governed in calling
old gobblers. Each bird is possessed of some peculiarity different
from its neighbor, and all individual variations the hunter must
meet with good judgment. When out very early in the morning in the
vicinity of turkeys, get some elevated position, a ridge if possible,
and, as the dawn is breaking, listen for the gobble. The first sounds
one is apt to hear are the hooting of the owls; the next, as the
light grows apace, is the note of the cardinal, found in all southern
woodlands. As a roseate glow begins to replace the gray dawn, one
will hear the "_gil-obble-obble-obble_." It may be within one hundred
yards of you or perhaps a mile away. You should wait until the turkey
gobbles again to be certain of his direction, then make all haste to
him, and get as near as you wish before he flies down from his roost.
When within one hundred and fifty yards of the gobbler, stop, and be
careful lest he sees you, as his ever watchful eyes look everywhere,
especially at things on the ground.
As soon as possible select a place to call from. To a novice an old
treetop or log is best, but to me the front of a tree is preferable,
with an open space in front that the gobbler may come into to be
shot. But whatever the place selected, get into position as soon as
possible, and let it always be an attitude that will not cramp you
should you have to remain a long time, and where you can have easy
action for your arms and gun. That is why I prefer the side of a tree
next to the game.
If the gobbler is still gobbling after you have seated yourself, sit
quietly until he flies down; that is best. But if you cluck or yelp
to him in the tree, let it be but once or twice to attract attention
and no more; no matter how much he gobbles, you must keep still
until he leaves his roost, and even then wait a few moments for him
to gobble or strut, which he is sure to do on reaching the ground,
after taking a look around. After this you can give him a cluck or
yelp, or several of them, no matter how many, provided they are well
delivered. If you are not yet an expert at calling, best make as few
calls as possible; for he will surely reply by either gobbling or
strutting, or both. Do not be in a hurry, for generally he is in no
hurry, but has all day to worry you, and will surely do it if you
continue calling after you have said enough. If you desire to get
your shot at the gobbler as early as possible, call as little as you
can after you have got him interested. If you continue to yelp every
time he gobbles, he will stop in one place and gobble anywhere from
two to six hours, exhausting all your patience and temper.
In selecting a place to call from, there is one caution that should
never be forgotten: never get behind a tree so that you will have to
look from one side to point the gun; the turkey is sure to see you
and run away before you can shoot.
CHAPTER XIII
CALLING UP THE LOVELORN GOBBLER
There is a wide difference between the old gobbler and the young
gobbler, and the tactics to be employed in hunting them are quite
different. At two years old he can be distinguished by his beard,
which is then about five inches in length, the tip having a burned
appearance; his spurs are about five eighths of an inch long, are not
pointed, while the average weight of the bird is about sixteen to
eighteen pounds. At three years this burned appearance disappears and
the beard is seven or eight inches long, straight, black, and glossy,
the spurs being an inch or more and pointed. The bird may now be
considered full grown, and weighs from nineteen to twenty-two pounds.
Henceforth there is no way I know of to tell his age. He continues to
grow for several years, taking on fat as he gets older, while the
beard will attain to a length of twelve to thirteen inches, when it
wears off at the tip on account of dragging on the ground while the
bird feeds. But the beard does not indicate the size of the turkey,
as some very small gobblers have extremely long ones. The largest
turkey I ever saw had an eight-inch beard and weighed twenty-four
pounds even though quite lean; he would have weighed thirty-one or
thirty-three pounds if he had been fat, and he may have been twenty
years old, for he was known to have inhabited one locality for more
than fifteen years.
You must first ascertain where the gobblers are to be found, and
then be on the ground before there is the least sign of daybreak to
select a place where you can sit hidden and in comfort. If satisfied
that gobblers are in the vicinity, wait until dawn approaches, and
if then you do not hear them, hoot like the barred owl. If there is
an old gobbler within hearing, nine times out of ten he will gobble
when the owl hoots; but if you get no response, "owl" again, or give
a low cluck; the old gobbler may be on his roost within sight of
you. If still no response, cluck louder, and repeat at intervals,
adding a few short, spirited yelps; if you fail, move quickly a half
or quarter mile away and call loudly with a cluck and yelp or two.
Proceed in this manner until you have traversed the range of your
proposed hunt. In this way I have encountered several old gobblers
in a morning's tramp, while there was not one within hearing of the
point first selected.
If turkeys have begun gobbling at dawn, you must choose a place to
call from. My choice is in front of a tree a little larger than one's
body, facing the turkey. If possible have your back to a thicket with
open ground in front, or you may prefer to get behind a log or stump,
or in a fallen treetop. Do not make a blind, for the obstruction
will hide the game which is as apt to approach from one direction
as another; generally the unexpected way. If you sit out in an open
place by a tree, and stick up two or three short bushes in front, he
will never see you until near enough for you to shoot.
If the old gobbler is in the tree before you take your position,
do not approach nearer than one hundred to one hundred and fifty
yards of him; he may possibly see you or he may fly behind you, or
alight at your side when you call, and run away before you can shoot.
This may look like a small matter to consider, but you will find it
amounts to much in dealing with old gobblers, as I have learned from
experience. I have had them fly right over my head, so close that I
could have touched them with my gun barrel, or alight at my side and
run away in a twinkling. One flew so near my brother once as to flip
his hat brim with its wing. The most remarkable instance I ever knew
occurred to a Mr. Daughty in Alabama. He was calling a turkey that
was gobbling in a tall pine, and finding the call would not bring him
down, Mr. Daughty took off his old brown felt hat and gave it a flop
or two over his knees. Before he had time to think the gobbler was
upon him, and he had to drop his gun and ward it off with his hands.
He told me the gobbler had stretched out his feet to alight on his
head and frightened him so he never thought of his gun, and was so
dazed that the gobbler was gone before he recovered his wits. I once
called one down, and as he stretched his legs to alight, he saw me,
and with a loud "_put-put_," checked his flight and shot up like a
rocket.
A gobbler will invariably alight within fifty to seventy-five yards
of the roosting tree, according to the height they are perched from
the ground; therefore one hundred and fifty yards is sufficiently
near if your purpose is to call; but if you intend to stalk and shoot
him in the tree, you will do best if you show no part of your body;
and especially keep the gun barrel out of sight. Many hunters will
hide themselves but expose their gun, which is a great mistake, as
the bird will surely see the glint of light on the barrel.
It is best, in my opinion, not to call while the gobblers are in the
trees, for the reason that the gobbler is expecting the hen to come
to him; and it will often happen that as long as you call, so long
will he remain in the tree and gobble and strut. I have had gobblers
sit on their roost until 9 o'clock and gobble because I kept yelping.
[Illustration: "Cluck," "put," "put," there stands a gobbler,
within twenty paces to the left; he has approached from the
rear]
Having got into position, wait until your nerves are cool. The
turkey hunter must have time. Give a low, soothing cluck, then listen
carefully, as the turkey may gobble the instant he hears the cluck;
perhaps two may answer, but we will confine our attention to one.
If a two-year-old bird, he will gobble before he thinks; but we
will not allow you such an easy job as a two-year-old. Suppose the
gobbler is three years or over--he will straighten up his long neck
and listen some moments. He is not sure it was a genuine cluck, but
he thinks it was, and duly drops his broad wings, partly spreads
his tail, and listens; then, "_Vut-v-r-r-o-o-o-m-m-i_" comes the
booming strut, and "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," if he dares this it is
to elicit a call or cluck from you to make sure he is not deceived.
Now call, "_Cluck, cluck, keow, keow, keow_," at once he answers
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble_" two or three times in a breath so loud and
shrill that it rings out like thunder in the quiet of the forest.
Now give a low quaver, "_Keow, keow, keow_," just audible to him,
yet low, then stop right there. He will yell out in a fierce and
prolonged rattle that will make the squirrels quit their feeding
and spring to the trunk of the tree, and arouse the herons from the
margin of the rivers and swamp ponds. Then comes the heavy booming
strut, and if he gobbles again, be quiet and let him talk to his
heart's content. Unless you yelp or cluck at this time, he becomes
more and more nervous and restless, and even dances on the limb.
Keep quiet; he will now give a few lusty gobbles, and then there is
a short pause. Look out now. There is a rustle in the tree, a flip,
flip, and you see his big dark form leave the tree and sail to the
ground, giving his broad wings a flop or two to ease up the impetus,
and as he strikes the earth a cloud of leaves arise in a circle to
settle around him. The royal bird straightens up his matchless form,
and while his fine hazel eyes scan the surroundings, you gaze with
admiration at his symmetry and beauty. More likely than not he has
alighted to one side; if so, beware! Probably, too, if the woods are
not very open, you will not see him on the ground and must judge as
to his movements.
If there be but one gobbler, wait a few minutes after he is down,
as he is listening and watching; then make a few yelps softly, but
rapidly, and a cluck or two. He will gobble and strut vehemently. Be
sure your cluck is a perfect assembly cluck, or he may take it as an
alarm "_put_." Your cluck, if made at all, should have a reassuring
accent, or better not attempt it, depending on the yelp or quaver.
The cluck and "_put_" are so nearly similar in sound to the ear
that they are difficult to distinguish; but one is a call note and
the other is an alarm, hence it were better to omit both rather
than disturb the confidence of the bird you are calling. While the
two notes are impossible to describe in words, they can readily be
produced by an expert caller with a good instrument. Give the gobbler
two or three quick little yelps, "_Keow, keow, kee, kee_," in a
kind of an interrogatory tone; this is sure to make him gobble and
strut, or probably to strut only. I prefer that he strut, although
the gobble is more exhilarating to one's ear, but does not signify
as much. The strut is the better sign every time; it shows he has
leisure and passion.
Your "_Cluck, keow, ku-ku_," brings forth at once
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble. Cluck-v-r r-o-o-o-mi._" Hush, hear that?
"_Cut-o-r-r-r_," "_Cut, cut keow, keow, keow_." What is it? Is some
one else calling? No; the sound is too perfect. Hark! how he gobbles
and struts with renewed vigor, for it is the siren note of the real
hen who has gone to him. You might as well now keep quiet for fifteen
or twenty minutes, for he will not answer as long as he is with a
hen. As soon as she is out of sight, however, he will listen to you.
Here, reader, is the most important lesson to be learned and the most
valuable in all turkey lore--patience.
[Illustration: Suddenly there was a "Gil-obble-obble-obble," so
near it made me jump, and there within twenty paces of me was
the gobbler]
Fifteen minutes is usually ample time with the lusty turkey. You keep
up the call and tease at proper intervals until sufficient zeal is
restored, which can be determined by the vigor of his gobble; then do
not call any more, no matter what he does. Keep still and watch his
manoeuvres, and presently he will begin to gobble and strut with
great stress, gyrate, and swerve from side to side, right to left,
his big tail, doing everything to fetch the new hen whose voice he
hears; but you must not break the spell by any false move. All at
once he stops and everything is still again. Maybe another hen has
come to his court, maybe not. But do not yelp or cluck; he may be
coming to you, for he knows precisely where you are, and if he is not
caressing another hen he is surely approaching you. This may take
fully an hour, sometimes six.
"_Cluck, put, put_," there stands a young gobbler within twenty paces
to the left: he has approached from the rear. Make no motion. He has
not identified you. "_Put, put._" Keep still. "_Put, o-r-r-r-r._"
He begins to step high, turning to one side, then to the other.
"_C-r-r-r-r._" He pulls out the tip of one wing and places it on
the other. Note that. He is going to walk away. "_Put, c-r-r-r-r._"
He is gone; but let him go, and good riddance, for he has created
a distrust in the old gobbler's mind that will take some time to
remove. You are now compelled to change your place and call again.
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" Gracious! he is off to the right and fifty
yards nearer. If there is sufficient cover, make a detour of from
one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards and get ahead of him;
then sit down, give a yelp or two, and end with a cluck. That will
reassure him at once, and he will most surely gobble in reply; if so,
you sit still. Have your rifle in readiness so that no move be made
when he comes into view. Very likely you have waited some time since
he gobbled last, and apparently he has quit all strutting. There is
another ominous pause, but you are ready for him and on the sharp
lookout. You are sorely vexed, but your good judgment keeps you alert
while the other hunters have long since gone home.
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" Sh-e-e-e-e. There he is within thirty
paces to the right at a half strut. What a bird! See his noble
bearing, the bronzed coat, the glint in the keen eye. You can't move
now, for he sees you, but he has not made you out. Be still and let
him pass behind that big oak, then turn quickly before he comes into
view again. Ah! that low green bush has obscured him; he has passed
out of sight and does not reappear. Your nerves begin to run like
the wheels of a clock with the balance off. Your disappointment is
inconsolable. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," nearly one hundred yards on
his way. This is discouraging, but the educated turkey hunter never
gives up so long as a gobbler will argue with him.
Get up at once and make a rapid detour, taking in two hundred yards;
get ahead of him again and on his line of march. Then sit down and
call as soon as possible to attract his attention. This done your
chances are as good as ever. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" You have
estimated well. The gobbler is one hundred yards back yet, which
gives you a breathing spell. He begins to rehearse the old rôle of
gobbling and strutting, but with greater force, as he has had a
long rest. Now give another call and cluck to see where he is; no
response, and you are becoming as restless as a raccoon robbing a
yellow-jacket's nest, and crazy for just one more call; but I advise
not; have patience, and wait. Another call would only cause delay
if not other harm. He is the one now to get nervous, for that hen
may escape. A crow gives a sudden caw in a neighboring tree, and,
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," says the turkey, now only seventy-five
yards away. But you are silent. Again comes a long pause, and
you think he has detected you and gone. A red tail hawk darts
screaming through the timber, and, "_Gil-obble-obble-obble cluck
v-r-r-r-o-o-m-i_," goes your bird thirty yards nearer; then all is
silent again. He has made a strenuous effort to draw your call, but
you are deaf. Another long pause and you are in a tremor all over. He
has quit making any noise, and the stillness is painful for, save a
solitary red bird trilling his carol in yon elm, and a gray squirrel
nibbling the buds on that slender maple, all is still. Two chameleons
are racing on the log behind which you are crouching, and, springing
suddenly to the dry leaves, they startle you with the clattering they
make, so highly strung are your nerves; but you dare not move.
Why this insufferable silence? The gobbler is coming, but when will
he appear? Your rifle is in position, cocked, your eye running along
the glistening barrel, but that is all of you which is allowed to
move. A distant dead tree falls with a heavy thud that shakes the
earth. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," breaks upon your ear and sends
a thrill through your nerves, and the timid squirrel wiggling and
scampering to his hole in a hollow gum. The sound comes from the
oblique left. Your eyes turn slowly that way. Ah! there he stands,
half erect, half concealed in the brush. You see the white top of his
head, the crimson wattles of his arched neck, the long beard and the
glint of his eye, for he is only forty paces away; but do not fire,
as the least twig may deflect the ball. He has not made you out,
although in plain view, nor will he, unless you make a sudden move.
You have carefully brought the rifle to bear on him. He is meditative
and somewhat listless; but note that tail going up: he is going
to strut, and that will bring him into an open space. "_Cluck
v-r-r-r-o-o-o-m-i._" There! he is broadside on. See that crease that
runs along his neck ending near the butt of the wing? Drop your bead
on the butt of the wing opposite where that crease ends. That will
kill him every time, as behind lies his heart; while if you aim
for the centre of the body the bullet will go through the viscera,
making a mess of it, and while a fatal wound, he may get away and
be lost to you, for it will not always knock him down. If he stands
quartering, aim at the centre of the breast next to you. It will
at once be fatal. If the back is presented, which is not once in a
hundred times, draw upon the centre of it. Unless turkeys are very
plentiful, and you care little about losing a good chance, don't
shoot at his head with a rifle.
CHAPTER XIV
THE INDIFFERENT YOUNG GOBBLER
Of all stages, conditions, and peculiarities of these fowls, the
young gobbler is the most difficult to understand. He is absolutely
unique, hence you must employ entirely different tactics when you go
in quest of him. He has little education, but he possesses a great
native shrewdness, and I have sometimes thought him more difficult
to get than either the old gobbler or hen; this may be a fool's
luck, or it may be the result of stupidity or reticence, but I have
killed ten old gobblers to one young one. As I have before stated,
while the young males are with their mothers and sisters in the flock
there is little difficulty in bringing them to the call after the
flock is scattered. But after the separation of the sexes they are
extremely hard to call, for the reason that they have abandoned the
society of the females altogether, and do not pay any attention to
their voices. Lack of information and a reckless carelessness have
caused the loss of many young gobblers that otherwise might have
been secured. After the young males have been separated some time
from the females, and are banded together, they are hard to find and
hard to bag when found. Instead of flushing at once into the tree at
the approach of an enemy, they usually take to their legs and run
some distance before stopping, making their pursuit difficult and
unreliable. If once flushed and scattered, and the hunter understands
how to call them, he can usually get one or two out of the flock if
he is familiar with their peculiar ways. Thus after December we have
three distinct classes of turkey society, the old gobblers, the young
gobblers, and the hens; and no matter what the number of them is,
they persistently maintain this separation the rest of the winter.
The soft, gentle quaver of the hen has no effect on the ear of the
young gobbler at this season, and he will hearken to no other note
or call than that of the young gobbler. Even were a flock of hens
to pass beneath the tree on which he is perched, he would regard
them with no more interest than he would a flock of crows; hence
neither the hen nor her yelp would be a decoy to him, but the call
of another young gobbler will enlist his attention. The call of the
young gobbler, like that of the average boy as he is developing into
manhood, is changeable and erratic; at times it is ridiculous from
its awkwardness, and hard to imitate or even to identify. It consists
of an irregular hoarse and discordant croak and a coarse muffled
cluck that sounds like an acorn falling into a pool of water, or the
gentle tap of a stick on a log. If this yelp or cluck is properly
and timely made, it will bring the young gobbler to the hunter, but
usually he is in no haste to come even then. They have ample time to
spare for all their movements, and it requires the greatest patience
and dogged determination of which a sportsman is capable to sit and
wait their pleasure; but if the hunter has a band of young gobblers
well scattered, if he has a good caller and is expert in its use, and
will make up his mind to sit quiet and talk turkey, he will usually
be rewarded. He should use only one or two low, coarse clucks, well
measured and some time apart; then the low, muffled "_Croc, croc_."
The young gobbler may be sitting on the limb of a tall cypress,
hidden from view by a festoon of Spanish moss; or, if in a pine,
hidden by the limbs, as still as a part of the tree. "_Croc, croc_,"
and one low, hoarse cluck, as if a nut had struck the bark of a dead
log in falling, are the only sounds you dare to make. He is not so
reckless in regard to the call or answers as the hens, and not so
nervous. While he sits and contemplates, he measures notes; so that
you have to be careful if you would fool him. Now call, "_Croc,
croc_." His fears begin to dissipate, and running his beak through
his feathers, he makes his toilet. This over, he slowly raises his
long neck and head and replies, "_Croc, croc_." "_Cong, cong, croc,
croc, cluck._" He turns his head with one side earthward, and gives
himself a convulsive shake--"_Croc, croc_." He lifts up one foot and
then slowly puts it down; lifts one wing, placing its tip on top of
the other, then slips that one out and laps it on the first. "_Croc,
croc, kee, kee._" He looks around again to be reassured. Now there
is a rustle in the top of the tree, and you see the leaves move, for
he has turned on the limb and you may see a portion of his body. You
dare not shoot or risk a bullet through that brush. Wait. "_Croc,
croc_"; he walks along the limb a few feet, but you still get only
glimpses. "_Croc, croc_," and down he sails to the earth. A cloud of
dry leaves arises around him and settles again as he closes his broad
wings and straightens up. Now is your chance; bag him.
[Illustration: The soft, gentle quaver of the hen has no effect
on the ear of the young gobbler]
When the young gobbler once makes up his mind to go to your call,
there is little or no stopping on his part. He walks boldly along, as
if he had no fear of anything. But be careful; he will see you surely
if you make an unnecessary motion, and there is no compromising a
mistake with him. His adieu is final. He is a bird of the fewest
words at any time, and stands upon the idea that absolute silence
is safety. His habits are exclusive and retiring, seldom showing
himself in openings, although at times he is fond of open pastures or
prairies where he can see all around him.
CHAPTER XV
HUNTING TURKEY WITH A DOG
I do not believe there is any safer way of bringing a turkey to bag
than by the judicious employment of a good turkey dog, and by that I
mean a dog trained especially to hunt turkeys. The hunter, too, who
employs a dog must know and act his part well to be successful.
Of all times to hunt the wild turkey with a dog, the autumn and
winter months are the best. The dog should be a natural bird dog,
either pointer or setter. My choice, next to the pointers or setters,
are the terriers, either Scotch or fox. The Scotch terrier makes an
excellent turkey dog, due to its intelligence, patience, courage, and
snap.
I have had dogs lie by my side when turkeys were gobbling and
strutting within a few feet, and never move a muscle until the gun
was fired, when they would be upon the bird instantly.
If you employ a dog in gobbling time, he must be thoroughly educated
to distinctly know his part, which is to keep at heel or lie at your
side and watch without a sound until the bird is called to gun and
shot; then the dog is allowed to go and seize the quarry if it is not
killed by the shot and making off with a broken wing.
In Alabama I once saw a large gobbler coming slowly to my call over a
pine hill about ninety yards away. I fired at him with my rifle as he
was moving in a full strut. At the shot, my gobbler tumbled over, but
quickly got up and made off at a lively run with one wing hanging. I
started after him, at the same time calling to my brother (who was
below me on a creek, calling another turkey) to let go his dog. In a
moment I saw a gray streak shoot out from the thicket on the creek,
and start up the hill in pursuit of the running gobbler. It was my
brother's Scotch terrier, and within one hundred and fifty yards the
dog overhauled the gobbler, to my great satisfaction, and held him
until I arrived. Had I not had the services of a dog at this time the
turkey would have escaped, as he could get up the high, rocky slope
faster than I.
It is best to take a young dog six or eight months old. The training
is easy enough, provided the preceptor knows his part. Like educating
a dog for quail, he must get the rudiments before he ever sees the
live game, for once a lesson is spoiled a dog is also spoiled. Give
him a few lessons before taking him into the woods to hunt turkeys.
He must know the turkey is his quest ere he is let loose; and do not
loose him until you have found unmistakably fresh signs; for one
mistake at such a time will take months to repair.
Teach him to lie down, the same as in quail lessons, no matter if he
is a pointer, terrier, or hound. Having taught him to lie down, take
him walking where there are trees, logs, and fences, and every now
and then suddenly sit or squat down by some tree or fence, calling
him quickly to you by soft words and motion of the hand. Make him
lie down close to your hip, better the left side if you are right
handed, so that by any unexpected move he may not destroy your aim at
a critical moment. Teach him to lie on his belly or with his head
prone between his forepaws. This is easily done, and will insure a
motionless attitude as a turkey is approaching. If he whines under
excitement, as some will, tap him lightly with a small switch on the
head; this will also make him put his head down, and he will soon
understand the meaning of it.
Next get a dead wild turkey, hen if possible, as it is lighter. Take
the dog into the yard or field where there are no dogs or children
to bother him. Let him play with the turkey a little, while you
encourage him, then have some one drag the turkey from him by the
head a short distance, while you hold and encourage the dog to go.
Let the turkey be hung up in a tree or bush out of his reach; then
let him go and take the trail and tree the bird, and encourage him
to bark and jump against the tree. Then have it fixed so that after
he has jumped and barked a while you can fire a gun or pistol and
the carcass falls to the ground and he pounces upon it. Repeat this
as often as you have an opportunity. You may keep a wing cut off at
the second joint, using that for several lessons before it becomes
tainted, but by no means allow him to tear the wing or bite the flesh
of the turkey. You might set him after a tame turkey now and then,
but this might bring him some day to grief by a load of shot from
your good neighbor.
Take the dog with you on a few hunts in the woods for turkeys. If
you find a flock, put him after them at once and let him flush them,
which he will hardly fail to do. Then, if you can kill one over
him, your turkey dog is well-nigh made. Having had your turkeys
flushed, you can walk slowly and cautiously in the direction they
flew, looking into every tree, and you will soon see one or two of
them perched upon a limb. To get your bird now is easy if you have a
good rifle; and you had better not be out if you haven't one, as no
kind of shooting requires better marksmanship than turkey shooting,
especially in the timber. Having treed your turkey, you may get
several shots, and meantime the dog is allowed to trot around and
bark as he sees fit, as the more noise he makes the more is the
attention of the birds diverted from you to him; but after you have
looked among the trees in a few hundred yards of the flush, if you
have not secured your bird, select a good place to call. Sit down
with your back against a tree, or behind a log or fallen tree if that
suits you better. Sit quite flat and low, bringing the knees nearly
up to the eyes. Call the dog to you at once by a whisper and wave
of the hand, and make him lie snugly at your side, looking in the
direction you look.
After a few minutes, when everything is still, you begin to call at
short intervals. Now and then a low yelp, at first, and if you get
a reply, cease calling until the results begin to show up, either
by one or more turkeys coming to your call, or in their collecting
together in another direction, which is more likely to be the case,
from the fact that the mother hen is doing more effective calling
than you, or they are inclined to go that way anyhow. In such a case
you must get up at once and proceed in the direction you see them
flying. Go quickly to where they are collecting. Put the dog after
them again and into the trees they will go; you then proceed as at
first and continue these tactics until you have got what you want, or
have lost them entirely.
This is excellent and exciting sport, and the dog loves it and soon
becomes an expert in the chase. But of all methods of hunting the
turkey it is the most disastrous, next to baiting, not so much in the
number of birds killed, but the turkey has a great dread of a dog,
and if too frequently chased by one it will drive the birds out of
the locality. It should seldom be practised in the same locality or
upon the same flock of turkeys more than once in a season.
The rifle is preëminently the gun to employ in this method of
hunting, and there is a great satisfaction in taking a fine bird from
its lofty perch in a tall pine, gum, or cypress at one hundred to one
hundred and fifty yards, where it would be safe from any shotgun.
Dogs trained to hunt turkeys must not be allowed to run squirrels,
hares, deer, or any woodland game. It makes no difference as to quail
or prairie game, but in the timber his work belongs to the turkey
alone.
In teaching the young dog to grasp a turkey, it should be trained to
seize the bird by the neck every time, and not touch the body, as
his teeth will lacerate the tender skin and tear the flesh--a thing
no true sportsman would tolerate. It is easy to teach the dog not to
mouth the game by making him take the neck in his mouth every time an
opportunity is afforded. If he takes hold of the body, or mouths the
feathers, make him let go and take the neck. He will soon learn this.
The common fox hound also makes a good turkey dog, and takes
naturally to it, but he is too noisy. A turkey dog must not yelp or
bark on the track before he sees the birds as the hound does. Turkeys
are alarmed easily and prefer to run instead of to fly, and if the
dog barks on the trail they will run for miles, all the time probably
not one hundred yards in advance of the dog. So the dog for turkeys
must keep silent until in sight of them, and then bark savagely until
they are all flushed. This the pointer, setter, or terrier will do.
Be sure to encourage your dog to bark at the turkeys in the trees.
Audubon says: "In the spring when the males are much emaciated by
their attention to the hens, it sometimes happens that, in plain,
open ground they may be overtaken by a swift dog, in which case
they squat and allow themselves to be seized, either by the dog or
the hunter, who has followed on a good horse." I have heard of such
occurrences, but I never saw an instance of the kind. Good dogs scent
the turkeys when in large flocks at a great distance; I may venture
to say half a mile away, if the wind is right. Should the dog be
well trained to the sport, he will set off at full speed on getting
the scent and in silence until he sees the birds, when he instantly
barks, and, running among them, forces the whole flock to take to
the trees in different directions. This is of great advantage to the
hunter, for, should all the turkeys go one way, they would soon leave
the perches and run again; but when they are separated by the dog, a
person accustomed to the sport finds the birds easily and shoots them
at pleasure.
No turkey is going to run very long ahead of a dog, if the dog is
in sight and chasing him. A pack of mouthy beagles, or an old, slow
deer-hound, giving mouth continually, might keep a turkey in a trot
until fatigued; it is possible then that a quick, swift dog like the
Scotch terrier or the pointer might rush on and catch him. But the
first impulse of the turkey, on the near approach of an enemy, is to
fly and not to depend on its legs; though on seeing an enemy at some
distance, turkeys will run away and not fly at all.
In the open prairie it is quite another matter. On seeing a turkey or
flock of them on a wide prairie, one can, by riding in a circuitous
direction, as if passing in ignorance of them, get near and start
them into a trot, and keep them trotting by keeping between them and
the nearest timber. In this way, although you ride slowly, you will
soon run them down. The first indication of exhaustion to be noted
will be the dropping of their wings, and when the hunter sees that,
he knows that they cannot rise to fly; he then closes in and easily
rides the birds down. This is, or used to be, a favorite sport with
the cowboys of Texas, in which they sometimes employed a lariat,
catching the birds as they would a calf, or shooting them with a
revolver. In case neither the revolver nor lariat is handy, they take
a bullet, partly split with a knife, and then let the tip of their
cow whiplash into the cleft of the bullet; clamping the lead tightly
on the lash. Thus armed, they pursue the turkeys until they drop
their wings, when, dashing among them, they strike the neck of the
turkey with the lash, a foot from the end of the tip, which sends the
bullet whizzing around the neck four to six times; and ere the turkey
can recover, the cowboy dismounts and secures it.
If there is snow on the ground there is little trouble in following
the turkeys by their tracks. I have done but little of such hunting,
as sufficient snow seldom falls in the South to make good tracking.
When you hunt turkeys on the snow, all there is to do is to find
their tracks and follow them carefully until the birds are seen; then
observe the same tactics as in stalking them on the bare earth.
In the South they are unprepared for much cold, and at such times
will likely be found grouped together on the sunny slopes of hills,
or behind some log or fence, to avoid the bitter winds, especially if
the sun is not shining. They will then often remain on their roosts
half a day rather than alight on the cold snow.
If you attempt to stalk an old gobbler when he is gobbling it is
quite easy if you learn the course he is taking and get ahead of
him and simply wait. Some men hunt no other way and are successful;
but it requires the greatest care, and a thorough knowledge of the
woods you are in, so that you may take advantage of ridges, ravines,
gulches, thickets, etc.
When you have discovered a flock of turkeys at some distance from
you, stop and wait a few moments. If they are feeding, and you are
unobserved by them, carefully note in what direction they are moving.
It is hard to tell if they are going or coming two hundred yards
away, but there is one way by which their movements can readily be
determined and that is by their color. If they are approaching, you
will notice the blackness of their breasts; or rather the birds
will appear almost black; and if a majority so appear, you may be
sure they are coming; in other words, if you see one or two of them
straighten up, and they look quite dark or black, you can then be
certain of their approach. On the other hand, if you notice that they
look a lightish gray or brown color, they are going the other way.
But do not be deceived, as sometimes a flock has stopped to feed, and
they will be turning and facing in all directions while so engaged;
occasionally one will straighten up, flop his wings, and look back.
Have an eye to the band and you will see if many of them look black
or gray. If there are gobblers in the bunch, note their breasts which
are blacker than the hens.
There is another way to find the direction in which the turkeys are
moving if you cannot see them. When you have found fresh signs in the
woods, note the scratches carefully to see which way most of them
incline. This is easily determined by the direction in which the
leaves are thrown by the birds' feet. Sometimes, if the scratches are
made late in the evening, they will look fresh the next morning and
thus deceive the oldest hunter. I once saw scratches on an open pin
oak and cane ridge; then others at twenty paces, and again at fifty
paces still others. After a careful examination of the scratches, I
concluded there must be two old gobblers that had made the signs;
and, although I knew of twenty or thirty hens and some young
gobblers on that ridge, I had no suspicion before that there were
any old gobblers. Now, reader, what caused me to suspect from these
scratchings that old gobblers were about, and that there were two of
them was this: there were but few scratches and at long intervals.
The scratches were very large, almost two feet across, while the
leaves had been thrown five or six feet back, indicating long legs
and large feet with a great stroke. I noticed there were two separate
lines of scratches some ten feet apart on the main trend; also the
scratches were twenty to fifty yards apart in the direction the birds
were going, which indicated that the two birds were walking along at
a brisk pace and keeping pretty well in a straight line, feeding as
they went.
I believe no man alive or dead has killed more "old gobblers" than I
have, and yet the heaviest I ever bagged weighed twenty-four pounds
gross. This bird might have reached thirty or thirty-three pounds
had he been fat, but it was late in the gobbling season, when the
winter fat is run off by constant love affairs, leaving them greatly
reduced in weight. This specimen was killed in Trinity County, Texas,
where I have found the turkeys to average heavier than anywhere else
I have hunted.
Audubon said the wild turkey would soon become extinct in the
United States, sixty or seventy years ago; but to date his
prophecy has failed in so far as the Southern or Gulf States
are concerned. Although here as elsewhere hunted and persecuted
without consideration, they are remarkably plentiful still. There
are localities in the Gulf States that will not be cleared up or
utilized for agricultural purposes in ages to come--if then. The
immense swamps--annually overflowed--great hummocks, and the broken,
untenable pine hills, will afford suitable retreats for the turkey
for generations to come.
Wild turkeys are less understood by the average sportsman or even
naturalist than any other of our game birds. It is common to read of
the acute olfactory powers of the turkey; that he scents the hunter
at one hundred to three hundred yards; the truth is it must be a
pungent odor to have a turkey detect it at ten paces.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SECRET OF COOKING THE TURKEY
Of matters with which the average sportsman has to do, there is none
so little understood as that of cooking game, and especially the
turkey. Thousands of sportsmen go into the hunting camp expecting
to play the rôle of cook without the knowledge of the simplest
requirements and as a consequence are in perpetual trouble and
disappointment on account of the blunders that are the inevitable
results of lack of information. In the solitude of the forest the
hunter should not be at loss for methods of cooking even if he has
but a frying-pan; a log for a table; his plate, a section of bark or
large leaf.
The turkey is supposed to be a bird of dry meat, but this is so only
when all juices are boiled or baked out of it. The usual manner in
which turkeys are cooked is by roasting or baking. If the turkey
is an old one, the first process is to parboil until the flesh is
tender; then it is stuffed with sundry things, such as bread-crumbs,
oysters, shrimp, shallots, onions, garlic, truffles, red and black
pepper, wine and celery to destroy the natural flavor of the bird.
It is a mistake to disguise the rich, delicate flavor of turkey meat
with the odor of fish, but it is done and called roast turkey.
If the turkey is a young one, cook it in the way usual to
stove-baking, after first filling its cavity with a suitable dressing
of bread-crumbs, pepper, salt, and onions chopped fine, moistened
with fresh country butter. This is the best dressing that can be
made, and will detract nothing from the flavor of the bird nor add
to it. If an old turkey, parboil it until the flesh is quite tender,
then stuff and bake.
In the forest camp I neither bake nor roast the turkey. Imagine a
gobbler dressed and lying on a log or piece of bark beside you.
Take a sharp knife, run the blade down alongside the keel bone,
removing the flesh from one end of that bone to the other. By this
process each half breast can be taken off in two pieces. Lay this
slab of white meat skin side down, then begin at the thick end and
cut off steaks, transversely, one half inch thick, until all the
slab is cut. Now sprinkle with salt and pepper and pile the steaks
up together; thus the salt will quickly penetrate. Do not salt any
more than you want for one meal; the meat would be ruined if allowed
to stand over for the next meal before cooking. Just as soon as the
salt dissolves and the juice begins to flow, spread out the steaks
in a pan, sprinkle dry flour lightly on both sides evenly, taking
care to do this right, or you will get the flour on too thick. Give
the pan a shake and the flour will adjust itself. This flour at once
mixes with the juices of the meat, forming a crust around the steak,
like batter. Have the frying-pan on the fire with plenty of grease,
and sizzling hot so the steak will fry the moment it touches the hot
grease. Put the steaks in until the bottom of the pan is covered,
but never have one steak lap another. If the grease is quite hot the
steak will soon brown, and when brown on one side, turn, and the
moment it is brown on both sides take out of the pan. By this method
you retain almost every particle of the juice of the meat, and at the
same time it is brown and crisp, and will nearly melt in the mouth.
The flour around the steak does not only prevent the escape of the
juice, but also prevents any grease penetrating the meat. If you
like gravy, have the frying-pan hot and about a teaspoonful of the
grease in which the meat was fried left in it; take a half pint of
cold water and pour into the pan. Let this boil about five minutes,
when you will have a rich, brown gravy, which season with salt and
pepper and pour hot over the steak. You don't want a thing else to
eat except some good bread and a cup of creole coffee. Having eaten
turkey thus cooked you would not care for baked or roast turkey again.
The bony portions of your turkey may be cut up at the joints, and
all available put into a pot or saucepan having a lid, with a few
slices of pork or bacon for seasoning, or fresh butter. No matter
how fat any game is a little pork improves it. Put in a pod or two
of red pepper and add a little water; let this boil and simmer until
quite done. I am giving directions now for making a stew. For the
thickening, take an onion or two and cut into small pieces, a pod
of red pepper broken up, a tablespoonful of flour sifted, and some
salt. Put all into a pan and pour in a cup of cold water, stir until
the lumps of the flour disappear, then put the mixture into the pot
with the turkey. Stir occasionally until it boils, and if there is
not sufficient gravy in the vessel where the stew is cooking, add
more water. Boil thirty minutes, then serve. In this stew you get the
finest and most wholesome dish imaginable, and at very little expense
and trouble.
There are many who can prepare food but never understand the reasons
for doing things. Not one in a hundred knows why meal, flour, or
cracker-crumbs are put on fish or meat while frying. They tell you
it helps to brown the flesh; it does no such thing, but prevents
browning while the meat is being cooked. Leave off the flour or meal,
and by the time the meat is cooked it will be dry and hard as pine
bark and as indigestible. When fish is rolled in flour or meal, the
fish is not browned, but the covering is.
CHAPTER XVII
CAMERA HUNTING FOR TURKEYS
During the past ten years, while the season was open on wild turkeys,
I have made a rule to leave the gun at home and hunt the turkey with
the "camera" instead.
On countless occasions I have sat on the bank of a beautiful creek
in Alabama watching and waiting for these noble birds to appear and
pose. Time and patience, that's what it takes; likewise to know the
ways of the bird.
On one occasion I had found their great tracks on the sandbank, and,
noting it as a favorite crossing, made an impromptu blind to mask
the camera lest the birds get the least glimpse of it or myself. It
took me over two months to get an opportunity for the picture which I
secured at last one afternoon as the sun was getting low. I had been
calling at intervals, and just when least expected, there they were,
moving slowly but watchfully toward the creek and across the scope
of the lens. My finger was quick to reach the button as they stepped
to the sandy bank, and turned to note that no enemy lurked behind.
The click of the shutter startled them but little, and they walked
quietly away. I knew I had a good negative, as the late afternoon
sun shone brightly on their gorgeous plumage, and they were barely
fifteen feet from where I sat.
Not one man in a million has ever had the opportunity of viewing one
of these birds in life in the woods at ten to fifteen feet--nor ever
will, and to these I hope the photographs will be a pleasure; for to
see a ten-year-old gobbler so near, when he is not frightened--and
you without gun or other means to injure him--so you may enjoy the
most majestic bird the eye of man ever rested on, is not only a feast
for the eye, but a pleasant memory that will be with you forever.
In November, 1899, in Alabama, I began to hunt with the camera,
and for six months--with the exception of one day only, on which a
terrific storm raged--not a day passed that I was not after turkey
pictures, sometimes not seeing one in two or three weeks, then again
encountering twenty-five to forty in one day. I spoiled several
hundred plates in this time, snapping at every chance that occurred.
There is no possibility of a time exposure on such sensitive birds,
and one twenty-fifth of a second is scarcely quick enough. Often the
click of the shutter, so like the snap of a gun when missing fire,
sent them whirling into the air or scattered them, pellmell, afoot. I
have stalked and crawled to their scratching places and sat concealed
with camera masked on an old log or in a hollow stump, till sundown;
all day, and the next and the next.
I have made three or four exposures in a day, gone home, developed
the negatives, and found nothing on them but shadows--taken in shade;
but at other times there was the just reward when all the plates
came out with every image "perfect." Then, again, it would rain
almost daily for a month or two. Still I went, camera slung over my
shoulder, covered with a rubber sheet, hoping for sunshine.
Once I discovered a bearded hen and tried five weeks to catch her
with the lens, and never saw her but twice during that time. The
next season I found her again in company with three other hens. I
called them within ten or twelve feet. This time it had been sunlight
all day, but just a minute before they came near enough a thin haze
covered the sun. Still, I pressed the button and got a dim negative
of her and of one of her playmates, and have not seen her since.
To successfully photograph wild turkeys the greatest care must be
taken in having a blind perfectly natural in appearance. Once in the
blind, do not move; never mind the wind; wild turkeys cannot smell
you any farther than you can them, but they can outsee anything
except the heron, crane, and hawk, and you must get within fifteen or
twenty feet of them in the bright sunshine, or no picture. Find their
scratching places and hide behind a log, or make a blind of brush and
green leaves, etc. Be sure to hide all the camera save the disk of
the lens, and they will see that nearly every time. I have had them
discover the lens and approach within two feet and peer at it with
curious wonder, whine and purr, until satisfied it would not harm
them, then walk serenely away.
At times when I saw a flock or an individual feeding at a distance,
I would take my call and invite them to advance, "stand up and look
pleasant," and if in the humor they would often comply. I have a
friend living in New Orleans with whom a hundred happy hours have
been spent in the camp, wild woods, and along the stream, chiefly in
quest of these noble fowls. He and I have exchanged letters once a
week for the past quarter of a century. Of course I regale him with
every new photograph taken of turkeys. One day I mailed him several
that set him afire, and on a certain day friend Renaud came to me
with his old 10-gauge which has served him thousands of times.
The next morning when day broke we sat on the crest of a pine ridge
adjacent to the hummock bordering the "Big-bee" river swamps,
over which the turkeys roosted at night. Ere long the gray of the
eastern horizon began to melt in to a rosy hue, and suddenly out
of the deep swamp came the shrill, guttural but mighty pleasing
"_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," of a turkey, echoing along the slopes and
through the vales of the surrounding forests.
After a while we heard him gobble on the ridge, so I took my call
and began to pipe a few words in turkey vernacular, which the old
gentleman seemed to comprehend by the way he gave ready reply. By
this time the turkeys had all flown down, several gobbling in as many
directions. Several were approaching slowly, and we could hear them
below the crest of the hill. Luck favored us, so far as nothing yet
had disturbed them, and they gradually came nearer, until presently
a remark from my companion, "Old Gobbler in sight?" "See him coming,
two of them, yes, three"; and on they came, their great black breasts
glowing in the bright sun, while their long beards swung from side to
side.
Suddenly, when within thirty paces of us, one of them spied Renaud's
new drab corduroy cap, which contrasted vividly with the black and
charred log behind which we were hid, and "_Put_," "_put_;" all were
gone, helter-skelter.
Renaud's heart was broken--mine wrecked.
"Why in the d-dickens didn't you shoot?" I asked, mad as a hornet.
"I wanted to get them in position to get the two largest ones."
"Gee! you ought to have made sure of that fellow with the immense
beard, and chance another on the rise or run;" but just as we were
waxing into a fine quarrel, R. remarked in a whisper, "They are
coming back."
"Yes," I replied, "and several others with them--some old ones and
some yearlings; so make no mistake this time, and be sure of one of
the old ones."
They were very near now, and as I made a low call all stopped and
some gobbled; then on they came in a careless manner, neither
strutting nor exhibiting any special passion.
I quickly got in my camera work, and ducked my head in time to
see the beautiful things walking away from the gun; then two
well-measured reports--and the smoke clearing away showed two grand
old patriarchs flopping over on the pine straw and soon lying still.
I am not sure which was the proudest--I as _particeps criminis_ or he
as executioner.
THE END
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