attempted to capture them with my hands. But they wouldn't be caught:
the bird when I stooped and put out my hands slipped away, and flying
a yard or two would settle down in front of me and go on looking for
and picking up invisible seeds.

My attempts failing I rushed back to the house, wildly excited, to
look for an old gentleman who lived with us and took an interest in me
and my passion for birds, and finding him I told him the whole place
was swarming with doves and they were perfectly tame but wouldn't let
me catch them--could he tell me how to catch them? He laughed and said
I must be a little fool not to know how to catch a bird. The only way
was to put salt on their tails. There would be no difficulty in doing
that, I thought, and how delighted I was to know that birds could be
caught so easily! Off I ran to the salt-barrel and filled my pockets
and hands with coarse salt used to make brine in which to dip the
hides; for I wanted to catch a great many doves--armfuls of doves.

In a few minutes I was out again in the plantation, with doves in
hundreds moving over the ground all about me and taking no notice of
me. It was a joyful and exciting moment when I started operations, but
I soon found that when I tossed a handful of salt at the bird's tail
it never fell on its tail--it fell on the ground two or three or four
inches short of the tail. If, I thought, the bird would only keep
still a moment longer! But then it wouldn't, and I think I spent quite
two hours in these vain attempts to make the salt fall on the right
place. At last I went back to my mentor to confess that I had failed
and to ask for fresh instructions, but all he would say was that I was
on the right track, that the plan I had adopted was the proper one,
and all that was wanted was a little more practice to enable me to
drop the salt on the right spot. Thus encouraged I filled my pockets