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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44729 ***</div>
<h1 class="center">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Passenger Pigeon, by Various, Edited by
W. B. Mershon</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10">
<tr>
<td valign="top">
Note:
</td>
<td>
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
<a href="https://archive.org/details/passengerpigeon00mers">
https://archive.org/details/passengerpigeon00mers</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p> </p>
<hr class="pg" />
<p> </p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="377" height="557" alt="" />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="pmb2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a><br />
<a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption1 pmt4 pmb4">The Passenger Pigeon</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;">
<img src="images/frontis.png" width="442" height="663" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">PASSENGER PIGEON (<i>Columba Migratoria</i>)</p>
<p class="fig_caption">Upper bird, male; lower, female</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption1 smcap pmt2"><span class="orange">T</span>he</p>
<p class="caption1 smcap"><span class="orange">P</span>assenger <span class="orange">P</span>igeon</p>
<p class="caption3">BY</p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">W. B. MERSHON</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;">
<img src="images/logo.png" width="125" height="119" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="caption3 pmt2 pmb2">NEW YORK<br />
<span class="orange">THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY</span><br />
1907<br />
</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption3 pmt4 pmb4">
Copyright, 1907, by<br />
W B MERSHON<br />
<br />
THE OUTING PRESS<br />
DEPOSIT, N. Y.<br />
</p>
<hr class="full" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></p>
<table class="rowsp1" summary="ToC">
<tr>
<td class="smaller tdl" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td>
<td class="smaller tdr">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width:3em;"></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td>
<td class="tdr">ix</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">My Boyhood Among the Pigeons</span></td>
<td class="tdr">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Passenger Pigeon</span><br />
<i>From "American Ornithology," by Alexander Wilson</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">9</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Passenger Pigeon</span><br />
<i>From "Ornithological Biography," by John James Audubon</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">25</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">As James Fenimore Cooper Saw It</span></td>
<td class="tdr">41</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Wild Pigeon of North America</span><br />
<i>By Chief Pokagon, in "The Chautauquan"</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">48</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Passenger Pigeon</span><br />
<i>From "Life Histories of North American Birds," by Charles Bendire</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">60</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Netting the Pigeons</span><br />
<i>By William Brewster, in "The Auk"</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">74</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Efforts to Check the Slaughter</span><br />
<i>By Prof. H. B. Roney</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">77</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Pigeon Butcher's Defense</span><br />
<i>By E. T. Martin, in "American Field"</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">93</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Notes of a Vanished Industry</span></td>
<td class="tdr">105</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Recollections of "Old Timers"</span></td>
<td class="tdr">119</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Last of the Pigeons</span></td>
<td class="tdr">141</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">What Became of the Wild Pigeon?</span><br />
<i>By Sullivan Cook, in "Forest and Stream"</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">163</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">A Novel Theory of Extinction</span><br />
<i>By C. H. Ames and Robert Ridgway</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">173</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">News from John Burroughs</span></td>
<td class="tdr">179</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Pigeon in Manitoba</span><br />
<i>By George E. Atkinson</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">186</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Passenger Pigeon in Confinement</span><br />
<i>By Ruthven Deane, in "The Auk"</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">200</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Nesting Habits of the Passenger Pigeon</span><br />
<i>By Dr. Morris Gibbs, in "The Oölogist"</i></td>
<td class="tdr vtop">209</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr2 vtop"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX</a></td>
<td><span class="smcap">Miscellaneous Notes</span></td>
<td class="tdr">217</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</a></p>
<table class="rowsp1" summary="LoI">
<tr>
<td></td>
<td class="smaller tdr">FACING PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">The Passenger Pigeon</span><br />
<i>By Louis Agassiz Fuertes</i></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_ii"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Audubon Plate</span> (<i>color</i>)</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp24">24</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Passenger Pigeon and Mourning Dove</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp88">88</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Fac-simile of "Among the Pigeons"</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp92">92</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">H. T. Phillip's Store</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp104">104</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Band-tailed Pigeon</span> (<i>color</i>)</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp130">130</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Comparative Size of Pigeon and Dove</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp156">156</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Young Passenger Pigeon</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp198">198</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="smcap">Pigeon Net</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#fp218">218</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a><br />
<a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></p>
<div class="dropcap">F</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">F</span>OR the last three years I have spent most of my
leisure time in collecting as much material as
possible which might help to throw light on the
oft-repeated query, "What has become of the wild
pigeons?" The result of this labor of love is scarcely
more than a compilation, and I am under many obligations
to those who have so cheerfully assisted me. I
have given them credit by name in connection with their
various contributions, but I wish that I might have
been able to give them the more finished and literary setting
that would have been within the reach of a trained
writer or scientist. I am merely a business man who is
interested in the Passenger Pigeon because he loves the
outdoors and its wild things, and sincerely regrets the
cruel extinction of one of the most interesting natural
phenomena of his own country. If I have been able to
make a compilation that otherwise would not have been
available for the interested reader, I need make no
further apologies for the imperfect manner of my treatment
of this subject.</p>
<p>It is hard for us of an older generation to realize that
as recently as 1880 the Passenger Pigeon was thronging
in countless millions through large areas of the Middle
West, and that in our boyhood we could find no exaggeration
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>
in the records of such earlier observers as
Alexander Wilson, the ornithologist, who said that
these birds associated in such prodigious numbers as
almost to surpass belief, and that their numbers had no
parallel among any other feathered tribes on the face
of the earth; or that one of their "roosts" would kill
the trees over thousands of acres as completely as if
the whole forest had been girdled with an ax.</p>
<p>Audubon estimated that an average flock of these
pigeons contained a billion and a quarter of birds, which
consumed more than eight and a half million bushels of
mast in a day's feeding. They were slain by millions
during the middle of the last century, and from one
region in Michigan in one year three million Passenger
Pigeons were killed for market, while in that roost alone
as many more perished because of the barbarous
methods of hunting them. They supplied a means of
living for thousands of hunters, who devastated their
flocks with nets and guns, and even with fire. Yet so
vast were their numbers that after thirty years of
observation Audubon was able to say that "even in the
face of such dreadful havoc nothing but the diminution
of our forests can accomplish their decrease."</p>
<p>Many theories have been advanced to account for the
disappearance of the wild pigeons, among them that
their migration may have been overwhelmed by some
cyclonic disturbance of the atmosphere which destroyed
their myriads at one blow. The big "nesting" of 1878
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>
in Michigan was undoubtedly the last large migration,
but the pigeons continued to nest infrequently in Michigan
and the North for several years after that, and
until as late as 1886 they were trapped for market or
for trap-shooting. Therefore the pigeons did not
become extinct in a day; nor did one tremendous catastrophe
wipe them from the face of the earth. They
gradually became fewer and existed for twenty years
or more after the date set as that of the final extermination.</p>
<p>At one time the wild pigeons covered the entire north
from the Gaspé Peninsula to the Red River of the
North. Separate nestings and flights were of regular
yearly occurrence over this vast eastern and northern
expanse. Gradually civilization, molestation and warfare
drove them from the Atlantic seaboard west, until
Michigan was their last grand rendezvous, in which
region their mighty hosts congregated for the final
grand nesting in 1878. As late as 1845 they were quite
numerous on the Gaspé Peninsula of Quebec, but disappeared
from there about that time.</p>
<p>The habits of the birds were such that they could
not thrive singly nor in small bodies, but were dependent
upon one another, and vast communities were necessary
to their very existence, while an enormous quantity of
food was necessary for their sustenance. The cutting
off of the forests and food supply interfered with their
plan of existence and drove them into new localities,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>
and the ever increasing slaughter could not help but
lessen their once vast numbers.</p>
<p>The Passenger Pigeon laid only one egg in its nest,
rarely two, and although it bred three or four times a
year it could not replenish the numbers slaughtered by
the professional netters. Undoubtedly millions of the
birds perished at various periods along the Great Lakes
country, becoming confused in foggy weather and dropping
from exhaustion into the water, while snow and
sleet storms at times caused great mortality among the
young birds, and even among the old ones, which often
arrived in the North before winter had passed.</p>
<p>The history of the buffalo is repeated in that of the
wild pigeon, the extermination of which was inspired
by the same motive: the greed of man and the pursuit
of the almighty dollar. We lock the barn door after
the horse is stolen. Our white pine forests and timber
lands in general have been wantonly destroyed with no
thought for the future. The American people are
wasteful. They are just beginning to learn the need of
economy in the use of that which Nature has flung at
their feet. When one recalls the destruction of that
noble animal, the buffalo, frequently for nothing else
than so-called sport, or the removal of a robe; when
one thinks of the burning of forest trees which took
centuries to grow, merely to clear a piece of land to
raise crops, it is not to be wondered at that the wild
pigeon, insignificant, and not even classed as a game
bird, so soon became extinct.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="pmb4"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption1 pmb2">The Passenger Pigeon</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">My Boyhood Among the Pigeons</p>
<div class="dropcap">M</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">M</span>Y boyhood was made active and wholesome
by a love for outdoor pastimes that had been
bred in me by generations of sport-loving
ancestors. From which side of the genealogical tree
this ardor for field and forest and open sky had come
with stronger influence I cannot say. While my father
was the one to use the fowling-piece and cast the fly
for the glorious speckled trout, my mother was a willing
conspirator, for it was she who packed the lunch basket,
often called us for the start in the gray morning, and
went along to "hold the horse" while we shot pigeons.
And when we were bent on a day in the woods in bracing
October weather she drove old Dolly sedately along the
winding trail, while I hunted one side of the woods and
father hunted the other. On such days we were after
partridges, of course, ruffed grouse, the king of all
game birds. Often mother marked them down and
told us just where they had crossed the road, or whether
the bird was hit, for the cloud of smoke from the
old black powder made seeing guesswork on our part.
She loved the dogs, too, those good old friends and
workers, Sport, Bob, and Ranger.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
<p>I remember calling my mother to a window early one
morning and shouting: "See there! a flock of pigeons!
Ah, ha! April fool!" This time I did not deceive her
with the threadbare trick. The joke was "on me" for
once. There was a flight of pigeons that morning, the
first one of the season, and behind the foremost flock
another and another came streaming. Away from the
east side of the river at the north of the town, from near
Crow Island, they swept like a cloud. Crossing the
river to the west they reached the woods near Jerome's
mill and skirted the clearings or passed in waves over
the tree tops, back of John Winter's farm, and then
wheeled to the south. Out of the tongue of woodland,
just back of the Hermansau Church, they poured, thence
over the fields, too high to be shot, and then away to the
evergreens and stately pines of Pine Hill; on, on, on
across the Tittabawassee, to some feeding ground we
knew not how far away.</p>
<p>Now that the pigeons had come they would "fly"
every morning. This we knew from years of observation
in the great migration belt of Michigan. They
would fly lower to-morrow morning, and in a day or two
more sweep low enough for the sixteen-gauge and the
number eight shot to reach them. Sometimes, even now,
forty years after the last of the great passenger pigeon
flights, I fall to day-dreaming and seem to hear myself
saying in the eager, piping tones of those golden boyhood
days:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
<p>"Mother, I am going for pigeons to-morrow morning!
Do call me if I oversleep. I must be awake by
four o'clock. We'll have pigeon pot-pie to-morrow.
I'm going to bed early so as to be sure to be up by daybreak.
Old Sport is going along to 'fetch' dead birds."</p>
<p>"Hello, dad," cries a voice in my ear, "what are you
up to? What are you hustling around so for with your
old shot pouch and powder-flask? There's nothing to
shoot this time of the year."</p>
<p>The spell is broken; my own boy fetches his daddy out
of his dream, and I am fairly caught in the act of
making an old fool of myself. My youngsters are
counting the days before May first when I have
promised to take them trout-fishing, and the smallest
boy found his first gun in his stocking last Christmas.
But they can know nothing at all about the joys and
excitement of pigeon shooting in the vanished days
when these birds fairly darkened the sky above our old
homestead. But I try to tell them what we used to do
and my story sounds something like this:</p>
<p>"It is early in the spring, so early that a bunch of
snow may yet be found on the north side of the largest
of the fallen trees in the woods. Puddles that the melting
snow left in the hollows of the clearing are fringed
with ice this morning, and we look around and tell each
other, 'There was a frost last night.' The mud in the
road has stiffened, and the rutted cattle tracks are also
streaked and barred with ice. Yet winter has gone and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
spring is here, for the buds are swelling on the twigs of
the elms and the pussy willows show their dainty, silvery
signals to tell us that the vernal equinox has come and
gone.</p>
<p>"If the springtime is still young, so is the day. Light
is breaking in the gray sky of dawn as we hurry along
the slippery, sticky road. We must make haste to the
point of woods, by John Winter's clearing, before full
daybreak or the pigeons will be flying and we will miss
the early flocks which always keep nearest the ground.</p>
<p>"You may be curious to know what we look like as
we trudge along in Indian file, eagerly chatting about
a kind of sport which this later generation knows nothing
about. I am a chunk of a country lad, topped by a
woolen cap with ear-tabs pulled down over my ears, a
tippet around my neck, yarn mittens on my hands, which
are sure to be badly skinned and chapped this time of
year from playing 'knuckle-down-tight.'</p>
<p>"My 'every-day pants' are tucked into a pair of calf-skin
boots with square pieces of red leather for the tops,
an old-fashioned adornment dear to Young America of
my day. My old Irish water spaniel 'Sport' is tagging
behind or charging frantically ahead; my gun is a sixteen-gauge
muzzle loader, stub and twist barrels, with
dogs' heads for the hammers.</p>
<p>"Dangling from one shoulder is a leather shot pouch
that cuts off one ounce of number eights for a load.
The sides of this pouch are embossed, on the one a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
group of English woodcock, on the other a setter rampant.
Hanging at my left side by a green cord with a
tassel or two is my fluted copper powder flask, ready
to measure out two and three-fourths drams of coarse
Dupont or Curtis & Harvey powder.</p>
<p>"My pockets are full of Ely's black-edged wads, for
I am a young nabob of sportsmen, let me tell you, and
I scorn to use tow or bits of newspaper for wadding.
My vest pocket holds the caps, G. D.'s or Ely's again,
for didn't I tell you that I was a nabob. The <i>pièce de
résistance</i> of this outfit is the game bag, the pride of my
eye, for it was a Christmas present, and this is its maiden
shooting trip. Suspended over the left shoulder so that
it will hang well back of the right hip, the strap that carries
it is broad and with many holes for the wondrous
buckle which can be shifted to hang it in the most comfortable
place, wherever that is, for when it is loaded
with game it will choke me almost to death, no matter
how I adjust it. This noble bag has two pockets, one
of them for luncheon, and on the outside is a netted
pocket, easy to get into and keeping the birds cool. I
nearly forgot to mention its magnificent fringe, which
hangs down from both sides and the bottom like the
war-bags of an Indian chief.</p>
<p>"My companions are rigged out in much the same
fashion. They are grown men, however, for I don't
remember any other boys who shot pigeons with me.
Holabird or khaki hunting suits are as yet unknown, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
even corduroy coats are rare. The powder horn is seen
as often as the copper flask, and one hunter has a shot
belt with two compartments instead of the English
pouch. Of guns the assortment is as varied as the number
of hunters, but the old, hard-kicking army musket
with its iron ramrod is more popular than any other arm.</p>
<p>"We reach the edge of the clearing not a minute too
soon. Now and then a distant shot tells us that we are
not the first hunters out afield this morning. The guns
are cracking everywhere along the road that skirts the
woodland, and back in, close to the 'chopping,' some
better wing-shots are posted by the openings into the
woods where the birds fly lower, but where the shooting
is more difficult. It is largely of the 'pick your bird'
style, for the flight of a pigeon is very swift, and when
they are darting among the tree-tops of a small forest
opening, rare skill is required to bag one's birds.</p>
<p>"I prefer to take the flocks, even though they offer
me more distant targets, and soon my gun-barrels are
as hot as those of the rest of the skirmishers. Sometimes
two or three birds drop from a flock at a single
discharge, and then several shots may not fetch from
on high more than one or two of the long tail-feathers
spinning and twisting to the ground. It is fascinating
to watch the whirling, shining descent of one of these
feathers, and I pick up one and stick it in my cap as a
matter of habit.</p>
<p>"This kind of pigeon shooting takes a good gun and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
ammunition to kill a big bag as we bang away at long
range at the birds on their way to the morning feeding-ground.
The flight is over by half-past six o'clock and
I am home by seven o'clock ready for breakfast and
then to scamper off to school.</p>
<p>"The pigeons in this particular locality have followed
the same routine as long as I have known them. They
only fly in the morning, always going in the same direction,
and I can't recall seeing them coming back again,
or flying later in the day. This habit holds until the
young squabs are in the nests in June, after which we are
likely to find pigeons almost anywhere, for their feeding
grounds become scattered and local.</p>
<p>"One thing that annoys me in these brave days of
youth and sport is the poacher, the low-down fellow who
steals my birds. I am reckoned a pretty good shot, and
I have a first-rate gun, but I am only a boy, so the pigeon
thief thinks I am fair picking, and he saves his ammunition
by claiming every bird that drops anywhere near
him.</p>
<p>"Another smart dodge of his is to fire into a flock
ahead or behind the one I am shooting at and then claim
whatever birds fall as the quarry of both our guns. If
he is not too big I try to lick him, but generally I have to
submit to the rascality unless I can persuade a grown-up
friend to take my part. Sometimes these villains hang
around my shooting ground without any guns at all,
and pick up as many birds as I do. Then I hunt around
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
for a father or an uncle to reinforce my protests and
there is a pretty row which ends in the interloper taking
to his heels to wait for a more propitious occasion.</p>
<p>"When we are ready to carry our birds home we
pull out the four long tail-feathers and knot them
together at the tips. Then the quill ends are stuck
through the soft part of the lower mandible, and the
birds are strung together, eight or ten in a string.
These strings are bunched together by tying the quill
ends of the feathers, and we have our game festooned
in compact shape for the triumphal march homeward
bound."</p>
<p>Alas, the pigeons and the frosty morning hunts and
the delectable pigeon-pie are gone, no more to return.
They are numbered with those recollections which help
to convince me that the boys of to-day don't have as
good times as we youngsters did in the prime of our
busy outdoor world.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="pmb4"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Passenger Pigeon</p>
<p class="caption2">(<i>Columba Migratoria</i>)</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">From "American Ornithology," by Alexander Wilson</p>
<div class="dropcap">T</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">T</span>HIS remarkable bird merits a distinguished
place in the annals of our feathered tribes—a
claim to which I shall endeavor to do justice;
and, though it would be impossible, in the bounds
allotted to this account, to relate all I have seen and
heard of this species, yet no circumstance shall be
omitted with which I am acquainted (however extraordinary
some of these may appear) that may tend to
illustrate its history.</p>
<p>The wild pigeon of the United States inhabits a wide
and extensive region of North America, on this side of
the Great Stony Mountains, beyond which, to the westward,
I have not heard of their being seen. According
to Mr. Hutchins, they abound in the country around
Hudson's Bay, where they usually remain as late as
December, feeding, when the ground is covered with
snow, on the buds of the juniper. They spread over the
whole of Canada; were seen by Captain Lewis and his
party near the Great Falls of the Missouri, upwards
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
of two thousand five hundred miles from its mouth,
reckoning the meanderings of the river; were also met
with in the interior of Louisiana by Colonel Pike; and
extend their range as far south as the Gulf of Mexico,
occasionally visiting or breeding in almost every quarter
of the United States.</p>
<p>But the most remarkable characteristic of these birds
is their associating together, both in their migrations,
and also during the period of incubation, in such prodigious
numbers, as almost to surpass belief; and which
has no parallel among any other of the feathered tribes
on the face of the earth, with which all naturalists are
acquainted. These migrations appear to be undertaken
rather in quest of food, than merely to avoid the cold
of the climate, since we find them lingering in the northern
regions, around Hudson's Bay, so late as December;
and since their appearance is so casual and irregular,
sometimes not visiting certain districts for several years
in any considerable numbers, while at other times they
are innumerable. I have witnessed these migrations in
the Genesee country, often in Pennsylvania, and also
in various parts of Virginia, with amazement; but all
that I had then seen of them were mere straggling
parties, when compared with the congregated millions
which I have since beheld in our Western forests, in the
States of Ohio, Kentucky, and the Indiana territory.
These fertile and extensive regions abound with the
nutritious beechnut, which constitutes the chief food of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
the wild pigeon. In seasons when these nuts are abundant,
corresponding multitudes of pigeons may be confidently
expected. It sometimes happens that, having
consumed the whole produce of the beech trees, in an
extensive district, they discover another, at the distance
perhaps of sixty or eighty miles, to which they regularly
repair every morning, and return as regularly in
the course of the day, or in the evening, to their place of
general rendezvous, or as it is usually called, the roosting
place. These roosting places are always in the
woods, and sometimes occupy a large extent of forest.
When they have frequented one of these places for
some time the appearance it exhibits is surprising. The
ground is covered to the depth of several inches with
their dung; all the tender grass and underwood destroyed;
the surface strewed with large limbs of trees,
broken down by the weight of the birds clustering one
above another; and the trees themselves, for thousands
of acres, killed as completely as if girdled with an ax.
The marks of this desolation remain for many years on
the spot; and numerous places could be pointed out,
where, for several years after, scarcely a single vegetable
made its appearance.</p>
<p>When these roosts are first discovered, the inhabitants,
from considerable distances, visit them in the
night with guns, clubs, long poles, pots of sulphur, and
various other engines of destruction. In a few hours
they fill many sacks, and load their horses with them.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
By the Indians, a pigeon roost, or breeding place, is considered
an important source of national profit and dependence
for the season; and all their active ingenuity
is exercised on the occasion. The breeding place differs
from the former in its greater extent. In the western
countries above mentioned, these are generally in
beech woods, and often extend, in nearly a straight line
across the country for a great way. Not far from
Shelbyville, in the State of Kentucky, about five years
ago, there was one of these breeding places, which
stretched through the woods in nearly a north and south
direction; was several miles in breadth, and was said
to be upwards of forty miles in extent! In this tract
almost every tree was furnished with nests, wherever the
branches could accommodate them. The pigeons made
their first appearance there about the 10th of April,
and left it altogether, with their young, before the
29th of May.</p>
<p>As soon as the young were fully grown, and before
they left the nests, numerous parties of the inhabitants
from all parts of the adjacent country came with wagons,
axes, beds, cooking utensils, many of them accompanied
by the greater part of their families, and encamped for
several days at this immense nursery. Several of them
informed me that the noise in the woods was so great
as to terrify their horses, and that it was difficult for
one person to hear another speak without bawling in
his ear. The ground was strewed with broken limbs
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
of trees, eggs, and young squab pigeons, which had
been precipitated from above, and on which herds of
hogs were fattening. Hawks, buzzards, and eagles
were sailing about in great numbers, and seizing the
squabs from their nests at pleasure; while from twenty
feet upwards to the tops of the trees the view through
the woods presented a perpetual tumult of crowding
and fluttering multitudes of pigeons, their wings roaring
like thunder, mingled with the frequent crash of falling
timber; for now the ax-men were at work cutting down
those trees that seemed to be most crowded with nests,
and contrived to fell them in such a manner that, in their
descent, they might bring down several others; by which
means the falling of one large tree sometimes produced
two hundred squabs, little inferior in size to the old
ones, and almost one mass of fat. On some single trees
upwards of one hundred nests were found, each containing
<i>one</i> young only; a circumstance in the history
of this bird not generally known to naturalists. It was
dangerous to walk under these flying and fluttering
millions, from the frequent fall of large branches,
broken down by the weight of the multitudes above, and
which, in their descent, often destroyed numbers of the
birds themselves; while the clothes of those engaged
in traversing the woods were completely covered with
the excrements of the pigeons.</p>
<p>These circumstances were related to me by many of
the most respectable part of the community in that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
quarter, and were confirmed, in part, by what I myself
witnessed. I passed for several miles through this same
breeding place, where every tree was spotted with nests,
the remains of those above described. In many instances
I counted upwards of ninety nests on a single
tree, but the pigeons had abandoned this place for
another, sixty or eighty miles off towards Green River,
where they were said at that time to be equally
numerous. From the great numbers that were constantly
passing overhead to or from that quarter, I had
no doubt of the truth of this statement. The mast
had been chiefly consumed in Kentucky, and the pigeons,
every morning a little before sunrise, set out for the
Indiana territory, the nearest part of which was about
sixty miles distant. Many of these returned before ten
o'clock, and the great body generally appeared on their
return a little after noon.</p>
<p>I had left the public road to visit the remains of the
breeding place near Shelbyville, and was traversing the
woods with my gun, on my way to Frankfort, when,
about one o'clock, the pigeons, which I had observed
flying the greater part of the morning northerly, began
to return in such immense numbers as I never before
had witnessed. Coming to an opening by the side of
a creek called the Benson, where I had a more uninterrupted
view, I was astonished at their appearance.
They were flying with great steadiness and rapidity at
a height beyond gunshot in several strata deep, and so
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
close together that could shot have reached them one
discharge could not have failed of bringing down
several individuals. From right to left, far as the eye
could reach, the breadth of this vast procession extended,
seeming everywhere equally crowded. Curious
to determine how long this appearance would continue,
I took out my watch to note the time, and sat down to,
observe them. It was then half-past one. I sat for
more than an hour, but, instead of a diminution of this
prodigious procession, it seemed rather to increase both
in numbers and rapidity, and, anxious to reach Frankfort
before night, I rose and went on. About four
o'clock in the afternoon I crossed the Kentucky River
at the town of Frankfort, at which time the living torrent
above my head seemed as numerous and as extensive
as ever. Long after this I observed them in
large bodies that continued to pass for six or eight
minutes, and these again were followed by other detached
bodies, all moving in the same southeast direction,
till after six in the evening. The great breadth
of front which this mighty multitude preserved would
seem to intimate a corresponding breadth of their breeding
place, which, by several gentlemen who had lately
passed through part of it, was stated to me at several
miles. It was said to be in Green County, and that
the young began to fly about the middle of March.
On the seventeenth of April, forty-nine miles beyond
Danville, and not far from Green River, I crossed this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
same breeding place, where the nests, for more than
three miles, spotted every tree; the leaves not being yet
out I had a fair prospect of them, and was really
astonished at their numbers. A few bodies of pigeons
lingered yet in different parts of the woods, the roaring
of whose wings were heard in various quarters
around me.</p>
<p>All accounts agree in stating that each nest contains
only one young squab. These are so extremely fat that
the Indians, and many of the whites, are accustomed to
melt down the fat for domestic purposes as a substitute
for butter and lard. At the time they leave the nest
they are nearly as heavy as the old ones, but become
much leaner after they are turned out to shift for
themselves.</p>
<p>It is universally asserted in the western countries that
the pigeons, though they have only one young at a time,
breed thrice, and sometimes four times in the same
season; the circumstances already mentioned render this
highly probable. It is also worthy of observation that
this takes place during the period when acorns, beechnuts,
etc., are scattered about in the greatest abundance
and mellowed by the frost. But they are not confined
to these alone; buckwheat, hempseed, Indian corn,
hollyberries, hackberries, huckleberries, and many
others furnish them with abundance at almost all
seasons. The acorns of the live oak are also eagerly
sought after by these birds, and rice has been frequently
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
found in individuals killed many hundred miles
to the northward of the nearest rice plantation. The
vast quantity of mast which these multitudes consume
is a serious loss to the bears, pigs, squirrels, and other
dependents on the fruits of the forest. I have taken
from the crop of a single wild pigeon a good handful of
the kernels of beechnuts, intermixed with acorns and
chestnuts. To form a rough estimate of the daily consumption
of one of these immense flocks let us first
attempt to calculate the numbers of that above mentioned,
as seen in passing between Frankfort and the
Indiana territory. If we suppose this column to have
been one mile in breadth (and I believe it to have been
much more), and that it moved at the rate of one mile
in a minute, four hours, the time it continued passing,
would make its whole length two hundred and forty
miles. Again, supposing that each square yard of this
moving body comprehended three pigeons, the square
yards in the whole space, multiplied by three, would
give two thousand two hundred and thirty millions, two
hundred and seventy-two thousand pigeons!—an almost
inconceivable multitude, and yet probably far below the
actual amount. Computing each of these to consume
half a pint of mast daily, the whole quantity at this rate
would equal seventeen millions, four hundred and
twenty-four thousand bushels per day! Heaven has
wisely and graciously given to these birds rapidity of
flight and a disposition to range over vast uncultivated
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
tracts of the earth, otherwise they must have perished
in the districts where they resided, or devoured up the
whole productions of agriculture, as well as those of
the forests.</p>
<p>A few observations on the mode of flight of these
birds must not be omitted. The appearance of large
detached bodies of them in the air and the various evolutions
they display are strikingly picturesque and interesting.
In descending the Ohio by myself in the
month of February I often rested on my oars to contemplate
their aërial manœuvres. A column, eight or
ten miles in length, would appear from Kentucky, high
in air, steering across to Indiana. The leaders of this
great body would sometimes gradually vary their course
until it formed a large bend of more than a mile in
diameter, those behind tracing the exact route of their
predecessors. This would continue sometimes long
after both extremities were beyond the reach of sight,
so that the whole, with its glittery undulations, marked
a space on the face of the heavens resembling the windings
of a vast and majestic river. When this bend became
very great the birds, as if sensible of the unnecessary
circuitous course they were taking, suddenly
changed their direction, so that what was in column
before, became an immense front, straightening all its
indentures, until it swept the heavens in one vast and
infinitely extended line. Other lesser bodies also
united with each other as they happened to approach
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
with such ease and elegance of evolution, forming new
figures, and varying these as they united or separated,
that I never was tired of contemplating them. Sometimes
a hawk would make a sweep on a particular part
of the column from a great height, when, almost as
quick as lightning, that part shot downwards out of the
common track, but soon rising again, continued advancing
at the same height as before. This inflection was
continued by those behind, who, on arriving at this
point, dived down, almost perpendicularly, to a great
depth, and rising, followed the exact path of those that
went before. As these vast bodies passed over the river
near me, the surface of the water, which was before
smooth as glass, appeared marked with innumerable
dimples, occasioned by the dropping of their dung, resembling
the commencement of a shower of large drops
of rain or hail.</p>
<p>Happening to go ashore one charming afternoon, to
purchase some milk at a house that stood near the river,
and while talking with the people within doors, I was
suddenly struck with astonishment at a loud rushing
roar, succeeded by instant darkness, which, on the first
moment, I took for a tornado about to overwhelm the
house and everything around in destruction. The people,
observing my surprise, coolly said: "It is only the
pigeons"; and on running out I beheld a flock, thirty or
forty yards in width, sweeping along very low between
the house and the mountain, or height, that formed the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
second bank of the river. These continued passing for
more than a quarter of an hour, and at length varied
their bearing so as to pass over the mountain, behind
which they disappeared before the rear came up.</p>
<p>In the Atlantic States, though they never appear in
such unparalleled multitudes, they are sometimes very
numerous, and great havoc is then made amongst them
with the gun, the clap net, and various other implements
of destruction. As soon as it is ascertained in a
town that the pigeons are flying numerously in the
neighborhood, the gunners rise <i>en masse</i>, the clap nets
are spread out on suitable situations, commonly on an
open height in an old buckwheat field; four or five live
pigeons, with their eyelids sewed up, are fastened on a
movable stick—a small hut of branches is fitted up for
the fowler at the distance of forty or fifty yards—by
the pulling of a string the stick on which the pigeons
rest is alternately elevated and depressed, which produces
a fluttering of their wings similar to that of birds
just alighting; this being perceived by the passing flocks
they descend with great rapidity, and, finding corn,
buckwheat, etc., strewed about, begin to feed, and are
instantly, by the pulling of a cord, covered by the net.
In this manner ten, twenty, and even thirty dozen have
been caught at one sweep. Meantime the air is
darkened with large bodies of them moving in various
directions; the woods also swarm with them in search of
acorns; and the thundering of musketry is perpetual on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
all sides from morning to night. Wagon loads of them
are poured into market, where they sell from fifty to
twenty-five and even twelve cents per dozen; and
pigeons become the order of the day at dinner, breakfast
and supper, until the very name becomes sickening.
When they have been kept alive and fed for some time
on corn and buckwheat their flesh acquires great superiority;
but, in their common state, they are dry and
blackish and far inferior to the full grown young ones
or squabs.</p>
<p>The nest of the wild pigeon is formed of a few dry
slender twigs, carelessly put together, and with so little
concavity that the young one, when half grown, can
easily be seen from below. The eggs are pure white.
Great numbers of hawks, and sometimes the bald eagle
himself, hover above those breeding places, and seize
the old or the young from the nest amidst the rising
multitudes, and with the most daring effrontery. The
young, when beginning to fly, confine themselves to the
under part of the tall woods where there is no brush,
and where nuts and acorns are abundant, searching
among the leaves for mast, and appear like a prodigious
torrent rolling through the woods, every one
striving to be in the front. Vast numbers of them are
shot while in this situation. A person told me that he
once rode furiously into one of these rolling multitudes
and picked up thirteen pigeons which had been trampled
to death by his horse's feet. In a few minutes they will
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
beat the whole nuts from a tree with their wings, while
all is a scramble, both above and below, for the same.
They have the same cooing notes common to domestic
pigeons, but much less of their gesticulations. In some
flocks you will find nothing but young ones, which are
easily distinguishable by their motley dress. In others
they will be mostly females, and again great multitudes
of males with few or no females. I cannot account for
this in any other way than that, during the time of incubation,
the males are exclusively engaged in procuring
food, both for themselves and their mates, and the
young, being yet unable to undertake these extensive
excursions, associate together accordingly. But even in
winter I know of several species of birds who separate
in this manner, particularly the red-winged starling,
among whom thousands of old males may be found
with few or no young or females along with them.</p>
<p>Stragglers from these immense armies settle in
almost every part of the country, particularly among
the beech woods and in the pine and hemlock woods of
the eastern and northern parts of the continent. Mr.
Pennant informs us that they breed near Moose Fort,
at Hudson's Bay, in N. latitude 51 degrees, and I
myself have seen the remains of a large breeding place
as far south as the country of the Choctaws, in latitude
32 degrees. In the former of these places they are said
to remain until December; from which circumstance it
is evident that they are not regular in their migrations
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
like many other species, but rove about as scarcity of
food urges them. Every spring, however, as well as
fall, more or less of them are seen in the neighborhood
of Philadelphia; but it is only once in several years that
they appear in such formidable bodies; and this commonly
when the snows are heavy to the north, the winter
here more than usually mild, and acorns, etc., abundant.</p>
<p>The passenger pigeon is sixteen inches long, and
twenty-four inches in extent; bill, black; nostril, covered
by a high rounding protuberance; eye, brilliant fiery
orange; orbit, or space surrounding it, purplish flesh-colored
skin; head, upper part of the neck and chin, a
fine slate blue, lightest on the chin; throat, breast, and
sides, as far as the thighs, a reddish hazel; lower part
of the neck and sides of the same, resplendent changeable
gold, green, and purplish crimson, the last named
most predominant; the ground color, slate; the plumage
of this part is of a peculiar structure, ragged at the ends;
belly and vent, white; lower part of the breast, fading
into a pale vinaceous red; thighs, the same; legs and
feet, lake, seamed with white; back, rump, and tail-coverts,
dark slate, spotted on the shoulders with a few
scattered marks of black; the scapulars, tinged with
brown; greater coverts, light slate; primaries and secondaries,
dull black, the former tipped and edged with
brownish white; tail, long, and greatly cuneiform, all
the feathers tapering towards the point, the two middle
ones plain deep black, the other five, on each side,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
hoary white, lightest near the tips, deepening into bluish
near the bases, where each is crossed on the inner vane
with a broad spot of black, and nearer the root with
another of ferruginous; primaries edged with white;
bastard wing, black.</p>
<p>The female is about half an inch shorter, and an inch
less in extent; breast, cinerous brown; upper part of
the neck, inclining to ash; the spot of changeable gold,
green, and carmine, much less, and not so brilliant;
tail coverts, brownish slate; naked orbits, slate colored;
in all other respects like the male in color, but less
vivid and more tinged with brown; the eye not so
brilliant an orange. In both the tail has only twelve
feathers.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div id="fp24" class="figcenter" style="width: 452px;">
<img src="images/fp_024.png" width="452" height="579" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">PASSENGER PIGEON<br />(<i>Columba Migratoria</i>)</p>
<p class="fig_caption">Upper bird, female; lower, male<br />
<br />
<i>Reproduced from the John J. Audubon Plate</i></p>
</div>
<p class="pmb4"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Passenger Pigeon</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">From "Ornithological Biography," by John James Audubon</p>
<div class="dropcap">T</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">T</span>HE Passenger Pigeon, or, as it is usually named
in America, the Wild Pigeon, moves with extreme
rapidity, propelling itself by quickly
repeated flaps of the wings, which it brings more or less
near to the body, according to the degree of velocity
which is required. Like the domestic pigeon, it often
flies, during the love season, in a circling manner, supporting
itself with both wings angularly elevated, in
which position it keeps them until it is about to alight.
Now and then, during these circular flights, the tips
of the primary quills of each wing are made to strike
against each other, producing a smart rap, which may
be heard at a distance of thirty or forty yards. Before
alighting, the wild pigeon, like the Carolina parrot and
a few other species of birds, breaks the force of its
flight by repeated flappings, as if apprehensive of receiving
injury from coming too suddenly into contact
with the branch or the spot of ground on which it
intends to settle.</p>
<p>I have commenced my description of this species with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
the above account of its flight, because the most important
facts connected with its habits relate to its migrations.
These are entirely owing to the necessity of procuring
food, and are not performed with the view of
escaping the severity of a northern latitude, or of seeking
a southern one for the purpose of breeding. They
consequently do not take place at any fixed period or
season of the year. Indeed, it sometimes happens that
a continuance of a sufficient supply of food in one district
will keep these birds absent from another for years.
I know, at least, to a certainty, that in Kentucky they
remained for several years constantly, and were nowhere
else to be found. They all suddenly disappeared
one season when the mast was exhausted and did
not return for a long period. Similar facts have been
observed in other States.</p>
<p>Their great power of flight enables them to survey
and pass over an astonishing extent of country in a very
short time. This is proved by facts well-known in
America. Thus, pigeons have been killed in the
neighborhood of New York, with their crops full of
rice, which they must have collected in the fields of
Georgia and Carolina, these districts being the nearest
in which they could possibly have procured a supply of
that kind of food. As their power of digestion is so
great that they will decompose food entirely in twelve
hours, they must in this case have traveled between three
hundred and four hundred miles in six hours, which
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
shows their power of speed to be at an average about
one mile in a minute. A velocity such as this would
enable one of these birds, were it so inclined, to visit the
European continent in less than three days.</p>
<p>This great power of flight is seconded by as great a
power of vision, which enables them, as they travel at
that swift rate, to inspect the country below, discover
their food with facility, and thus attain the object for
which their journey has been undertaken. This I have
also proved to be the case, by having observed them,
when passing over a sterile part of the country, or one
scantily furnished with food suited to them, keep high
in the air, flying with an extended front, so as to enable
them to survey hundreds of acres at once. On the contrary,
when the land is richly covered with food, or the
trees abundantly hung with mast, they fly low, in order
to discover the part most plentifully supplied.</p>
<p>Their body is of an elongated oval form, steered by a
long, well-plumed tail, and propelled by well-set wings,
the muscles of which are very large and powerful for
the size of the bird. When an individual is seen gliding
through the woods and close to the observer, it
passes like a thought, and on trying to see it again, the
eye searches in vain; the bird is gone.</p>
<p>The multitudes of wild pigeons in our woods are
astonishing. Indeed, after having viewed them so
often, and under so many circumstances, I even now
feel inclined to pause, and assure myself that what I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
am going to relate is fact. Yet I have seen it all, and
that, too, in the company of persons who, like myself,
were struck with amazement.</p>
<p>In the autumn of 1813, I left my house at Henderson,
on the banks of the Ohio, on my way to Louisville.
In passing over the Barrens a few miles beyond
Hardensburgh, I observed the pigeons flying from
northeast to southwest, in greater numbers than I
thought I had ever seen them before, and feeling an
inclination to count the flocks that might pass within
the reach of my eye in one hour, I dismounted, seated
myself on an eminence, and began to mark with my
pencil, making a dot for every flock that passed. In a
short time, finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable,
as the birds poured in in countless multitudes,
I rose, and counting the dots then put down,
found that one hundred and sixty-three had been made
in twenty-one minutes. I traveled on, and still met more
the farther I proceeded. The air was literally filled
with pigeons; the light of noonday was obscured as by
an eclipse; the dung fell in spots, not unlike melting
flakes of snow; and the continued buzz of wings had a
tendency to lull my senses to repose.</p>
<p>Whilst waiting for dinner at Young's Inn, at the confluence
of Salt River with the Ohio, I saw, at my leisure,
immense legions still going by, with a front reaching
far beyond the Ohio on the west, and the beechwood
forests directly on the east of me. Not a single bird
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
alighted; for not a nut or acorn was that year to be
seen in the neighborhood. They consequently flew so
high, that different trials to reach them with a capital
rifle proved ineffectual; nor did the reports disturb them
in the least. I cannot describe to you the extreme
beauty of their aërial evolutions, when a hawk chanced
to press upon the rear of the flock. At once, like a torrent,
and with a noise like thunder, they rushed into a
compact mass, pressing upon each other towards the
center. In these almost solid masses, they darted forward
in undulating and angular lines, descended and
swept close over the earth with inconceivable velocity,
mounted perpendicularly so as to resemble a vast column,
and, when high, were seen wheeling and twisting
within their continued lines, which then resembled the
coils of a gigantic serpent.</p>
<p>Before sunset I reached Louisville, distant from Hardensburgh
fifty-five miles. The pigeons were still passing
in undiminished numbers, and continued to do so
for three days in succession. The people were all in
arms. The banks of the Ohio were crowded with men
and boys, incessantly shooting at the pilgrims, which
there flew lower as they passed the river. Multitudes
were thus destroyed. For a week or more, the population
fed on no other flesh than that of pigeons, and
talked of nothing but pigeons. The atmosphere, during
this time, was strongly impregnated with the peculiar
odor which emanates from the species.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
<p>It is extremely interesting to see flock after flock performing
exactly the same evolutions which had been
traced as it were in the air by a preceding flock. Thus,
should a hawk have charged on a group at a certain
spot, the angles, curves and undulations that have been
described by the birds, in their efforts to escape from
the dreaded talons of the plunderer, are undeviatingly
followed by the next group that comes up. Should the
bystander happen to witness one of these affrays, and,
struck with the rapidity and elegance of the motions
exhibited, feel desirous of seeing them repeated, his
wishes will be gratified if he only remain in the place
until the next group comes up.</p>
<p>It may not, perhaps, be out of place to attempt an
estimate of the number of pigeons contained in one of
those mighty flocks, and of the quantity of food daily
consumed by its members. The inquiry will tend to
show the astonishing beauty of the great Author of
Nature in providing for the wants of His creatures.
Let us take a column of one mile in breadth, which is
far below the average size, and suppose it passing over
us without interruption for three hours, at the rate
mentioned above of one mile in a minute. This will
give a parallelogram of one hundred and eighty by
one, covering one hundred and eighty square miles.
Allowing two pigeons to the square yard, we have one
billion, one hundred and fifty millions, one hundred and
thirty-six thousand pigeons in one flock. As every
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
pigeon daily consumes fully half a pint of food, the
quantity necessary for supplying this vast multitude
must be eight millions, seven hundred and twelve thousand
bushels per day.</p>
<p>As soon as the pigeons discover a sufficiency of food
to entice them to alight, they fly around in circles, reviewing
the country below. During their evolutions,
on such occasions, the dense mass which they form exhibits
a beautiful appearance, as it changes its direction,
now displaying a glistening sheet of azure, when the
backs of the birds come simultaneously into view, and
anon, suddenly presenting a mass of rich deep purple.
They then pass lower, over the woods, and for a
moment are lost among the foliage, but again emerge,
and are seen gliding aloft. They now alight, but the
next moment, as if suddenly alarmed, they take to wing,
producing by the flapping of their wings a noise like
the roar of distant thunder, and sweep through the
forests to see if danger is near. Hunger, however, soon
brings them to the ground. When alighted, they are
seen industriously throwing up the withered leaves in
quest of the fallen mast. The rear ranks are continually
rising, passing over the main body, and alighting
in front, in such rapid succession, that the whole
flock seems still on the wing. The quantity of ground
thus swept is astonishing, and so completely has it been
cleared, that the gleaner who might follow in their rear
would find his labor completely lost. Whilst feeding,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
their avidity is at times so great that in attempting to
swallow a large acorn or nut, they are seen gasping for
a long while, as if in agonies of suffocation.</p>
<p>On such occasions, when the woods are filled with
these pigeons, they are killed in immense numbers,
although no apparent diminution ensues. About the
middle of the day, after their repast is finished, they
settle on the trees, to enjoy rest, and digest their food.
On the ground they walk with ease, as well as on the
branches, frequently jerking their beautiful tail, and
moving the neck backwards and forwards in the most
graceful manner. As the sun begins to sink beneath the
horizon, they depart <i>en masse</i> for the roosting place,
which not infrequently is hundreds of miles distant, as
has been ascertained by persons who have kept an
account of their arrivals and departures.</p>
<p>Let us now, kind reader, inspect their place of nightly
rendezvous. One of these curious roosting places, on
the banks of the Green River in Kentucky, I repeatedly
visited. It was, as is always the case, in a portion of
the forest where the trees were of great magnitude, and
where there was little underwood. I rode through it
upwards of forty miles, and, crossing it in different
parts, found its average breadth to be rather more than
three miles. My first view of it was about a fortnight
subsequent to the period when they had made choice of
it, and I arrived there nearly two hours before sunset.
Few pigeons were then to be seen, but a great number
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
of persons, with horses and wagons, guns and ammunition,
had already established encampments on the
borders.</p>
<p>Two farmers from the vicinity of Russelsville, distant
more than a hundred miles, had driven upwards
of three hundred hogs to be fattened on the pigeons
which were to be slaughtered. Here and there, the
people employed in plucking and salting what had
already been procured, were seen sitting in the midst
of large piles of these birds. The dung lay several
inches deep, covering the whole extent of the roosting
place, like a bed of snow. Many trees two feet in
diameter, I observed, were broken off at no great distance
from the ground; and the branches of many of the
largest and tallest had given way, as if the forest had
been swept by a tornado. Everything proved to me
that the number of birds resorting to this part of the
forest must be immense beyond conception. As the
period of their arrival approached, their foes anxiously
prepared to receive them. Some were furnished with
iron pots containing sulphur, others with torches of pine
knots, many with poles, and the rest with guns. The
sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived.
Everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the
clear sky, which appeared in glimpses amidst the tall
trees. Suddenly there burst forth a general cry of
"Here they come!" The noise which they made,
though yet distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
passing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As
the birds arrived and passed over me, I felt a current
of air that surprised me. Thousands were seen
knocked down by the pole-men. The birds continued
to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent,
as well as wonderful and almost terrifying sight presented
itself. The pigeons, arriving by thousands,
alighted everywhere, one above another, until solid
masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the
branches all round. Here and there the perches gave
way under the weight with a crash, and, falling to the
ground destroyed hundreds of the birds beneath, forcing
down the dense groups with which every stick was
loaded. It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I
found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout to those
persons who were nearest to me. Even the reports of
the guns were seldom heard, and I was made aware of
the firing only by seeing the shooters reloading.</p>
<p>No one dared venture within the line of devastation.
The hogs had been penned up in due time, the picking
up of the dead and wounded being left for the next
morning's employment. The pigeons were constantly
coming, and it was past midnight before I perceived a
decrease in the number of those that arrived. The
uproar continued the whole night; and as I was anxious
to know to what distance the sound reached, I sent off
a man, accustomed to perambulate the forest, who, returning
two hours afterwards, informed me he had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
heard it distinctly when three miles distant from the
spot. Toward the approach of day, the noise in some
measure subsided, long before objects were distinguishable,
the pigeons began to move off in a direction quite
different from that in which they had arrived the evening
before, and at sunrise all that were able to fly had
disappeared. The howlings of the wolves now reached
our ears, and the foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, raccoons,
opossums, and pole-cats were seen sneaking off,
whilst eagles and hawks of different species, accompanied
by a crowd of vultures, came to supplant them
and enjoy their share of the spoil.</p>
<p>It was then that the authors of all this devastation
began their entry amongst the dead, the dying and the
mangled. The pigeons were picked up and piled in
heaps, until each had as many as he could possibly dispose
of, when the hogs were let loose to feed on the
remainder.</p>
<p>Persons unacquainted with these birds might naturally
conclude that such dreadful havoc would soon put
an end to the species. But I have satisfied myself, by
long observation, that nothing but the gradual diminution
of our forests can accomplish their decrease, as they
not infrequently quadruple their numbers yearly, and
always at least double it. In 1805 I saw schooners
loaded in bulk with pigeons caught up the Hudson
River, coming into the wharf at New York, when the
birds sold for a cent apiece. I knew a man in Pennsylvania,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
who caught and killed upward of five hundred
dozens in a clap net in one day, sweeping sometimes
twenty dozens or more at a single haul. In the
month of March, 1830, they were so abundant in the
markets of New York, that piles of them met the eye
in every direction. I have seen the negroes at the
United States' Salines or Saltworks of Shawnee Town,
wearied with killing pigeons, as they alighted to drink
the water issuing from the leading pipes, for weeks
at a time; and yet in 1826, in Louisiana, I saw congregated
flocks of these birds as numerous as ever I had
seen them before, during a residence of nearly thirty
years in the United States.</p>
<p>The breeding of the wild pigeons, and the places
chosen for that purpose, are points of great interest.
The time is not much influenced by season, and the place
selected is where food is most plentiful and most attainable,
and always at a convenient distance from water.
Forest trees of great height are those in which the
pigeons form their nests. Thither the countless myriads
resort, and prepare to fulfill one of the great laws of
nature. At this period the note of the pigeon is a soft
coo-coo-coo-coo much shorter than that of the domestic
species. The common notes resemble the monosyllables
kee-kee-kee-kee, the first being the loudest, the others
gradually diminishing in power. The male assumes a
pompous demeanor, and follows the female whether on
the ground or on the branches, with spread tail and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
drooping wings, which it rubs against the part over
which it is moving. The body is elevated, the throat
swells, the eyes sparkle. He continues his notes, and
now and then rises on the wing, and flies a few yards to
approach the fugitive and timorous female. Like the
domestic pigeon and other species, they caress each other
by billing, in which action, the bill of the one is introduced
transversely into that of the other, and both parties
alternately disgorge the contents of their crops by
repeated efforts. These preliminary affairs are soon settled,
and the pigeons commence their nests in general
peace and harmony. They are composed of a few dry
twigs, crossing each other, and are supported by forks
of the branches. On the same tree from fifty to a hundred
nests may frequently be seen: I might say a much
greater number, were I not anxious, kind reader, that
however wonderful my account of the wild pigeons is,
you may not feel disposed to refer it to the marvelous.
The eggs are two in number, of a broadly
elliptical form, and pure white. During incubation, the
male supplies the female with food. Indeed, the tenderness
and affection displayed by these birds toward
their mates, are in the highest degree striking. It is a
remarkable fact that each brood generally consists of a
male and a female.</p>
<p>Here again, the tyrant of the creation, man, interferes,
disturbing the harmony of this peaceful scene.
As the young birds grow up, their enemies armed with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
axes, reach the spot, to seize and destroy all they can.
The trees are felled, and made to fall in such a way
that the cutting of one causes the overthrow of another,
or shakes the neighboring trees so much, that the young
pigeons, or squabs, as they are named, are violently
hurled to the ground. In this manner, also, immense
quantities are destroyed.</p>
<p>The young are fed by the parents in the manner described
above; in other words, the old bird introduces
its bill into the mouth of the young one in a transverse
manner, or with the back of each mandible opposite the
separations of the mandibles of the young bird, and disgorges
the contents of its crop. As soon as the young
birds are able to shift for themselves, they leave their
parents, and continue separate until they attain maturity.
By the end of six months they are capable of
reproducing their species.</p>
<p>The flesh of the wild pigeon is of a dark color, but
affords tolerable eating. That of young birds from the
nest is much esteemed. The skin is covered with small
white filmy scales. The feathers fall off at the least
touch, as has been remarked to be the case in the Carolina
Turtle. I have only to add that this species, like
others of the same genus, immerses its head up to the
eyes while drinking.</p>
<p>In March, 1830, I bought about three hundred and
fifty of these birds in the market of New York, at four
cents apiece. Most of these I carried alive to England,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
and distributed among several noblemen, presenting
some at the same time to the Zoölogical Society.</p>
<p class="caption3">ADULT MALE</p>
<p>Bill—straight, of ordinary length, rather slender,
broader than deep at the base, with a tumid, fleshy
covering above, compressed toward the end, rather
obtuse; upper mandible slightly declinate at the tip,
edges inflected. Head—small; neck, slender; body,
rather full. Legs—short and strong; tarsus, rather
rounded; anteriorly scutellate; toes, slightly webbed at
the base; claws, short, depressed, obtuse.</p>
<p>Plumage—blended on the neck and under parts, compact
on the back. Wings—long, the second quill longest.
Tail—graduated, of twelve tapering feathers.</p>
<p>Bill—black. Iris—bright red. Feet—carmine purple,
claws blackish. Head—above and on the sides light
blue. Throat, fore-neck, breast, and sides—light
brownish-red, the rest of the under parts white. Lower
part of the neck behind, and along the sides, changing
to gold, emerald green, and rich crimson. The general
color of the upper parts is grayish-blue, some of the
wing-coverts marked with a black spot. Quills and
larger wing-coverts blackish, the primary quills bluish
in the outer web, the larger coverts whitish at the tip.
The two middle feathers of the tail black, the rest pale
blue at the base, becoming white toward the end.</p>
<p>Length, 16-1/4 inches; extent of wings, 25; bill, along
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
the ridge, 5/6, along the gap, 1-1/12; tarsus, 1-1/4 middle
toe, 1-1/3.</p>
<p class="caption3">ADULT FEMALE</p>
<p>The colors of the female are much duller than those
of the male, although their distribution is the same.
The breast is light grayish-brown, the upper parts pale
reddish-brown, tinged with blue. The changeable spot
on the neck is of less extent, and the eye of a somewhat
duller red, as are the feet.</p>
<p>Length, 15 inches; extent of wings, 23; bill, along the
ridge, 3/4; along the gap, 5/6.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">As James Fenimore Cooper Saw It</p>
<div class="dropcap">O</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">O</span>NE of the most graphic descriptions ever
written of a pigeon flight and slaughter is to
be found in Cooper's novel, "The Pioneers,"
from which I make the following extracts:</p>
<p>"See, cousin Bess! see, Duke, the pigeon-roosts of
the south have broken up! They are growing more
thick every instant. Here is a flock that the eye cannot
see the end of. There is food enough in it to keep the
army of Xerxes for a month and feathers enough to
make beds for the whole country. . . . The reports
of the firearms became rapid, whole volleys rising
from the plain, as flocks of more than ordinary numbers
darted over the opening, shadowing the field like
a cloud; and then the light smoke of a single piece
would issue from among the leafless bushes on the mountain,
as death was hurled on the retreat of the affrighted
birds, who were rising from a volley, in a vain effort to
escape. Arrows and missiles of every kind were in the
midst of the flocks; and so numerous were the birds,
and so low did they take their flight, that even long
poles, in the hands of those on the sides of the mountain,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
were used to strike them to the earth. . . . So
prodigious was the number of the birds, that the scattering
fire of the guns, with the hurtling missiles, and the
cries of the boys, had no other effect than to break off
small flocks from the immense masses that continued to
dart along the valley, as if the whole of the feathered
tribe were pouring through that one pass. None pretended
to collect the game, which lay scattered over the
fields in such profusion as to cover the very ground with
the fluttering victims."</p>
<p>The slaughter described finally ended with a grand
finale when an old swivel gun was "loaded with handsful
of bird-shot," and fired into the mass of pigeons
with such fatal effect that there were birds enough
killed and wounded on the ground to feed the whole
settlement.</p>
<p>The following description is from "The Chainbearer,"
also by J. Fenimore Cooper. The region of
which he writes is in Central New York.</p>
<p>"I scarce know how to describe the remarkable
scene. As we drew near to the summit of the hill,
pigeons began to be seen fluttering among the branches
over our heads, as individuals are met along the roads
that lead into the suburbs of a large town. We had
probably seen a thousand birds glancing around among
the trees, before we came in view of the roost itself.
The numbers increased as we drew nearer, and presently
the forest was alive with them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
<p>"The fluttering was incessant, and often startling as
we passed ahead, our march producing a movement in
the living crowd, that really became confounding.
Every tree was literally covered with nests, many having
at least a thousand of these frail tenements on their
branches, and shaded by the leaves. They often touched
each other, a wonderful degree of order prevailing
among the hundreds of thousands of families that were
here assembled.</p>
<p>"The place had the odor of a fowl-house, and squabs
just fledged sufficiently to trust themselves in short
flights, were fluttering around us in all directions, in
tens of thousands. To these were to be added the parents
of the young race endeavoring to protect them and
guide them in a way to escape harm. Although the
birds rose as we approached, and the woods just around
us seemed fairly alive with pigeons, our presence produced
no general commotion; every one of the feathered
throng appearing to be so much occupied with its own
concerns, as to take little heed of the visit of a party of
strangers, though of a race usually so formidable to
their own.</p>
<p>"The masses moved before us precisely as a crowd of
human beings yields to a pressure or a danger on any
given point; the vacuum created by its passage filling
in its rear as the water of the ocean flows into the track
of the keel.</p>
<p>"The effect on most of us was confounding, and I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
can only compare the sensation produced on myself by
the extraordinary tumult to that a man experiences at
finding himself suddenly placed in the midst of an excited
throng of human beings. The unnatural disregard
of our persons manifested by the birds greatly heightened
the effect, and caused me to feel as if some unearthly
influence reigned in the place. It was strange,
indeed, to be in a mob of the feathered race, that scarce
exhibited a consciousness of one's presence. The
pigeons seemed a world of themselves, and too much
occupied with their own concerns to take heed of matters
that lay beyond them.</p>
<p>"Not one of our party spoke for several minutes.
Astonishment seemed to hold us all tongue-tied, and we
moved slowly forward into the fluttering throng, silent,
absorbed, and full of admiration of the works of the
Creator. It was not easy to hear each others' voices
when we did speak, the incessant fluttering of wings
filling the air. Nor were the birds silent in other
respects.</p>
<p>"The pigeon is not a noisy creature, but a million
crowded together on the summit of one hill, occupying a
space of less than a mile square, did not leave the forest
in its ordinary impressive stillness. As we advanced,
I offered my arm, almost unconsciously again to Dus,
and she took it with the same abstracted manner as that
in which it had been held forth for her acceptance. In
this relation to each other, we continued to follow the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
grave-looking Onondago, as he moved, still deeper and
deeper, into the midst of the fluttering tumult.</p>
<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:3em">* * * * *</p>
<p>"While standing wondering at the extraordinary
scene around us, a noise was heard rising above that of
the incessant fluttering which I can only liken to that
of the trampling of thousands of horses on a beaten
road. This noise at first sounded distant, but it increased
rapidly in proximity and power, until it came
rolling in upon us, among the tree-tops, like a crash of
thunder. The air was suddenly darkened, and the place
where we stood as somber as a dusky twilight. At the
same instant, all the pigeons near us, that had been on
their nests, appeared to fall out of them, and the space
immediately above our heads was at once filled with
birds.</p>
<p>"Chaos itself could hardly have represented greater
confusion, or a greater uproar. As for the birds, they
now seemed to disregard our presence entirely; possibly
they could not see us on account of their own numbers,
for they fluttered in between Dus and myself, hitting
us with their wings, and at times appearing as if
about to bury us in avalanches of pigeons. Each of us
caught one at least in our hands, while Chainbearer and
the Indian took them in some numbers, letting one prisoner
go as another was taken. In a word, we seemed to
be in a world of pigeons. This part of the scene may
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
have lasted a minute, when the space around us was suddenly
cleared, the birds glancing upward among the
branches of the trees, disappearing among the foliage.
All this was the effect produced by the return of the
female birds, which had been off at a distance, some
twenty miles at least, to feed on beechnuts, and which
now assumed the places of the males on the nests; the
latter taking a flight to get their meal in their turn.</p>
<p>"I have since had the curiosity to make a sort of an
estimate of the number of the birds that must have
come in upon the roost, in that, to us, memorable
moment. Such a calculation, as a matter of course, must
be very vague, though one may get certain principles
by estimating the size of a flock by the known rapidity
of the flight, and other similar means; and I remember
that Frank Malbone and myself supposed that a
million of birds must have come in on that return, and
as many departed! As the pigeon is a very voracious
bird, the question is apt to present itself, where food
is obtained for so many mouths; but, when we remember
the vast extent of the American forests, this difficulty
is at once met. Admitting that the colony we visited
contained many millions of birds, and, counting old and
young, I have no doubt it did, there was probably a
fruit-bearing tree for each, within an hour's flight from
that very spot!</p>
<p>"Such is the scale on which Nature labors in the
wilderness! I have seen insects fluttering in the air at
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
particular seasons, and at particular places, until they
formed little clouds; a sight every one must have witnessed
on many occasions; and as those insects appeared,
on their diminished scale, so did the pigeons appear to
us at the roost of Mooseridge."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Wild Pigeon of North America</p>
<p class="caption3">By Chief Pokagon,<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> from "The Chautauquan," November, 1895.
Vol. 22. No. 20.</p>
<div class="footnote pmb2">
<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Simon Pokagon, of Michigan, is a full-blooded Indian, the last Pottawattomie
chief of the Pokagon band. He is author of the "Red Man's
Greeting," and has been called by the press the "Redskin poet, bard, and
Longfellow of his race." His father, chief before him, sold the site of
Chicago and the surrounding country to the United States in 1833 for three
cents an acre. He was the first red man to visit President Lincoln after his
inauguration. In a letter written home at the time he said: "I have met
Lincoln, the great chief; he is very tall, has a sad face, but he is a good man,
I saw it in his eyes and felt it in his hand-shaking. He will help us get
payment for Chicago land." Soon after $39,000 was paid. In 1874 he
visited President Grant. He said of him: "I expected he would put on
military importance, but he treated me kindly, give me a cigar, and we
smoked the pipe of peace together." In 1893 he procured judgment
against the United States for over $100,000 still due on the sale of the
Chicago land by his father. He was honored on Chicago Day at the
World's Fair by first ringing the new Bell of Liberty and speaking in behalf
of his race to the greatest crowd ever assembled on earth. After his
speech "Glory Hallelujah" was sung before the bell for the first time on
the Fair grounds.</p></div>
<div class="dropcap">T</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">T</span>HE migratory or wild pigeon of North America
was known by our race as <i>O-me-me-wog</i>.
Why the European race did not accept that
name was, no doubt, because the bird so much resembled
the domesticated pigeon; they naturally called it a
wild pigeon, as they called us wild men.</p>
<p>This remarkable bird differs from the dove or domesticated
pigeon, which was imported into this country,
in the grace of its long neck, its slender bill and legs,
and its narrow wings. Its tail is eight inches long, having
twelve feathers, white on the under side. The two
center feathers are longest, while five arranged on either
side diminished gradually each one-half inch in length,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
giving to the tail when spread an almost conical appearance.
Its back and upper part of the wings and head
are a darkish blue, with a silken velvety appearance. Its
neck is resplendent in gold and green with royal purple
intermixed. Its breast is reddish-brown, fading toward
the belly into white. Its tail is tipped with white, intermixed
with bluish-black. The female is one inch shorter
than the male, and her color less vivid.</p>
<p>It was proverbial with our fathers that if the Great
Spirit in His wisdom could have created a more elegant
bird in plumage, form, and movement, He never did.
When a young man I have stood for hours admiring
the movements of these birds. I have seen them fly in
unbroken lines from the horizon, one line succeeding
another from morning until night, moving their unbroken
columns like an army of trained soldiers pushing
to the front, while detached bodies of these birds
appeared in different parts of the heavens, pressing forward
in haste like raw recruits preparing for battle. At
other times I have seen them move in one unbroken column
for hours across the sky, like some great river,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
ever varying in hue; and as the mighty stream, sweeping
on at sixty miles an hour, reached some deep valley,
it would pour its living mass headlong down hundreds
of feet, sounding as though a whirlwind was abroad in
the land. I have stood by the grandest waterfall of
America and regarded the descending torrents in wonder
and astonishment, yet never have my astonishment, wonder,
and admiration been so stirred as when I have witnessed
these birds drop from their course like meteors
from heaven.</p>
<p>While feeding, they always have guards on duty, to
give alarm of danger. It is made by the watch-bird as
it takes its flight, beating its wings together in quick
succession, sounding like the rolling beat of a snare
drum. Quick as thought each bird repeats the alarm
with a thundering sound, as the flock struggles to rise,
leading a stranger to think a young cyclone is then being
born.</p>
<p>. . . About the middle of May, 1850, while in the
fur trade, I was camping on the head waters of the
Manistee River in Michigan. One morning on leaving
my wigwam I was startled by hearing a gurgling, rumbling
sound, as though an army of horses laden with
sleigh bells was advancing through the deep forests
towards me. As I listened more intently I concluded
that instead of the tramping of horses it was distant
thunder; and yet the morning was clear, calm and
beautiful. Nearer and nearer came the strange commingling
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
sounds of sleigh bells, mixed with the rumbling
of an approaching storm. While I gazed in wonder and
astonishment, I beheld moving toward me in an unbroken
front millions of pigeons, the first I had seen that
season. They passed like a cloud through the branches
of the high trees, through the underbrush and over the
ground, apparently overturning every leaf. Statue-like
I stood, half-concealed by cedar boughs. They fluttered
all about me, lighting on my head and shoulders; gently
I caught two in my hands and carefully concealed them
under my blanket.</p>
<p>I now began to realize they were mating, preparatory
to nesting. It was an event which I had long hoped to
witness; so I sat down and carefully watched their movements,
amid the greatest tumult. I tried to understand
their strange language, and why they all chatted in concert.
In the course of the day the great on-moving mass
passed by me, but the trees were still filled with them
sitting in pairs in convenient crotches of the limbs, now
and then gently fluttering their half-spread wings and
uttering to their mates those strange, bell-like wooing
notes which I had mistaken for the ringing of bells in
the distance.</p>
<p>On the third day after, this chattering ceased and all
were busy carrying sticks with which they were building
nests in the same crotches of the limbs they had occupied
in pairs the day before. On the morning of the
fourth day their nests were finished and eggs laid. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
hen birds occupied the nests in the morning, while the
male birds went out into the surrounding country to
feed, returning about ten o'clock, taking the nests, while
the hens went out to feed, returning about three o'clock.
Again changing nests, the male birds went out the second
time to feed, returning at sundown. The same routine
was pursued each day until the young ones were hatched
and nearly half grown, at which time all the parent
birds left the brooding grounds about daylight. On the
morning of the eleventh day, after the eggs were laid, I
found the nesting grounds strewn with egg shells, convincing
me that the young were hatched. In thirteen
days more the parent birds left their young to shift for
themselves, flying to the east about sixty miles, when
they again nested. The female lays but one egg during
the same nesting.</p>
<p>Both sexes secrete in their crops milk or curd with
which they feed their young, until they are nearly ready
to fly, when they stuff them with mast and such other
raw material as they themselves eat, until their crops
exceed their bodies in size, giving to them an appearance
of two birds with one head. Within two days after the
stuffing they become a mass of fat—"a squab." At this
period the parent bird drives them from the nests to
take care of themselves, while they fly off within a day
or two, sometimes hundreds of miles, and again nest.</p>
<p>It has been well established that these birds look after
and take care of all orphan squabs whose parents have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
been killed or are missing. These birds are long-lived,
having been known to live twenty-five years caged.
When food is abundant they nest each month in the
year.</p>
<p>Their principal food is the mast of the forest, except
when curd is being secreted in their crops, at which
time they denude the country of snails and worms for
miles around the nesting grounds. Because they nest
in such immense bodies, they are frequently compelled
to fly from fifty to one hundred miles for food.</p>
<p>During my early life I learned that these birds in
spring and fall were seen in their migrations from the
Atlantic to the Mississippi River. This knowledge,
together with my personal observation of their countless
numbers, led me to believe they were almost as inexhaustible
as the great ocean itself. Of course I had witnessed
the passing away of the deer, buffalo, and elk, but I
looked upon them as local in their habits, while these
birds spanned the continent, frequently nesting beyond
the reach of cruel man.</p>
<p>Between 1840 and 1880 I visited in the States of
Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan many brooding places that
were from twenty to thirty miles long and from three
to four miles wide, every tree in its limits being spotted
with nests. Yet, notwithstanding their countless numbers,
great endurance, and long life, they have almost
entirely disappeared from our forests. We strain our
eyes in spring and autumn in vain to catch a glimpse of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
these pilgrims. White men tell us they have moved
in a body to the Rocky Mountain region, where they
are as plenty as they were here, but when we ask red
men, who are familiar with the mountain country, about
them, they shake their heads in disbelief.</p>
<p>A pigeon nesting was always a great source of revenue
to our people. Whole tribes would wigwam in the
brooding places. They seldom killed the old birds,
but made great preparation to secure their young, out
of which the squaws made squab butter and smoked
and dried them by thousands for future use. Yet,
under our manner of securing them, they continued to
increase.</p>
<p>White men commenced netting them for market
about the year 1840. These men were known as professional
pigeoners, from the fact that they banded
themselves together, so as to keep in telegraphic communication
with these great moving bodies. In this
they became so expert as to be almost continually on
the borders of their brooding places. As they were
always prepared with trained stool-pigeons and flyers,
which they carried with them, they were enabled to
call down the passing flocks and secure as many by net
as they were able to pack in ice and ship to market. In
the year 1848 there were shipped from Catteraugus
County, N. Y., eighty tons of these birds; and from
that time to 1878 the wholesale slaughter continued
to increase, and in that year there were shipped from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
Michigan not less than three hundred tons of birds.
During the thirty years of their greatest slaughter there
must have been shipped to our great cities 5,700 tons
of these birds; allowing each pigeon to weigh one-half
pound would show twenty-three millions of birds.
Think of it! And all these were caught during their
brooding season, which must have decreased their numbers
as many more. Nor is this all. During the same
time hunters from all parts of the country gathered at
these brooding places and slaughtered them without
mercy.</p>
<p>In the above estimate are not reckoned the thousands
of dozens that were shipped alive to sporting clubs for
trap-shooting, as well as those consumed by the local
trade throughout the pigeon districts of the United
States.</p>
<p>These experts finally learned that the birds while
nesting were frantic after salty mud and water, so they
frequently made, near the nesting places, what were
known by the craft as mud beds, which were salted,
to which the birds would flock by the million. In
April, 1876, I was invited to see a net over one of these
death pits. It was near Petoskey, Mich. I think I
am correct in saying the birds piled one upon another
at least two feet deep when the net was sprung, and
it seemed to me that most of them escaped the trap,
but on killing and counting, there were found to be
over one hundred dozen, all nesting birds.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
<p>When squabs of a nesting became fit for market,
these experts, prepared with climbers, would get into
some convenient place in a tree-top loaded with nests,
and with a long pole punch out the young, which would
fall with a thud like lead on the ground.</p>
<p>In May, 1880, I visited the last known nesting
place east of the Great Lakes. It was on Platt River
in Benzie County, Mich. There were on these
grounds many large white birch trees filled with nests.
These trees have manifold bark, which, when old, hangs
in shreds like rags or flowing moss, along their trunks
and limbs. This bark will burn like paper soaked in
oil. Here, for the first time, I saw with shame and pity
a new mode for robbing these birds' nests, which I look
upon as being devilish. These outlaws to all moral
sense would touch a lighted match to the bark of the
trees at the base, when with a flash—more like an explosion—the
blast would reach every limb of the tree, and
while the affrighted young birds would leap simultaneously
to the ground, the parent birds, with plumage
scorched, would rise high in air amid flame and smoke.
I noticed that many of these squabs were so fat and
clumsy they would burst open on striking the ground.
Several thousand were obtained during the day by this
cruel process.</p>
<p>That night I stayed with an old man on the highlands
just north of the nesting. In the course of the evening
I explained to him the cruelty that was being shown to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
the young birds in the nesting. He listened to me in
utter astonishment, and said, "My God, is that possible!"
Remaining silent a few moments with bowed
head, he looked up and said, "See here, old Indian, you
go out with me in the morning and I will show you a
way to catch pigeons that will please any red man and
the birds, too."</p>
<p>Early the next morning I followed him a few rods
from his hut, where he showed me an open pole pen,
about two feet high, which he called his bait bed. Into
this he scattered a bucket of wheat. We then sat in
ambush, so as to see through between the poles into the
pen. Soon they began to pour into the pen and gorge
themselves. While I was watching and admiring them,
all at once to my surprise they began fluttering and
falling on their sides and backs and kicking and quivering
like a lot of cats with paper tied over their feet.
He jumped into the pen, saying, "Come on, you red-skin."</p>
<p>I was right on hand by his side. A few birds flew out
of the pen apparently crippled, but we caught and caged
about one hundred fine birds. After my excitement
was over I sat down on one of the cages, and thought
in my heart, "Certainly Pokagon is dreaming, or this
long-haired white man is a witch." I finally said, "Look
here, old fellow, tell me how you did that." He gazed
at me, holding his long white beard in one hand, and
said with one eye half shut and a sly wink with the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
other, "That wheat was soaked in whisky." His answer
fell like lead upon my heart. We had talked
temperance together the night before, and the old man
wept when I told him how my people had fallen before
the intoxicating cup of the white man like leaves before
the blast of autumn. In silence I left the place, saying
in my heart, "Surely the time is now fulfilled, when
false prophets shall show signs and wonders to seduce,
if it were possible, even the elect."</p>
<p>I have read recently in some of our game-sporting
journals, "A warwhoop has been sounded against some
of our western Indians for killing game in the mountain
region." Now, if these red men are guilty of a
moral wrong which subjects them to punishment, I
would most prayerfully ask in the name of Him who
suffers not a sparrow to fall unnoticed, what must be
the nature of the crime and degree of punishment awaiting
our white neighbors who have so wantonly butchered
and driven from our forests these wild pigeons, the
most beautiful flowers of the animal creation of North
America.</p>
<p>In closing this article I wish to say a few words
relative to the knowledge of things about them that
these birds seem to possess.</p>
<p>In the spring of 1866 there were scattered throughout
northern Indiana and southern Michigan vast numbers
of these birds. On April 10, in the morning, they
commenced moving in small flocks in diverging lines
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
toward the northwest part of Van Buren County,
Mich. For two days they continued to pour into that
vicinity from all directions, commencing at once to build
their nests. I talked with an old trapper who lived
on the brooding grounds, and he assured me that the
first pigeons he had seen that season were on the day
they commenced nesting and that he had lived there
fifteen years and never known them to nest there
before.</p>
<p>From the above instance and hundreds of others I
might mention, it is well established in my mind beyond
a reasonable doubt, that these birds, as well as many
other animals, have communicated to them by some
means unknown to us, a knowledge of distant places,
and of one another when separated, and that they act
on such knowledge with just as much certainty as if
it were conveyed to them by ear or eye. Hence we
conclude it is possible that the Great Spirit in His
wisdom has provided them a means to receive electric
communications from distant places and with one another.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Passenger Pigeon</p>
<p class="caption3">From "Life Histories of North American Birds,"<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p>
<p class="caption3">by Charles Bendire</p>
<div class="footnote pmb2">
<p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> The first volume of Captain Bendire's monumental work was published
in 1892, by which time the extinction of the Passenger Pigeon was
foretold as a matter of a few more years. His contribution to the subject
therefore deals with a much later period in the history of the bird and links
the studies of Wilson and Audubon with the present day.</p></div>
<div class="dropcap">G</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">G</span>EOGRAPHICAL Range: Deciduous forest
regions of eastern North America; west, casually,
to Washington and Nevada; Cuba.</p>
<p>The breeding range of the Passenger Pigeon to-day
is to be looked for principally in the thinly settled and
wooded region along our northern border, from northern
Maine westward to northern Minnesota; in the
Dakotas, as well as in similar localities in the eastern
and middle portions of the Dominion of Canada, and
north at least to Hudson's Bay. Isolated and scattering
pairs probably still breed in the New England States,
northern New York, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin,
Minnesota, and a few other localities further
south, but the enormous breeding colonies, or pigeon
roosts, as they were formerly called, frequently covering
the forest for miles, and so often mentioned by naturalists
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
and hunters in former years, are, like the immense
herds of the American bison which roamed over the
great plains of the West in countless thousands but a
couple of decades ago, things of the past, probably
never to be seen again.</p>
<p>In fact, the extermination of the Passenger Pigeon
has progressed so rapidly during the past twenty years
that it looks now as if their total extermination might
be accomplished within the present century. The only
thing which retards their complete extinction is that it
no longer pays to net these birds, they being too scarce
for this now, at least in the more settled portions of the
country, and also, perhaps, that from constant and unremitting
persecution on their breeding grounds they
have changed their habits somewhat, the majority no
longer breeding in colonies, but scattering over the
country and breeding in isolated pairs.</p>
<p>Mr. William Brewster, in his article "On the Present
Status of the Wild Pigeon," etc., writes as follows: "In
the spring of 1888 my friend, Captain Bendire, wrote
me that he had received news from a correspondent in
central Michigan to the effect that wild pigeons had
arrived there in great numbers and were preparing to
nest. Acting on this information, I started at once, in
company with Mr. Jonathan Dwight, Jr., to visit the
expected 'nesting' and learn as much as possible about
the habits of the breeding birds, as well as to secure
specimens of their skins and eggs.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
<p>"On reaching Cadillac, Michigan, May 8, we found
that large flocks of pigeons had passed there late in
April, while there were reports of similar flights from
almost every county in the southern part of the State.
Although most of the birds had passed on before our
arrival, the professional pigeon netters, confident that
they would finally breed somewhere in the southern peninsula,
were busily engaged getting their nets and other
apparatus in order for an extensive campaign against
the poor birds.</p>
<p>"We were assured that as soon as the breeding
colony became established the fact would be known all
over the State, and there would be no difficulty in ascertaining
its precise location. Accordingly, we waited
at Cadillac about two weeks, during which time we were
in correspondence with netters in different parts of the
region. No news came, however, and one by one the
netters lost heart, until finally most of them agreed that
the pigeons had gone to the far north, beyond the reach
of mail and telegraphic communication. As a last hope,
we went, on May 15, to Oden, in the northern part of
the southern peninsula, about twenty miles south of the
Straits of Mackinac. Here we found that there had
been, as elsewhere in Michigan, a heavy flight of birds
in the latter part of April, but that all had passed on.
Thus our trip proved a failure as far as actually seeing
a pigeon 'nesting' was concerned; but partly by observation,
partly by talking with the netters, farmers, sportsmen,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
and lumbermen, we obtained much information
regarding the flight of 1888, and the larger nestings
that have occurred in Michigan within the past decade,
as well as many interesting details, some of which appear
to be new about the habits of the birds.</p>
<p>"Our principal informant was Mr. S. S. Stevens, of
Cadillac, a veteran pigeon netter of large experience,
and, as we were assured by everyone whom we asked
concerning him, a man of high reputation for veracity
and carefulness of statement. His testimony was as
follows: 'Pigeons appeared that year in numbers near
Cadillac, about the 20th of April. He saw fully sixty
in one day, scattered about in beech woods near the
head of Clam Lake, and on another occasion about one
hundred drinking at the mouth of the brook, while a
flock that covered at least 8 acres was observed by a
friend, a perfectly reliable man, flying in a north-easterly
direction. Many other smaller flocks were reported."</p>
<p>"The last nesting of any importance in Michigan was
in 1881, a few miles west of Grand Traverse. It was
only of moderate size, perhaps 8 miles long. Subsequently,
in 1886, Mr. Stevens found about fifty dozen
pairs nesting in a swamp near Lake City. He does
not doubt that similar small colonies occur every year,
besides scattered pairs. In fact, he sees a few pigeons
about Cadillac every summer, and in the early autumn
young birds, barely able to fly, are often met with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
singly or in small parties in the woods. Such stragglers
attract little attention, and no one attempts to net them,
although many are shot.</p>
<p>"The largest nesting he ever visited was in 1876 or
1877. It began near Petoskey, and extended northeast
past Crooked Lake for 28 miles, averaging 3 or 4 miles
wide. The birds arrived in two separate bodies, one
directly from the south by land, the other following
the east coast of Wisconsin, and crossing at Manitou
Island. He saw the latter body come in from the lake
at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It was a compact
mass of pigeons, at least 5 miles long by 1 mile wide.
The birds began building when the snow was 12 inches
deep in the woods, although the fields were bare at the
time. So rapidly did the colony extend its boundaries
that it soon passed literally over and around the place
where he was netting, although when he began, this
point was several miles from the nearest nest. Nestings
usually start in deciduous woods, but during their progress
the pigeons do not skip any kind of trees they
encounter. The Petoskey nesting extended 8 miles
through hardwood timber, then crossed a river bottom
wooded with arborvitæ, and thence stretched through
white pine woods about 20 miles. For the entire distance
of 28 miles every tree of any size had more or
less nests, and many trees were filled with them. None
were lower than about 15 feet above the ground.</p>
<p>"Pigeons are very noisy when building. They make
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
a sound resembling the croaking of wood frogs. Their
combined clamor can be heard 4 or 5 miles away when
the atmospheric conditions are favorable. Two eggs
are usually laid, but many nests contain only one. Both
birds incubate, the females between 2 o'clock <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> and
9 o'clock or 10 o'clock the next morning; the males
from 9 or 10 o'clock <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> to 2 o'clock <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> The
males feed twice each day, namely, from daylight to
about 8 o'clock <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> and again late in the afternoon.
The females feed only during the forenoon. The
change is made with great regularity as to time, all the
males being on the nest by 10 o'clock <span class="smcap">A.M.</span></p>
<p>"During the morning and evening no females are
ever caught by the netters; during the forenoon no
males. The sitting bird does not leave the nest until
the bill of its incoming mate nearly touches its tail,
the former slipping off as the latter takes it place.</p>
<p>"Thus the eggs are constantly covered, and but few
are ever thrown out despite the fragile character of the
nests and the swaying of the trees in the high winds.
The old birds never feed in or near the nesting, leaving
all the beech mast, etc., there for their young. Many
of them go 100 miles each day for food. Mr. Stevens
is satisfied that pigeons continue laying and hatching
during the entire summer. They do not, however, use
the same nesting place a second time in one season, the
entire colony always moving from 20 to 100 miles after
the appearance of each brood of young. Mr. Stevens,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
as well as many of the other netters with whom we
talked, believes that they breed during their absence
in the South in the winter, asserting as proof of this
that young birds in considerable numbers often accompany
the earlier spring flights.</p>
<p>"Five weeks are consumed by a single nesting. Then
the young are forced out of their nests by the old
birds. Mr. Stevens has twice seen this done. One
of the pigeons, usually the male, pushes the young off
the nest by force. The latter struggles and squeals precisely
like a tame squab, but is finally crowded out along
the branch, and after further feeble resistance flutters
down to the ground. Three or four days elapse before
it is able to fly well. Upon leaving the nest it is often
fatter and heavier than the old birds; but it quickly
becomes much thinner and lighter, despite the enormous
quantity of food it consumes.</p>
<p>"On one occasion an immense flock of young birds
became bewildered in a fog while crossing Crooked
Lake, and descending struck the water and perished by
thousands. The shore for miles was covered a foot
or more deep with them. The old birds rose above the
fog, and none were killed.</p>
<p>"At least five hundred men were engaged in netting
pigeons during the great Petoskey nesting of 1881. Mr.
Stevens thought that they may have captured on the
average 20,000 birds apiece during the season. Sometimes
two carloads were shipped south on the railroad
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
each day. Nevertheless he believed that not one bird
in a thousand was taken. Hawks and owls often
abound near the nesting. Owls can be heard hooting
there all night long. The cooper's hawk often catches
the stool-pigeon. During the Petoskey season Mr.
Stevens lost twelve stool birds in this way.</p>
<p>"There has been much dispute among writers and
observers, beginning with Audubon and Wilson, and
extending down to the present day, as to whether the
wild pigeon has two eggs or one. I questioned Mr.
Stevens closely on this point. He assured me that he
had frequently found two eggs or two young in the
same nest, but that fully half the nests which he had
examined contained only one.</p>
<p>"Our personal experience with the pigeon in Michigan
was as follows:</p>
<p>"During our stay at Cadillac we saw them daily,
sometimes singly, usually in pairs, never more than two
together. Nearly every large tract of old growth
mixed woods seemed to contain at least one pair. They
appeared to be settled for the season, and we were
convinced that they were preparing to breed. In fact,
the oviduct of a female, killed May 10, contained an
egg nearly ready for the shell.</p>
<p>"At Oden we had a similar experience, although there
were perhaps fewer pigeons there than about Cadillac.</p>
<p>"On May 24, Mr. Dwight settled any possible question
as to their breeding in scattered pairs, by finding
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
a nest on which he distinctly saw a bird sitting. The
following day I accompanied him to this nest, which
was at least 50 feet above the ground, on the horizontal
branch of a large hemlock, about 20 feet out from the
trunk. As we approached the spot an adult male
pigeon started from a tree near that on which the nest
was placed, and a moment later a young bird, with
stub tail and barely able to fly, fluttered feebly after
it. This young pigeon was probably the bird seen the
previous day on the nest, for on climbing to the latter,
Mr. Dwight found it empty, but fouled with excrement,
some of which was perfectly fresh. A thorough investigation
of the surrounding woods, which were a hundred
acres or more in extent, and composed chiefly of
beeches, with a mixture of white pines and hemlocks
of the largest size, convinced us that no other pigeons
were nesting in them.</p>
<p>"All the netters with whom we talked believe firmly
that there are just as many pigeons in the West as there
ever were. They say the birds have been driven from
Michigan and the adjoining States, partly by persecution,
and partly by the destruction of the forests, and
have retreated to uninhabited regions, perhaps north
of the Great Lakes in British North America. Doubtless
there is some truth in this theory; for, that the
pigeon is not, as has been asserted so often recently,
on the verge of extinction, is shown by the flight which
passed through Michigan in the Spring of 1888. This
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
flight, according to the testimony of many reliable observers,
was a large one, and the birds must have
formed a nesting of considerable extent in some region
so remote that no news of its presence reached the ears
of the vigilant netters. Thus it is probable that enough
Pigeons are left to restock the West, provided that laws
sufficiently stringent to give them fair protection be at
once enacted. The present laws of Michigan and Wisconsin
are simply worse than useless, for, while they
prohibit disturbing the birds <i>within</i> the nesting, they
allow unlimited netting only a few miles beyond its outskirts
<i>during the entire breeding season</i>. The theory
is, that they are so infinitely numerous that their ranks
are not seriously thinned by catching a few millions of
breeding birds in a summer, and that the only danger
to be guarded against is that of frightening them away
by the use of guns or nets in the woods where their
nests are placed. The absurdity of such reasoning is
self-evident, but, singularly enough, the netters, many
of whom struck me as intelligent and honest men, seem
really to believe in it. As they have more or less local
influence, and, in addition, the powerful backing of the
large game dealers in the cities, it is not likely that any
really effectual laws can be passed until the last of our
Passenger Pigeons are preparing to follow the great
auk and the American bison."</p>
<p>In order to show a little more clearly the immense
destruction of the Passenger Pigeon <i>in a single year</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
<i>and at one roost</i> only, I quote the following extract
from an interesting article "On the Habits, Methods of
Capture, and Nesting of the Wild Pigeon," with an
account of the Michigan nesting of 1878, by Prof. H. B.
Roney, in the Chicago <i>Field</i> (Vol. X, pp. 345-347):</p>
<p>"The nesting area, situated near Petoskey, covered
something like 100,000 acres of land, and included not
less than 150,000 acres within its limits, being in length
about 40 miles by 3 to 10 in width. The number of
dead birds sent by rail was estimated at 12,500 daily,
or 1,500,000 for the summer, besides 80,352 live birds;
an equal number was sent by water. We have," says
the writer, "adding the thousands of dead and wounded
ones not secured, and the myriads of squabs left dead
in the nest, at the lowest possible estimate, a grand
total of one billion pigeons sacrificed to Mammon
during the nesting of 1878."</p>
<p>The last mentioned figure is undoubtedly far above
the actual number killed during that or any other year,
but even granting that but a million were killed at this
roost, the slaughter is enormous enough, and it is not
strange that the number of these pigeons are now few,
compared with former years.</p>
<p>Capt. B. F. Goss, of Peewaukee, Wisconsin, writes
me: "Ten years ago the wild pigeon bred in great
roosts in the northern parts of Wisconsin, and it also
bred singly in this vicinity; up to six or eight years ago
they were plenty. The nest was a small, rough platform
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
of twigs, from 10 to 15 feet from the ground. I
have often found two eggs in a nest, but one is by far
the more common. These single nests have been
thought by some accidental, but for years they bred in
this manner all over the county, as plentifully as any of
our birds. I also found them breeding singly in Iowa.
These single nests have not attracted attention like the
great roosts, but I think it is a common manner of building
with this species."</p>
<p>Mr. Frank J. Thompson, in charge of the Zoölogical
Gardens at Cincinnati, Ohio, gives the following
account of the breeding of the wild pigeon in confinement:
"During the spring of 1877, the society purchased
three pairs of trapped birds, which were placed
in one of the outer aviaries. Early in March, 1878,
I noticed that they were mating, and procuring some
twigs, I wove three rough platforms, and fastened them
up in convenient places, at the same time throwing a
further supply of building material on the floor.
Within twenty-four hours two of the platforms were
selected; the male carrying the material, whilst the
female busied herself in placing it. A single egg was
soon laid in each nest and incubation commenced. On
March 16, there was quite a heavy fall of snow, and on
the next morning I was unable to see the birds on their
nests on account of the accumulation of the snow piled
on the platforms around them. Within a couple of
days it had all disappeared, and for the next four or
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
five nights a self-registering thermometer, hanging in
the aviary, marked from 14° to 10°. In spite of these
drawbacks both of the eggs were hatched and the young
ones reared. They have since continued to breed regularly,
and now I have twenty birds, having lost several
eggs from falling through their illy-contrived nests
and one old male."</p>
<p>The Passenger Pigeon has been found nesting in
Wisconsin and Iowa during the first week in April,
and as late as June 5 and 12 in Connecticut and Minnesota.
Their food consists of beech nuts, acorns, wild
cherries, and berries of various kinds, as well as different
kinds of grain. They are said to be very fond of, and
feed extensively on, angle worms, vast numbers of
which frequently come to the surface after heavy rains,
also on hairless caterpillars.</p>
<p>Their movements, at all seasons, seem to be very
irregular, and are greatly affected by the food supply.
They may be exceedingly common at one point one
year, and almost entirely wanting the next. They generally
winter south of latitude 36°.</p>
<p>Their notes during the mating season are said to be
a short "coo-coo," and the ordinary call note is a "kee-kee-kee,"
the first syllable being louder and the last
fainter than the middle one.</p>
<p>Opinions differ as to the number of broods in a season;
while the majority of observers assert that but one,
a few others say that two, are usually raised. The eggs
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
vary in number from one to two in a set, and incubation
lasts from eighteen to twenty days, both sexes assisting.
These eggs are pure white in color, slightly glossy, and
usually elliptical oval in shape; some may be called
broad elliptical oval.</p>
<p>The average measurements of twenty specimens in
the U. S. National Museum collection is 37.5 by 26.5
millimetres. The largest egg measures 39.5 by 28.5,
the smallest 33.5 by 26 millimetres.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">Netting the Pigeons</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">By William Brewster, from "The Auk,"<br />
a Quarterly Journal of Ornithology, October, 1889.</p>
<div class="dropcap">I</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">I</span>N the spring of 1888 my friend, Captain Bendire,
wrote to me that he had received news from a
correspondent in central Michigan to the effect
that wild pigeons had arrived there in large numbers
and were preparing to nest. Acting on this information
I started at once, in company with Mr. Jonathan
Dwight, Jr., to visit the expected "nesting" and
learn as much as possible about the habits of the
breeding birds, as well as to secure specimens of their
skins and eggs.</p>
<p>. . . Pigeon netting in Michigan is conducted as
follows: Each netter has three beds; at least two, and
sometimes as many as ten "strikes" are made on a single
bed in one day, but the bed is often allowed to "rest"
for a day or two. Forty or fifty dozen birds are a good
haul for one "strike." Often only ten or twelve dozen
are taken. Mr. Stevens' highest "catch" is eighty-six
dozen, but once he saw one hundred and six dozen captured
at a single "strike." If too large a number are
on the bed, they will sometimes raise the net bodily and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
escape. Usually about one-third are too quick for the
net and fly out before it falls. Two kinds of beds are
used, the "mud" bed and the "dry" bed. The former
is the most killing in Michigan, but, for unknown reason,
it will not attract birds in Wisconsin.</p>
<p>It is made of mud, kept in a moist condition and
saturated with a mixture of saltpeter and anise seed.
Pigeons are very fond of salt and resort to salt springs
wherever they occur. The dry bed is simply a level
space of ground carefully cleared of grass, weeds, etc.,
and baited with corn or other grain. Pigeons are peculiar,
and their habits must be studied by the netter if
he would be successful. When they are feeding on
beech mast, they often will not touch grain of any kind,
and the mast must be used for bait.</p>
<p>A stool bird is an essential part of the netter's outfit.
It is tied on a box, and by an ingenious arrangement
of cords, by which it can be gently raised or lowered,
is made to flap its wings at intervals. This attracts the
attention of passing birds which alight on the nearest
tree, or on a perch which is usually provided for that
purpose. After a portion of the flock has descended
to the bed, they are started up by "raising" the stool
bird, and fly back to the perch. When they fly down a
second time all or nearly all the others follow or
accompany them and the net is "struck."</p>
<p>The usual method of killing pigeons is to break
their necks with a small pair of pincers, the ends of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
which are bent so that they do not quite meet. Great
care must be taken not to shed blood on the bed, for
the pigeons notice this at once and are much alarmed
by it. Young birds can be netted in wheat stubble
in the autumn, but this is seldom attempted. When
just able to fly, however, they are caught in enormous
numbers near the "nestings" in pens made of slats. A
few dozen old pigeons are confined in the pens as decoys,
and a net is thrown over the mouth of the pen when a
sufficient number of young birds have entered it.</p>
<p>Mr. Stevens has known over four hundred dozen
young pigeons to be taken at once by this method. The
first birds sent to market yield the netter about one
dollar a dozen. At the height of the season the price
sometimes falls as low as twelve cents a dozen. It
averages about twenty-five cents.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">Efforts to Check the Slaughter</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">By Prof. H. B. Roney, East Saginaw, Mich.</p>
<p class="smaller">The following article appeared in "American Field," of Chicago, Jan.
11, 1879. Parts omitted here referred to an ineffectual attempt on the part
of the Saginaw and Bay City Game Protection Clubs to put a stop to the
illegal netting and shooting of pigeons. The Michigan law was a bungling
piece of business, working rather in the interest of the netters than of the
birds. Prof. Roney and Mr. McLean accompanied the two representatives
of the Game Protective Clubs sent North on this mission. I make this
explanation as certain parts of the article I reproduce would otherwise not
be as well understood.</p>
<div class="dropcap">F</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">F</span>OR many years Passenger Pigeon nestings have
been established in Michigan, and by a noticeable
concurrence, only in even alternate years,
as follows: 1868, 1870, 1872, 1874, 1876, 1878. In
1876 there were no less than three nestings in the State,
one each in Newaygo, Oceana, and Grand Traverse
counties.</p>
<p>Large numbers of professional "pigeoners," as they
term themselves, devote their whole time to the business
of following up and netting wild pigeons for gain and
profit. These men carefully study the habits and direction
of flight of the birds, and in the spring of the
year can tell with considerable accuracy in about what
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
locality a nesting is to form. The indications are soon
known throughout the fraternity and the gathering of
the clans commences. The netters follow up the pigeons
in their flight for hundreds of miles. The past year
there have been nestings in Pennsylvania, Ohio and
Michigan, though in the former two States they were of
short duration, as they soon broke up and the birds
turned their flight to the northwest. The flight of a
pigeon is, under favorable conditions, sixty to ninety
miles an hour, and these birds of passage leaving the
Pennsylvania forests at daybreak can reach the Michigan
nesting grounds by sunset.</p>
<p>Many of the little travellers came from the westward,
crossing the stormy waters of the lake with the speed
of a dart. From the four quarters of the globe, seemingly,
they gather. Over the mountains, lakes, rivers,
and prairies they speed their aërial flight, through
storm, in sunshine and rain. Actuated as if by a common
impulse toward the same object, their swift wings
soon reach the summer nursery, to which they are
drawn from points hundreds of miles distant by an instinct
which surpasses human comprehension.</p>
<p>No less remarkable is the wisdom with which the
nesting places are chosen, they being always in the
densest woods, not in large and heavy timber, but generally
in smaller trees with many branches, cedars, and
saplings. The presence of large quantities of mast,
which is the principal food of these birds, especially
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
beech nuts, is a prominent consideration in the selection
of a nesting ground. As the feed in the vicinity of the
nesting becomes exhausted, the birds are compelled to
go daily farther and farther for food, even as high
as seventy-five or one hundred miles, and these trips,
which are taken twice a day, are known as the morning
and evening flights.</p>
<p>The apparatus for the capture of wild pigeons consists
of a net about six feet wide and twenty to thirty
feet long. The operator first chooses the location for
setting his net, which, it is needless to add, is in utter
disregard of the State law, which prescribes certain
limits within which nets must not be placed. A bed of
a creek or low marshy spot is chosen, if possible at a
natural salt lick, or a bed of muck, upon which the
birds feed. The ground is cleared of grass and weeds,
and to allure the birds the bed is "baited" with salt and
sulphur several days before the net is to be placed. A
bough house is made about twenty feet from the end of
the bed, and all is ready for the net and its victims. A
bird discovers the tempting spot, and with the instinct
of the honey-bee, returns and brings several others,
while these in turn bring a multitude, and in less than
two days the bed is fairly blue with birds feeding on
the seasoned muck.</p>
<p>The net is then set by an adjustment of ropes and a
powerful spring pole, the net being laid along one side
of the bed, and the operator retires to his bough house,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
through which the ropes run, where he waits concealed
for the flights.</p>
<p>Many trappers use two nets ranged along opposite
sides of the bed, which are thrown toward each other
and meet in the center. When enough birds are gathered
upon the beds to make a profitable throw, the
operator gives a quick jerk upon the rope, the net flies
over in an instant, while in its meshes struggle hundreds
of unwilling prisoners.</p>
<p>After pinching their necks the trapper removes the
dead victims, resets the trap, and is ready for another
haul. To lure down the birds from their flight overhead,
most netters use "fliers" or "stool-pigeons." The
former are birds held captive by a cord, tied to the leg,
being thrown up into the air when a flight is observed
approaching, and drawn fluttering down when the
"flier" has reached its limit. The latter is a live pigeon
tied to a small circular framework of wood or wire
attached to the end of a slender and elastic pole, which
is raised and lowered by the trapper from his place of
concealment by a stout cord and which causes constant
fluttering. A good stool-pigeon (one which will stay
upon the stool) is rather difficult to obtain, and is worth
from $5 to $25. Many trappers use the same birds
for several years in succession.</p>
<p>The number of pigeons caught in a day by an expert
trapper will seem incredible to one who has not witnessed
the operation. A fair average is sixty to ninety
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
dozen birds per day per net and some trappers will
not spring a net upon less than ten dozen birds. Higher
figures than these are often reached, as in the case of
one trapper who caught and delivered 2,000 dozen
pigeons in ten days, being 200 dozen, or about 2,500
birds per day. A double net has been known to catch
as high as 1,332 birds at a single throw, while at natural
salt licks, their favorite resort, 300 and 400 dozen, or
about 5,000 birds have been caught in a single day by
one net.</p>
<p>The prices of dead birds range from thirty-five cents
to forty cents per dozen at the nesting. In Chicago
markets fifty to sixty cents. Squabs twelve cents per
dozen in the woods, in metropolitan markets sixty cents
to seventy cents. In fashionable restaurants they are
served as a delicious tid-bit at fancy prices. Live birds
are worth at the trapper's net forty cents to sixty cents
per dozen; in cities $1 to $2. It can thus be easily seen
that the business, when at all successful, is a very profitable
one, for from the above quotations a pencil will
quickly figure out an income of $10 to $40 per day for
the "poor and hard-working pigeon trapper." One
"pigeoner" at the Petoskey nesting was reported to be
worth $60,000, all made in that business. He must
have slain at least three million pigeons to gain this
amount of money.</p>
<p>For several years violations of the laws protecting
pigeons in brooding time have been notorious in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
Michigan nestings. Professional "pigeoners" did not
for an instant pretend to observe the law, and a lax and
indifferent public opinion permitted the illegal slaughter
to go on without let or hindrance, while itinerant
pigeon trappers from all parts of the United States,
grew rich at the expense of the commonwealth, and in
intentional violation of its laws. Each succeeding year
the news has been spread far and wide until it became
useless to conceal the fact that pigeon trapping was a
profitable business, the year of 1876 witnessing a magnitude
in the traffic which exceeded anything heretofore
known in the country.</p>
<p>In the early part of March last, a pigeon nesting
formed just north of Petoskey, Michigan. Not many
days had passed before information was conveyed to
the game protection clubs of East Saginaw and Bay
City, that enormous quantities of pigeons were being
killed in open and defiant violation of the law. On
reaching Petoskey we found the condition of affairs had
not been magnified; indeed, it exceeded our gravest
fears. Here, a few miles north, was a pigeon nesting
of irregular dimensions, estimated by those best qualified
to judge, to be forty (40) miles in length, by three
to ten in width, probably the largest nesting that has
ever existed in the United States, covering something
like 100,000 acres of land, and including not less than
150,000 acres within its limits.</p>
<p>At the hotel we met one we were glad to see, in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
person of "Uncle Len" Jewell, of Bay City, an old
woodsman and "land-looker." Len had for several
weeks been looking land in the upper peninsula, and was
on his return home. At our solicitation he agreed to
remain for two or three days, and co-operate with us.
In the village nothing else seemed to be thought of but
pigeons. It was the one absorbing topic everywhere.
The "pigeoners" hurried hither and thither, comparing
market reports, and soliciting the latest quotations on
"squabs." A score of hands in the packing-houses were
kept busy from daylight until dark. Wagon load after
wagon load of dead and live birds hauled up to the
station, discharged their freight, and returned to the
nesting for more. The freight house was filled with
the paraphernalia of the pigeon hunter's vocation, while
every train brought acquisitions to their numbers, and
scores of nets, stool-pigeons, etc.</p>
<p>The pigeoners were everywhere. They swarmed in
the hotels, postoffice, and about the streets. They
were there, as careful inquiry and the hotel registers
showed, from New York, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania,
Michigan, Maryland, Iowa, Virginia, Ohio, Texas,
Illinois, Maine, Minnesota, and Missouri.</p>
<p>Hiring a team, we started on a tour of investigation
through the nesting. Long before reaching it our course
was directed by the birds over our heads, flying back
and forth to their feeding grounds. After riding about
fifteen miles, we discovered a wagon-track leading into
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
the woods, in the direction of the bird sounds which
came to our ears. Three of the party left the wagon
and followed it; the twittering grew louder and louder,
the birds more numerous, and in a few minutes we were
in the midst of that marvel of the forest and Nature's
wonderland—the pigeon nesting.</p>
<p>We stood and gazed in bewilderment upon the scene
around and above us. Was it indeed a fairyland we
stood upon, or did our eyes deceive us. On every hand,
the eye would meet these graceful creatures of the forest,
which, in their delicate robes of blue, purple and
brown, darted hither and thither with the quickness of
thought. Every bough was bending under their weight,
so tame one could almost touch them, while in every
direction, crossing and recrossing, the flying birds drew
a network before the dizzy eyes of the beholder, until
he fain would close his eyes to shut out the bewildering
scene.</p>
<p>This portion of the nesting was the first formed, and
the young birds were just ready to leave the nests.
Scarcely a tree could be seen but contained from five
to fifty nests, according to its size and branches.
Directed by the noise of chopping and falling trees,
we followed on, and soon came upon the scene of
action.</p>
<p>Here was a large force of Indians and boys at work,
slashing down the timber and seizing the young birds
as they fluttered from the nest. As soon as caught, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
heads were jerked off from the tender bodies with the
hand, and the dead birds tossed into heaps. Others
knocked the young fledglings out of the nests with long
poles, their weak and untried wings failing to carry them
beyond the clutches of the assistant, who, with hands
reeking with blood and feathers, tears the head off the
living bird, and throws its quivering body upon the
heap.</p>
<p>Thousands of young birds lay among the ferns and
leaves dead, having been knocked out of the nests by
the promiscuous tree-slashing, and dying for want of
nourishment and care, which the parent birds, trapped
off by the netter, could not give. The squab-killers
stated that "about one-half of the young birds in the
nests they found dead," owing to the latter reason.
Every available Indian, man and boy, in the neighborhood
was in the employ of buyers and speculators, killing
squabs, for which they received a cent apiece.</p>
<p>Early in the morning, Len, with his land-looker's
pack and half-ax, and the writer, started out to "look
land." Taking the course indicated by the obliging
small boy, we soon struck into an old Indian trail which
led us through another portion of the nesting, where
the birds for countless numbers surpassed all calculation.
The chirping and noise of wings were deafening and
conversation, to be audible, had to be carried on at the
top of our voices. On the shores of the lake where
the birds go to drink, when flushed by an intruder, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
rush of wings of the gathered millions was like the roar
of thunder and perfectly indescribable. An hour's
walk brought us to a ravine which we cautiously
approached.</p>
<p>Directed by the commotion in the air, we soon discovered
the bough house and net of the trapper. Evidence
being what we sought, we stood concealed behind
some bushes to await the spring of the trap. The
black muck bed soon became blue and purple with
pigeons lured by the salt and sulphur, when suddenly
the net was sprung over with a "whiz," retaining hundreds
of birds beneath it, while those outside its limits
flew to adjacent trees. We now descended from the
brink of the hill to the net, and there beheld a sickening
sight not soon forgotten.</p>
<p>On one side of the bed of a little creek was spread
the net, a double one, covering an area when thrown,
of about ten by twenty feet. Through its meshes were
stretched the heads of the fluttering captives vainly
struggling to escape. In the midst of them stood a
stalwart pigeoner up to his knees in the mire and
bespattered with mud and blood from head to foot.
Passing from bird to bird, with a pair of blacksmith's
pincers, he gave the neck of each a cruel grip with his
remorseless weapon, causing the blood to burst from
the eyes and trickle down the beak of the helpless captive,
which slowly fluttered its life away, its beautiful
plumage besmeared with filth and its bed dyed with its
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
crimson blood. When all were dead, the net was raised,
many still clinging to its meshes with beak and claws in
their death grip and were shaken off. They were then
gathered, counted, deposited behind a log with many
others and covered with bushes, and the death trap set
for another harvest.</p>
<p>Scarcely able to conceal our indignation, we sat upon
the bank and questioned this hero, learning that he had
pursued the business for years, and had caught as high
as 87 dozen in one day, learning later that he caught
and killed upon that day, 82 dozen, or 984 birds. This
outrage was perpetrated within 100 rods of the nests
and in plain hearing of the nesting sounds, instead of
two miles away, as the law prescribes. After gaining
some further information, the old gray-headed land-looker
and his companion withdrew, bidding the pigeon
pirate good-day, and leaving him none the wiser for
the visit. Out of sight we worked our way back to
the road, overtook the stage and returned to Petoskey.
The next day the writer swore out a warrant and caused
the arrest of the offender, who could not do otherwise
than plead guilty, and had the satisfaction of seeing
him pay over his fine of $50 for his poor knowledge
of distances.</p>
<p>The shooting done at the nesting was in the most
flagrant violation of the protective laws. The five-mile
limit was a dead letter. The shotgun brigade went
where they listed, and shot the birds in the nesting as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
they sat in rows on the trees or passed in clouds overhead.
Before we arrived, a party of four men shot
826 birds in one day and then only stopping from sheer
fatigue. Other parties continued the fusillade until the
guns became so foul they could not be used, and would
return to the village with a wagon-box full of birds.
Scores of dead pigeons were left on the grounds to
decay, and the woods were full of wounded ones. H.
Frayer, a justice of the peace, informed us that a few
days previously he had picked up fifteen maimed birds,
his neighbor, a Mr. Green, twenty, and a Mr. Crossman,
thirty-six, all in one day, after a shooting party
had passed through.</p>
<p>The news of the formation of the nesting was not
long in reaching the various Indian settlements near
Petoskey, and the aborigines came in tens and fifties and
in hordes. Some were armed with guns, but the
majority were provided with powerful bows, and arrows
with round, flat heads two or three inches in diameter.
With these they shot under or into the nests, knocked
out the squabs to the ground, and raked the old birds
which loaded the branches. For miles the roads leading
to the nesting were swarming with Indians, big and little,
old and young, squaws, pappooses, bucks and young
braves, on ponies, in carts and on foot. Each family
brought its kit of cooking utensils, axes, a stock of provisions,
tubs, barrels and firkins to pack the birds in, and
came intending to carry on the business until the nesting
broke up. In some sections the woods were literally
full of them.</p>
<div id="fp88" class="figcenter" style="width: 385px;">
<img src="images/fp_088.png" width="385" height="561" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">UPPER SPECIMEN, PASSENGER PIGEON (<i>Ectopistes Migratoria</i>)<br />
LOWER SPECIMEN, MOURNING DOVE (<i>Zenaidura Macroura</i>)</p>
<p class="fig_caption">Frequently mistaken for Passenger Pigeon</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<p>With the aid of Sheriff Ingalls, who spoke their language
like a native, we one day drove over 400 Indians
out of the nesting, and their retreat back to their farms
would have rivaled Bull Run. Five hundred more
were met on the road to the nesting and turned back.
The number of pigeons these two hordes would have
destroyed would have been incalculable. Noticing a
handsome bow in the hands of a young Indian, who
proved to a son of the old chief, Petoskey, a piece of
silver caused its transfer to us, with the remark, "Keene,
kensau, mene sic" (now you can go and shoot pigeons),
which dusky joke seemed to be appreciated by the rest
of the young chief's companions.</p>
<p>There are in the United States about 5,000 men who
pursue pigeons year after year as a business. Pigeon
hunters with whom we conversed incognito stated that
of this number there were between 400 and 500 at the
Petoskey nesting plying their vocation with as many
nests, and more arriving upon every train from all parts
of the United States. When it is remembered that
the village was alive with pigeoners, that nearly every
house in the vast area of territory covered by the nesting
sheltered one to six pigeon men, and that many
camped out in the woods, the figures will not seem
improbable. Every homesteader in the country who
owned or could hire an ox team or pair of horses, was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
engaged in hauling birds to Petoskey for shipment, for
which they received $4 per wagon load. To "keep
peace in the family" and avoid complaint, the pigeon
men fitted up many of the settlers with nets, and instructed
them in the art of trapping.</p>
<p>Added to these were the buyers, shippers, packers,
Indians and boys, making not less than 2,000 persons
(some placed it at 2,500) engaged in the traffic at this
one nesting. Fully fifty teams were engaged in hauling
birds to the railroad station. The road was carpeted
with feathers, and the wings and feathers from the
packing-houses were used by the wagon load to fill up
the mud holes in the road for miles out of town. For
four men to attempt to effect a work, having for opponents
the entire country, residents and non-residents
included, was no slight task.</p>
<p>The majority of the pigeoners were a reckless, hard
set of men, but their repeated threats that they would
"buckshot us" if we interfered with them in the woods
failed to inspire the awe that was intended. It was
four against 2,000. What was accomplished against
such fearful odds may be seen by the following:</p>
<p>The regular shipments by rail before the party commenced
operations were sixty barrels per day. On the
16th of April, just after our arrival, they fell to thirty-five
barrels, and on the 17th down to twenty barrels
per day, while on the 22d the shipments were only eight
barrels of pigeons. On the Sunday previous there were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
shipped by steamer to Chicago 128 barrels of dead birds
and 108 crates of live birds. On the next Sabbath
following our arrival the shipments were only forty-three
barrels and fifty-two crates. Thus it will be seen
that some little good was accomplished, but that little
was included in a very few days of the season, for the
treasury of the home clubs would not admit of keeping
their representatives longer at the nesting, the State
clubs, save one, did not respond to the call for assistance,
and the men were recalled, after which the Indians
went back into the nesting, and the wanton crusade was
renewed by pigeoners and all hands with an energy which
indicated a determination to make up for lost time.</p>
<p>The first shipment of birds from Petoskey was upon
March 22, and the last upon August 12, making over
twenty weeks, or five months, that the bird war was
carried on. For many weeks the railroad shipments
averaged fifty barrels of dead birds per day—thirty
to forty dozen old birds and about fifty dozen squabs
being packed in a barrel. Allowing 500 birds to a
barrel, and averaging the entire shipments for the
season at twenty-five barrels per day, we find the rail
shipments to have been 12,500 dead birds daily, or
1,500,000 for the summer. Of live birds there were
shipped 1,116 crates, six dozen per crate, or 80,352
birds.</p>
<p>These were the rail shipments only, and not including
the cargoes by steamers from Petoskey, Cheboygan,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
Cross Village and other lake ports, which were as many
more. Added to this were the daily express shipments
in bags and boxes, the wagon loads hauled away by the
shotgun brigade, the thousands of dead and wounded
ones not secured, and the myriads of squabs dead in the
nest by trapping off of the parent birds soon after hatching
(for a young pigeon will surely die if deprived of
its parents during the first week of its life), and we
have at the lowest possible estimate a grand total of
1,000,000,000 pigeons sacrificed to Mammon during
the nesting of 1878.</p>
<p>The task undertaken in behalf of justice and humanity
was a Herculean one, but backed up by such true
sportsmen as A. H. Mershon and Wm. J. Loveland,
of East Saginaw, and Judge Holmes, S. A. Van Dusen,
D. H. Fitzhugh, Jr., and others of Bay City, as well
as by the sentiment of every humane citizen of the State,
we could not do other than follow the advice of Davy
Crockett, and being sure we were right, we decided to
"go ahead." The question of a wise protection to the
game and fish of our State is one in which the writer
holds a deep and fervent interest, and in serving this
cause, he will swerve from no duty, nor shrink from
consequences in the discharge of that duty.</p>
<p>The foregoing article is the result of an honest conviction
that the best interests of the State demanded a
full exposure of the methods by which the pigeon is
threatened with extinction.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div id="fp92" class="figcenter" style="width: 391px;">
<img src="images/fp_092.png" width="391" height="633" alt="" />
<p class="center smaller"><a href="#Transcription">Click here for tanscription.</a></p>
<p class="center">Fac-simile reproduction of circular, issued 1879, showing E. T. Martin's pigeon
headquarters at Boyne Falls, Mich.</p>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Pigeon Butcher's Defense</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">By E. T. Martin, from the "American Field,"<br />
Chicago, January 25, 1879.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>The preceding chapter by Prof. H. B. Roney in <i>American Field</i>, was
answered by E. T. Martin, a game dealer of Chicago, who afterwards issued
a pamphlet, the first page of which is herewith reproduced, and I make
quite extensive extracts from the body of the circular, which incidentally
advertises Martin as "the largest dealer in live pigeons for trap shooting
in the world, also a dealer in guns, glass balls, traps, nets, etc."</p>
<p>I call the reader's attention to the following:</p>
<p>In the table given of the shipments from Petoskey and Boyne Falls,
etc., during 1878, Martin estimates the number shipped alive from
Cheboygan as 89,730, yet H. T. Phillips of Detroit, shows from his
records that he alone shipped from that point 175,000 that year. So if
Martin's estimates are all as far wrong as this one, he should account for
a total shipment of over 2,000,000 pigeons.</p>
<p>In Martin's circular, he seems to take offense at some remarks Prof.
Roney has made in this article that reflect upon the character of these
netters, for Martin uses in quotation marks the following: "A reckless,
hard set of men, pirates, etc.," which seems to have some foundation in fact,
as Martin says: "In proof of the pigeons feeding squab indiscriminately,
I may mention the fact that one of the men in my employ this year, while
at the Shelby nesting in 1876 in one afternoon shot and killed six hen
pigeons that came to feed the one squab in the same nest." Further
comment is unnecessary.—W. B. M.</p>
</div>
<div class="dropcap">A</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">A</span> LITTLE after the middle of March a body
of birds began nesting some twelve miles north
of Petoskey, near Pickerel Lake. About April
8 another and larger body "set in" along Maple and
Indian Rivers, and Burt Lake, and near Cross Village,
there being in all some seven or eight distinct nestings,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
covering perhaps, of territory actually occupied by the
nesting, a tract some fifteen miles long and three of
average width, or forty-five square miles.</p>
<p>The principal catch was made from the Crooked
and Maple rivers nestings, and when the former
"broke," which was about May 25, the pigeoners
pulled up and left, many going home, and others to
the Boyne Falls nesting, some thirty miles south, which
"set in" at about the same time. This gave a duration of
two and one-third months to the Petoskey nesting proper,
though it is true that, feed being abundant, some very
few birds remained around, roosting for a little longer.</p>
<p>The Boyne Falls nesting lasted something over a
month and broke early in July; from this the catch was
very light. After that, the only catch was a few young
birds taken "on bait."</p>
<p>Besides these nestings, there was one further south
on the Manistee River, some twenty-six miles long by
five average width, or 130 square miles, in which the
birds hatched three times, and from which not a bird
was caught, as it was an impenetrable swamp, and the
putting of birds on the market would be attended with
such expense as to destroy the profit. There were also
one or two smaller ones, east of this one. These comprised
the Michigan nestings, in addition to which, at
Sheffield, Pa., there was fully as large a body, and
fully as large a catch as at the Crooked and Maple
nestings, the birds hatching there, I think, three times,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
each hatching taking four weeks, from the beginning of
nest building to the time the old birds leave the young.</p>
<p>It is true, however, that birds were shipped from
Petoskey the middle of August, but they were birds
belonging to me that I was holding there for a market,
my Chicago pens being full. Every bird of them had
been in my possession for a month previous, and many
for six weeks. So the actual pigeon business lasted not
five months, as Prof. Roney says, but about three; part
of which time the total catch was not fifty dozen per
day.</p>
<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:3em">* * * * *</p>
<p>They (Prof. Roney et al.) came to Petoskey with a
great flourish of trumpets, hired expensive livery rigs
to ride around the country in, made one or two arrests,
secured one conviction by default, were defeated in
every case that came to trial, had one of the party play
the rôle of "terrible example" in the trout case, and
then went home, and in the face of the fact that they
had eaten, or known of having been eaten, hundreds of
pigeons, and of the certainty that the report was false,
had published in the Saginaw paper a report that the
pigeons then being caught in Michigan were feeding on
poisoned berries, and the using them for food had
caused much sickness, and in one or two instances loss
of life.</p>
<p>This was not only published in the home papers, but
was telegraphed to New York, Boston, Chicago, St.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
Louis and Cincinnati, and marked copies of the notice
sent to the press of neighboring cities, the avowed object
being to cause such a decline in price as to force the
netters to quit. It was based on the idea that most of
them were men of small means, and that unless ready
market offered for their birds, they must give out. The
effect was to cause a drop in price of fifty cents a dozen
in New York and Boston in a single day, to cause the
price in Chicago to decline to twenty cents per dozen,
and to take the last cent out of the pockets of a hundred
netters, leaving many who became discouraged and had
to walk long distances to their homes, dependent on
chance for even a mouthful to eat. Many, though,
held out. Telegrams of denial were sent, and the market
in a week or two rallied somewhat, though it was a
month before prices in the East touched the same figure
as when the "poison-berry" telegrams were received.
During the week when prices were lowest I refused to
buy many dead birds offered me at five cents per dozen,
preferring to lend the netter money, or to advance it
on his next catch to be saved alive.</p>
<p>And, by the way, let me say that killing the pigeons
by pincers is an instantaneous and painless death, the
neck being broken by a single movement, and the fluttering
spoken of being the same seen in any bird shot
through the head, or with the head cut off. But had
the market remained unbroken, had this infamous poisoned
berry story never been started, no such net results
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
in way of profit would have been reached as Prof.
Roney says. Under very favorable circumstances, a
good netter in such a season as we had in 1878, would
make from $100 to $200, but by far the larger portion
would not reach $100 over expenses.</p>
<p>At the Crooked and Maple nestings day in and day
out the average catch was about twenty dozen per day to
each net and two men. These sold, except immediately
after the "poisoned berry story," at from twenty to
thirty cents per dozen head, at the net, or if the catcher
was saving alive, in which case his catch would be one-third
smaller, owing to the trouble of handling the live
birds, he would get from thirty-five to forty-five cents.</p>
<p>The principal object in saving them alive was that no
birds spoiled from warm weather, and at my pens close
by the nesting they would be received at any hour, while
to sell dead birds it was necessary to depend on some
chance buyer or to haul to Petoskey, fourteen miles distant.
At Boyne Falls prices were a little higher, say
twenty-five for dead and fifty cents for live, but the
average catch was not five dozen per day to each net.
There were exceptions both ways, which went of course
to make up the average, the most notable being that of
the 2,000 dozen caught by one party, not in ten days,
but in twenty, employing two nets and six men. This
I know, for I was at the net and saw part of the catching,
while Prof. Roney never got that far. This 2,000
dozen was shipped East and netted the catchers just
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
fifteen cents a dozen at the net, or $300 for twenty days'
work for six men and two nets, while on the other
hand, during the same time, many better catchers who
had not been lucky in location hadn't made enough to
pay for board. Names, locations, etc., can be furnished
if Prof. Roney desires.</p>
<p>The Professor then goes on to lament his failure
before our Emmett County jury. The reason why is
very simple, <i>he never proved his case</i>. This whole
pigeon trade was a perfect Godsend to a large portion
of Emmett County. The land outside of Petoskey is
taken up by homesteaders, who, between clearing their
land, scanty crops, poor soil, large families, and small
capital, are poorer than Job's turkey's prodigal son,
and in years past have had all they could do fighting
famine and cold, and but a year or so since all Michigan
was sending relief to keep them from starving, thousands
of dollars being contributed, and then most harrowing
tales being told of need and destitution.</p>
<p>The "pirates and bummers" left some $35,000 in
good greenbacks right among the most needy of these
people. Many were enabled to buy a team, others to
clear more land, more to increase their crops, and all
to lay in provisions and clothing to meet the bitter
winter we are now passing through, and this money did
more to open up Emmett County than years of ordinary
work. It put scores of honest, hard-working homesteaders
on their feet; it increased trade, and, if sent
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
by a special act of Providence, could not have done
more good. Such being the case, can any blame be
given an Emmett County jury if they required evidence
direct and to the point before convicting? And in no
case that came to trial was direct evidence given. So
the four true "sportsmen" there in behalf of justice and
humanity, had such a cold reception from all, that they
concluded strategy beat that kind of work all to death,
pulled up stakes and hurried home, and worked up the
poisoned berry business.</p>
<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:3em">* * * * *</p>
<p>Now, about the merciless slaughter. Prof. Roney
estimates 1,500,000 dead and 80,000 live birds as the
shipments, and then goes on to say that <i>one billion</i>
birds have been destroyed! What logic.</p>
<p>I have official figures before me, and they show that
the shipments from Petoskey and Boyne Falls were:</p>
<table summary="bird shipments">
<tr>
<td style="width:18em">Petoskey, dead, by express</td>
<td class="tdr">490,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Petoskey, alive, by express</td>
<td class="tdr">86,400</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Boyne Falls, dead</td>
<td class="tdr">47,100</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Boyne Falls, alive</td>
<td class="tdr">42,696</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Petoskey, dead, by boat, estimated</td>
<td class="tdr">110,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Petoskey, alive, by boat, estimated</td>
<td class="tdr">33,640</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cheboygan, dead, by boat, estimated</td>
<td class="tdr">108,300</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cheboygan, alive, by boat, estimated</td>
<td class="tdr">89,730</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Other points, dead and alive, estimated</td>
<td class="bdb tdr">100,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span style="padding-left:4em;">Total</span></td>
<td class="tdr">1,107,866</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
<p>This may be set down as accurate or nearly so, and
1,500,000 will cover the total destruction of birds by
net, gun and Indians. The total number of nesting
squabs taken by the Indians would not reach 100,000
and not over fifty barrels of these ever reached a market,
the Indians smoking the remainder for winter use. No
one knows how many birds 1,500,000 are until they
see them, and handle a few. As an illustration: To buy
and sell 125,000 birds in four months, it took myself,
two men and a boy all our time, working from daylight
until after dark every day.</p>
<p>I doubt if there were a billion birds in all the
Crooked and Maple nestings. I am certain that there
were not at any one time. I am also certain that more
than double as many young birds left those nestings
than all the birds caught, killed or destroyed. The
morning that the Crooked nesting broke, I was out at
daylight, and at the net to see and help one of my men
make a strike; for an hour and a half a continuous
body of birds half a mile wide and very thick was
going out; our strike was twenty-nine dozen, twenty-five
dozen young and four dozen old, about the same
proportion as the other catchers. This showed that of
the immense body over five-sixths were young birds,
barely old enough ones remaining to guide the body of
young, and this was out of the nesting from which the
bulk of the birds had been caught, where the destruction
had been the greatest. When it is considered that the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
Manistee birds hatched three times unmolested, that
there was a body several times larger there, than at
the Crooked and Maple, and that many from each body
went further north entirely out of reach and nested
at least once, possibly twice again, some idea may be
formed of the immense addition to the army of pigeons
from the Michigan nestings of 1878. Many more
young birds left the Crooked River nesting alone, than
all, old or young, destroyed during the entire season's
pigeoning.</p>
<p>Prof. Roney's lament about the young dying when
deprived of the parent bird, and his addition to the
number "sacrificed to Mammon" from that source,
compares favorably with the poisoned berry story,
or the attack on Turner. Admitting that 1,500,000
birds were caught and killed, not more than half of
these would be old birds, some of which would not be
nesting, and from some of which the young had left
the nest. If for every one of the 750,000 old birds
caught and killed, the squab had died, this would make
a total slaughter of 2,250,000, or about one four hundred
and fiftieth of the number he says.</p>
<p>I don't believe Prof. Roney knows what a billion is.
However, there were not 750,000, no, nor 100,000
squabs killed by losing their parents. It is a well-proved
fact that the old bird coming in will stop and
feed any squab heard crying for food, that in this way
they look out for one another's young, and the orphans
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
or half-orphans are cared for. It is rare, however, for
both old birds to be caught or killed, since the toms
and hens when nesting always fly separately, and the
chance of both the parents of the squab falling a "victim
to Mammon," particularly in a large nesting, is small.
As proof of the pigeons feeding squabs indiscriminately,
I may mention that one of the men in my employ this
year, at the Shelby nesting in 1876, in one afternoon
shot and killed six hen pigeons that came to <i>feed</i> the
<i>one squab</i> in the <i>same nest</i>.</p>
<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:3em">* * * * *</p>
<p>Why, Prof. Roney, the catch went on all the same,
your party made no difference of note, but the weather
was rough and somewhat stormy; the birds didn't
"stool" well, and during the days mentioned the catch
was very small, hence the decrease in shipments. Now,
regarding the law, it is well enough as it is; one shotgun
near a nesting is more destructive than a dozen
nets; the report of the gun causes the birds to rise in
thousands, and, when repeated, to leave in a body,
regardless of nest or squab, and never to return; as an
example, may be mentioned, the Minnesota nesting of
1877, when the birds were driven entirely away.</p>
<p>The net is silent; its work occasions no alarm; it
makes no cripples, consequently it can be admitted
nearer to the nests than its more noisy partner. Protect
the pigeons entirely, and a law forbidding catching during
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
nesting time is equivalent to entire protection, and
you have northern Michigan overrun with a pest that
will destroy the farmer's seed as fast as sown, and when
harvest time approaches, pounce upon a wheat field
ready for the reaper and in an hour not leave even
enough for the gleaner. Their increase would be more
rapid, their stay longer, and in four years not only
would the law be repealed, but inducements to slaughter
would be held out to rid the State of the rapidly increasing
and destructive pests.</p>
<p>The pigeon never will be exterminated so long as
forests large enough for their nestings and mast enough
for their food remain.</p>
<p>In conclusion, the pigeons are as much an article of
commerce as wheat, corn, hogs, beeves, or sheep. It
is no more cruel to kill them for market by the thousand,
than it is to countenance the killing at the stock yards
in this or any other large commercial center. The paper
to-night shows that in six cities over four million hogs
have been killed since Nov. 1, 1878, or two and a
half months, a larger slaughter than, during the same
time, of pigeons at the nestings by nearly threefold.
Yet this is not "sacrificing to Mammon." A farmer
can market his poultry dead or alive at any time of
the year, and the slaughter, the country over, is larger
than that of pigeons, yet no one in the interest of "justice
and humanity" interferes.</p>
<p>The pigeon is migratory, it can care for itself. It
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
nests in the impenetrable wilds of Arkansas, the Indian
Territory, Canada and British America, as often as in
the land of civilization where it can be reached for
market. It is a source of profit to the poor, or pleasure
to the rich. Its benefits to the Emmett County homesteaders,
as felt through the cold of this winter alone,
are enough to compensate for evils even as black as our
Prof. Roney paints, and Emmett County is but a sample
of whatever location the birds may settle in.</p>
<p>Let the law, in regard to distance, stand as it is.
Enforce it against all alike; make no exceptions; let
the rule of supply and demand govern the catchings, and
you will have something better than all the professors
in Michigan suggest. Let the supply be so large that
prices are low and wages can't be made, and law or no
law, the catching will stop. But don't make a law that
will take bread out of the homesteader's mouth, and
work from hundreds of poor and honest men; no, not
even if the birds should be sacrificed, to a certain extent,
for man is above the beasts, and the "beasts of the field
and the birds of the air" are given unto him for his
benefit and his profit.</p>
<div id="fp104" class="figcenter" style="width: 629px;">
<img src="images/fp_104.png" width="629" height="493" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">H. T. PHILLIPS' STORE</p>
<p class="fig_caption">A typical game store of the early 70's</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">Notes of a Vanished Industry</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>I have corresponded with many men who were actively interested in
hunting and observing the Passenger Pigeon when its flocks still numbered
uncounted millions of birds. Some of the data supplied in kind response
to my queries is in the form of hastily jotted notes, which, when they are
brought together, include more or less repetition of personal experiences.
They have a certain value, however, when taken <i>en masse</i>, for they are the
testimony of eye-witnesses who will soon be gone, after which the Passenger
Pigeon will become as much a matter of written history and tradition
as the auk or the buffalo.</p>
<p>I am under obligation to Mr. Henry T. Phillips, of Detroit, for much
practical information regarding the capture of pigeons, and the business of
marketing them as he knew it in those earlier days. There follows a
portion of a letter written me by Mr. Phillips in October, 1904.—W. B. M.</p>
</div>
<div class="dropcap">I</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">I</span> AM in receipt of your letter asking for information
about the wild pigeon, but I do not know
that I can be of much benefit to you, though I will
give you what information I can.</p>
<p>I began business in Cheboygan, Mich., in May,
1862, as a dealer in groceries and produce and added
the commission business a little later, as I was fond of
shooting, and I began advertising the sale of game. I
have been credited by dealers in New York with being
the largest shipper of venison in the United States. In
1864 (I think it was) I had a shipment of live wild
pigeons which we brought down the Cheboygan River
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
from Black Lake in crates holding six dozen each. All
of these crates were made by hand by one E. Osborn,
who was then one of the traveling pigeon catchers, the
firm being Osborn & Thompson, well known by all men
who traveled then. From that time I have handled live
pigeons in quantities up to 175,000 per year until they
left the country. The last nesting in Michigan was up
on Crooked Lake near Petoskey in 1878, I believe, from
which I shipped 150,000.</p>
<p>In 1866, they nested in the town of Vassar, Tiscola
County, Mich., and usually each alternate year, as
the mast crop was every second season, beech nuts being
their choice food. The other years they nested in Wisconsin
on acorns, or in Minnesota, feeding on spring
wheat. New York sometimes held them, and Pennsylvania
often, for a nesting; but being a hard place they
never caught many there, Michigan being the favorite
trapping ground. 1874 there was a nesting at Shelby,
Oceana County, Mich., on which it was estimated they
made the heaviest catches I have ever known of: 100
barrels daily on an average of thirty days of dead birds,
besides the live ones, of which I shipped 175,000.</p>
<p>There were five nestings that year in the State, three
going on at the same time, but all not heavily worked.
That year I shipped by the steamer <i>Fountain City</i>, from
Frankfort, 478 coops, six dozen each, one shipment
going to Oswego, N. Y., for the Leather Stocking Club
Tournament.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
<p>I bought from Dr. Slyfield 600 dozen at $1 per
dozen, agreeing to pay only in one-hundred-dollar bills.
He traveled two days to get twelve dozen to make up
the shortage. The pigeons at that time wintered in
southern Missouri and the Indian Nation, and were
shot at night by natives and marketed in St. Louis. As
they fed on pine-oak acorns, which tainted the meat,
the market was poor and prices low. The traveling
netters usually worked at something else while South.</p>
<p>The pigeons started north about the last of March,
and usually located the last of May, according to
weather. If food was plentiful they nested in large
bodies; if not, they divided and nested in fewer numbers.
In Wisconsin I have seen a continual nesting for
100 miles, with from one to possibly fifty nests on every
oak scrub.</p>
<p>In Michigan usually the feeding grounds were across
the straits, where blueberries were abundant, until fall,
when the birds scattered back in small bodies, feeding
on stubble and elm seed. Frequently they would
go into a roosting place, and make it a home for weeks
before leaving for the South. Traveling north, they
usually flew until about ten or eleven in the morning
and again in the evening. I have known of large quantities
being drowned in Lake Huron, crossing from
Canada on the way north, and have had lake captains
tell me of passing for three hours through dead birds,
which had been caught in a fog.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
<p>In 1874 there were over six hundred professional netters,
and when the pigeons nested north, every man and
woman was either a catcher or a picker. They used
to catch them in different ways. What was known as
flight-catching was in the early morning and evening, a
spot being cleared of usually twelve to sixteen feet wide
and twenty to twenty-four feet long, large enough for a
net. This was known as the bed. About fifty feet from
the bed a brush house was built and the net was staked
down, two spring poles were set to spring the net out
straight, but loose enough to fall easy and cover the
full size of the bed. The front line of the net was tied
to these stakes and they were sprung or set back as if
all of the net was in a roll. A short stake with a line
attached to the outside edge ran to the bough house, a
stick about three feet long was placed under a catch
called the hub, and the other end of this stick was placed
against another peg driven in the ground. When the
short stick was pulled from underneath the crotch, the
spring poles forced the net over the bed; the short
sticks raised the net about three feet; and of course it
was all done very quickly.</p>
<p>Another method was employed later in the season;
a place was baited with buckwheat, sometimes with
broomcorn seed, or wheat, for a week or two, and, when
a large body of birds was collected, the net was set.
A much larger net is used now. Then is when we got
our live birds for shooting matches. In the spring
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
time is money, and the netters could save many more
dead than alive.</p>
<p>I knew of a man paying $300 for the privilege of
netting on one salt spring near White River. It was a
spring dug for oil, boarded up sixteen feet square. He
cut it down a little and built a platform, and caught
once or twice each week. He got 300 dozen at one
haul in this house. He said they were piled there three
feet deep.</p>
<p>I once pulled a net on a bait bed and we saved
132 dozen alive, but many got out from underneath the
net, there being too many on the bed. The net used
was 28 × 36 feet. I have lost 3,000 birds in one day
because the railroad did not have a car ready on the
date promised. I threw away what cost me $250 in
eight hours, fat birds, because the weather was too
hot. I have bought carloads in Wisconsin at 15 and 25
cents per dozen, but in Michigan we usually paid from
50 cents to $1 a dozen. I have fed thirty bushels of
shelled corn daily at $1.20 per bushel, and paid out
from $300 to $600 per day for pigeons.</p>
<p>I never allowed game to be shipped to me out of
season; if it came, I never paid for it.</p>
<p>About two years ago I was told by a man who just
got back from the Northwest, Calgary, that the birds
were so thick in the north that they darkened the sun.
They were probably nesting, as he said they were seen
every morning. . . . Up to ten years ago I was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
shooting on the Mississippi bayous for twenty-five years,
and used to see and kill some pigeons nearly every
spring, from the middle of March to the middle of
April. We have shot seventy-two pounds of powder in
my camp in thirty days, the party consisting of three
men; and two of us have killed twelve barrels of ducks
(Mallards) in four days. On the Detroit River I have
shot, in one week, mostly redheads, the following on
different days: 102, 119, 142, 155. . . .</p>
<p>[I have quoted from the latter part of Mr. Phillips'
letter to show how plentiful other kinds of birds were
in the old days.]</p>
<p>Under date of Nov. 1, 1904, Mr. Phillips writes
as follows:</p>
<p>"In regard to dates, would say that the last nesting
of birds set in at about 5 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, May 5, 1878, on the
southeast side of Crooked Lake. Express charges on
barrels to New York from Michigan were $6.50, from
Wisconsin $8; on live birds $3 per cwt."</p>
<p>Mr. Phillips also incloses a letter written to him by
Mr. Osborn, of Alma, Mich., under date of February
23, 1898, which reads:</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Alma, Mich.</span>, February 23, 1898.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">Friend H. T. Phillips:</p>
<p>Yours with the questions to be answered received,
and will say:</p>
<p>. . . There have been several bodies nesting in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
Michigan at the same time, and I will give the years
and places that I was out. In 1861 a large body of
birds were in Ohio roosting in the Hocking Hills, my
first year out. We were at Circleville, and my company
shipped over 225 barrels, mostly to New York and
Boston. The birds fed on the corn fields. In 1862
the birds nested at Monroe, Wis. We commenced
in May and remained until the last of August.
The several companies put up some ten thousand dozen
for stall feeding after the freight shipment. Express
charges on each barrel were from $7 to $9. In the
fall of 1862 we had fine sport shooting birds in the roost
at Johnstown, Ohio (now Ada), some four weeks.
Then the birds moved to Logan County. After two
weeks the birds skipped South, it being December and
snow on the ground.</p>
<p>In 1863 the birds nested in Pennsylvania. We had
some fine sport at Smith Port and at Sheffield. We
located at Cherry Grove, six miles from Sheffield. The
birds fed on hemlock mast. There were other nestings
in Pennsylvania at the same time. In 1864, at St.
Charles, Minn., we had some fine sport, but our freights
were high to New York, so we came to Leon, Wis. A
heavy body was nesting in the Kickapoo woods, and several
companies of hunters located here. In 1865 a
heavy nesting was in Canada, near Georgian Bay. We
were at Angus Station on the Northern Railroad, and
the snow was two feet under the nesting. We next went
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
to Wisconsin, where a heavy snowstorm broke up the
roosts. We were at Afton, Brandon and Appleton.
We then went to Rochester, Minn., the end of the railroad.
At that time birds nested in the Chatfield timber.
We then went to Marquette in the Upper Peninsula and
camped on Dead River. A heavy body had got through
nesting, but worlds of birds were feeding on blueberries.</p>
<p>This was the year the <i>Pewabic</i> sunk. Mr. George
Snook had 1,400 barrels of trout and whitefish on her.
We went up on the <i>Old Traveler</i> and came down on the
<i>Meteor</i>. In 1866 the birds nested in a heavy body
near Martinsville, Ind. We caught some birds at Cartersburg.
After we closed up in Indiana we went to
Pennsylvania. There was a heavy nesting near Wilcox,
at Highlands. In gathering squabs five of us got a
barrel apiece, which netted us $75 to $100 per barrel
in New York. They struck a bare market.</p>
<p>In July we had a big time with young birds at Fort
Gratiot, near Port Huron, from the Forestville nesting.
Mr. H. T. Phillips of Detroit was chief of a
party which had fine shooting on a Mr. Palmer's place.
In six days I shipped thirteen barrels to Tremain &
Summer, New York, and received a check for over
$400. They returned me about one-half what they
sold for.</p>
<p>In 1867 we were in Ohio, Wisconsin and Minnesota,
and caught more or less birds on bait. The birds were
broken up by shooting and deep snow. In 1868 there
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
was a large nesting near Manistee, and we did some big
catching, shipped by steamer to Grand Haven, then
via rail. In April and May was also at Mackinac and
North Port and in June did some catching at Cheboygan,
and here I made our crates of split cedar and
floated the birds down the river six miles on two canoes
lashed together, and had to transfer over the dam before
reaching the little steamer to Mackinac, twelve
miles, and then transferred to the Detroit boat. The
birds were shipped to H. T. Phillips & Co. At Cheboygan
I fed over one hundred bushels of corn and
wheat for bait.</p>
<p>In 1869 the birds were in Canada, Michigan, Indiana
and Wisconsin, all at the same time, and shooters
broke them up. We located a body at Oakfield, Wis.,
and had a big catch until the farmers broke them up.
The birds were pulling wheat badly; other feed was
gone. The birds nested in Michigan, up from Mt.
Pleasant, but too far inland to get them out. In 1870
the birds nested near Goderich, Can. Did not do much
there. We then went to Glen Haven and caught some
birds. Then we went to Cheboygan; sent more or less
live birds to H. T. Phillips & Co., of Detroit. In
1871 we located a large body at Tomah, Wis., and did
some heavy shipping. We used three tiers of ice from
a large icehouse, and the express per barrel was $12 to
New York and Boston. We also shipped from Augusta,
Wis., express, $13.50 per barrel. A nesting at
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
Eau Claire, but we could not get to do much with them
there. In 1872 a large nesting near South Haven,
Mich. We located at Bangor and had a big catch in
some big snowstorms. Another body near Clam Lake,
end of railroad. In 1873 we did baiting in Ohio and
Wisconsin, but located no nesting. In 1874 the birds
nested at Shelby in two different locations and another
at Stanton, Mich.; small body at Stanton. We did
heavy shipping at Shelby, from one to three cars per
day, both alive and dead. The birds nested this year
at Shelby, two places, and at Stanton, and one at Mill
Brook and at Frankfort and at Leeland, and probably
at other points we did not learn of. In 1875 was not
out, only baiting near St. Johns, Mich. In 1876 a
heavy nesting at Shelby, Mich., and at Frankfort. I
caught at Shelby and at Glen Haven heavy shipments.
In 1877 was not out, but did some baiting at Eureka.
In 1878 a heavy nesting between Petoskey and Cheboygan.
H. T. Phillips located at Cheboygan. I caught
at several points between the two cities.</p>
<p>The above is part of my experience with the birds,
since which time I have kept no record of the movements,
but will say that during the winter season birds
have nested in large numbers in the southern States;
in Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas and Missouri. For
a great many years the birds have been moving west.
Last winter I was in Southern California, and a body
of pigeons were west of Los Angeles, among the acorn
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
timber. There are worlds of feed in the foothills, for
thousands of miles, to feed the birds. They are a
greedy bird and will eat everything from a hemlock
seed to an acorn. I have known them to nest on hemlock
mast alone in Pennsylvania, and in Michigan on
the pine mast after the beech mast was gone. Most
of the nesting in Michigan happens March to July,
and then they skip farther north and return in wheat
seeding.</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Alma, Mich.</span>, February 24, 1898.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">Friend H. T. Phillips:</p>
<p>I will give you a few catches. In 1862, at Monroe,
Wis., George Paxon, of Evans Center, N. Y., and
myself made one haul of 250 dozen five miles south of
the city on corn bait in a pen 32 × 64 feet with nets
sprung across the top. We fed at this bed over five
hundred bushels of corn at 25 cents per bushel, and at
our other beds nearly as much. After the flight-birds
were over, with a single net sprung on the ground we
have taken 100 dozen at a time.</p>
<p>At Augusta, Wis., in 1871, Charles Curtin, then of
Indiana (dead now), over one hundred dozen; William
W. Cone of Masonville, N. Y., Samuel Schook of
Circleville, Ohio, and some other boys, 100 dozen and
over. L. G. Parker of Camden, N. Y., C. S. Martin,
the Rocky Mountain hunter of Wisconsin, E. G. Slayton
of Chetek, Wis., are old trappers and could tell of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
big catches. In 1868, at Cheboygan, I took over six
hundred fat birds before sunrise. I sold to the United
States officers at Mackinac for trap shooting, also to
Island House. In 1861 there were only a few professionals:
Dr. E. Osborn of Saratoga, N. Y; William N.
Cone, Masonville, N. Y; John Ackerman, Columbus,
Ohio; L. G. Parke, Camden, N. J.; James Thompson,
Hookset, N. H.; S. K. Jones, Saratoga, N. Y.; George
and Charles Paxon of Evans Center, N. Y., and maybe
a few others. After this time, trappers increased fast.
More salt was used in Michigan for bait than any other
State. I paid at Shelby $4 per barrel. Big bodies of
pigeons were drowned off Sleeping Bear Point because
of fog and wind, while trying to cross Lake Michigan.
I have seen them.</p>
<p>In the Logan County roost, Ohio, I killed with two
barrels, of a six-bore shoulder gun, 144 birds. The
other boys killed nearly as many with smaller guns;
we shot on the roost in the dark. Our plan was to fire
one barrel on the roost and the other as the pigeons
flew. The highest price paid per dozen was in New
York City—$3—by Trimm & Summer from Pennsylvania.</p>
<p>For a good many years the birds were in the eastern
States, with heavy catching in Massachusetts and New
York, also Pennsylvania, and the hunters worked into
Canada, then into Ohio, and so on to Michigan and
Indiana, long before they took in Wisconsin and Minnesota,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
after they left the eastern country for the west.
A big body was at Grand Rapids in 1858 or 1859,
before I joined the band.</p>
<p>The trappers at Grand Rapids were Dr. Osborn,
Cone, Ackerman, the two Paxons, Latimer, and a few
others, who did some heavy shipping, catching the birds
on the salt marshes. I have no earlier records for
Michigan.</p>
<p>I kept no record of the amounts shipped from different
points. The old books of the express will show
if they have kept them. I wait to see your report, and
remain,</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">E. Osborn.</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Detroit, Mich.</span>, November 2, 1904.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">W. B. Mershon:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Last evening I looked over some old
papers and found a few memoranda that lead to my
making some changes in my notes to you in regard to
the date of last nestings in our State. I also find my
later surmise confirmed by a letter from one of the first
traveling pigeon-catchers in the business, Ephraim Osborn,
whose uncle, Dr. Osborn of Saratoga, N. Y., was
one of the original catchers. You will note by Mr.
Osborn's letter that he has been a shipper of mine for
a long time. I am well acquainted with him and knew
all the men he mentioned (with many others) at the
Shelby nesting. There were nearly six hundred names
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
in the register book of pigeoners in Wisconsin. Nearly
every one of the farmers, and their wives and daughters,
were pigeon catchers.</p>
<p>In regard to the dates of last nesting: 1878 was the
last year that the catch amounted to enough to keep
men in the business. I find I was at Cheboygan part
of the time, and got only a small number of birds in
1880, but some few nested (small body) that year.</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">H. T. Phillips.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">Recollections of "Old Timers"</p>
<div class="dropcap">M</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">M</span>R. OSCAR B. WARREN, now of Houghton,
Mich., has been interested for years in
collecting data about the Passenger Pigeon,
and kindly turned over to me his entire budget. Among
his letters is the following from Mr. H. T. Blodgett,
Superintendent of Public Schools, Ludington, Mich.,
dated November 19, 1904:</p>
<p>. . . Your pigeon is a stranger to me, or rather
has been a stranger for six or more years. I can distinctly
remember clouds of them, darkening the sky,
almost, in Pennsylvania, thirty years ago. Later, in
Michigan, they were abundant, coming to this part of the
State as soon as the snow was gone, picking up the
beech nuts and "shack" of the woods. After a few
weeks' flying about and feeding they would disappear;
reappearing again in June, young pigeons, fat, and the
choicest eating. They would stay a few weeks, not
more than about three weeks, going about July 1.
During this visit the birds haunted the thick woods,
and would call from the shade of the leaves of beech,
maple, and hemlock trees through the heat of the day,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
feeding mornings and evenings on the sprouted beech
nuts under the leaves.</p>
<p>There would often be a third appearance in September,
when I have seen buckwheat fields blue with
them. Also fall-sowed wheat fields would be so covered
with them that the farmer had to watch his fields to
save the seed he had sowed.</p>
<p>During the spring and also the fall visit, flocks
searching for feeding ground could be called down
from flight and induced to light on trees near where the
call was sounded. The call was one in imitation of
the pigeon's own call, given either as a peculiar throat
sound (liable to make the throat sore if too often repeated)
or with a silk band between two blocks of
wood, like this</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 558px;">
<img src="images/ip_120.png" width="558" height="120" alt="" />
<p class="fig_caption">The pigeon call</p>
</div>
<p>held between the lips and teeth and blown like a blade
of grass between the thumbs. By biting or pressing
with the teeth at (A) (A) the tension upon the silk
band would be increased, raising the tone of the call or
relaxing for a lower note. Cleverly used, it was very
successful in calling pigeons feeding in small flocks to
alight.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
<p>Much to my regret I have seen none of the beautiful
birds for about six years. The savage warfare upon
them, from nesting place to nesting place by pot-hunters
and villainous fellows who barreled them for market,
with nets and every brutal means for wholesale destruction,
has driven them, I know not whither. If there are
considerable flocks of them anywhere, I should be glad
to know it.</p>
<p>I wish I might help you. Such things as are here
hastily recalled and written will not be likely to afford
anything of interest, but if there is any thought or anything
in it, it is cheerfully given.</p>
<p>On the great sand bluffs which line our shores in many
places, flocks of pigeons in passing would fly so low
that a man with a club could knock them down. At
Lincoln, three miles north of here, nets were put on the
top of the hills, like gill nets, to catch them in their
flight.</p>
<p>They were never very successful.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 553px;">
<img src="images/ip_121.png" width="553" height="255" alt="" />
<p class="fig_caption">Showing the method of placing pigeon net</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
<p class="hanging">(<i>Notes by the Allen Brothers, Joseph and Isaac, of
Manchester, Mich. A copy of their letter was received
through kindness of L. Whitney Watkins, of
Manchester, Mich.</i>)</p>
<p>We have had about fifty years' experience in the
business [pigeon catching], as we used to help our
father as long ago as we can recollect, he being one of
the best pigeoners in his day, working a great deal at
the business in the summer season. Until we were
twenty years old we lived on the shores of Lake Ontario
in Wayne County, N. Y.</p>
<p>The pigeons used to have a flying course along the
shore of the lake on their way to the Montezuma
marshes after salt. Pigeons are very fond of salt, or,
rather, brine. It seems to be a necessary article for
them. Their course was generally from west to east.
They seldom flew west by the same route. How far
they came, we could not tell; perhaps from this State
or perhaps farther west. Sometimes they would go
west by the same route. If so, they were much easier
to catch than when going east. When going east they
were looking for salt; when west, for food.</p>
<p>They used to commence to fly about the 1st of April
and keep it up until the middle of June. After that
time they would scatter over the country, and did not
fly in large flocks as in the spring.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
<p>It would be hard to make any estimate of their numbers
that people would believe at this late day. I was
going to say that a thousand million could have been
seen in the air all at once. There would be days and
days when the air was alive with them, hardly a break
occurring in a flock for half a day at a time. Flocks
stretched as far as a person could see, one tier above
another. I think it would be safe to say that millions
could have been seen at the same time.</p>
<p>In the year 1854 we moved to Michigan, settling
near Adrian, where we found pigeons quite plentiful.
When they were flying here (Adrian) they seemed to
scatter over the State, having no regular course.</p>
<p>The supply of pigeons kept very regular here for
about twenty-five or thirty years. About the time we
came west the pigeons became scarce in New York,
and very few have been seen there since. It is five
years (1890) since we have seen or heard of any being
seen in this State (Michigan) or in any other.</p>
<p>Our "pigeoning" was more for sport than profit,
and we liked a nice broiled pigeon for breakfast about
as well as anything we could have, especially when they
were worth $6.00 per dozen. If the pigeons had been
sent to the New York market they could have been sold
for big prices, as pigeons sold for larger and better
prices than any other game in that market. Our father
did not like the idea of sending pigeons to New York
for a market.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
<p>After we came to where we now live (Cambridge),
and when I was going to Adrian, I stopped at father's
on my road. He had been out catching pigeons that
morning and had secured 600 by 10 o'clock. He said
to me:</p>
<p>"I wish you would take these pigeons to Adrian and
sell them if you can. Take them to the depot and sell
them for 10 cents per dozen. If you cannot sell them,
give them to the workingmen in the shops."</p>
<p>I thought 10 cents was pretty cheap, so I went to selling
at 20 cents per dozen. When the men came out of
the work-shops I sold them all at 25 cents per dozen.
After I left for town, father caught 500 more, and took
them to Adrian the same day and sold them for 10
cents per dozen. If the same lot of pigeons had been
shipped to New York, they would probably have
brought $2 or more per dozen.</p>
<p>About a year from that time we caught 600 in one
day, and made up our minds we would ship them to
New York. We took them to Adrian to ship. When
we got to Adrian we saw father, who, after inquiring
about our intentions concerning their shipment, said:</p>
<p>"It is foolish for you to send them, as they will never
be heard from."</p>
<p>He advised us to dispose of them for 25 cents per
dozen; this was the highest price pigeons were worth
in Adrian. To please him we tried to sell them for that
price, but could not, so, taking them to the express
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
office, we shipped them. In about four days the returns
came, netting us 70 cents per dozen, about the lowest
price we ever got. They explained that the pigeons
had been poorly handled or they would have brought
more. This was thirty-five years ago, <i>and these were
probably the first pigeons shipped from this State to
New York</i>.</p>
<p>We have shipped thousands since. They would
probably average $2 per dozen. We have sold them as
high as $3.75 per dozen and have seen them quoted as
high as $6 per dozen. A pigeoner from Pennsylvania
told us he shipped two barrels at one time and got $5.50
per dozen. We caught 2,400 one week, having them
all on hand at one time. We got a market report from
New York where they were quoted at $6.50 per dozen.
We packed and shipped ours as soon as possible. When
they reached market they sold for $1.50 per dozen.
The army of pigeoners had struck a big nesting in the
State of Wisconsin the same week we caught ours, and
they shipped them to market by the wholesale. The
market dropped from $6.50 to $1.25 in one week.</p>
<p>The pigeon business was very profitable for men
who were used to it, and there were probably from one
to three hundred men in the trade. When the pigeons
changed their location, the pigeoners would follow
them, sometimes going over a thousand miles.</p>
<p>When this army of men had good luck they would
ship them by the hundreds of barrels. Probably
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
as many as five hundred barrels have been shipped to
New York and Boston in one day. Our commission
man in New York wrote us that 100 barrels a day
could be sold there without affecting the market but
very little.</p>
<p>I was at a pigeon nesting in the State of Pennsylvania
where there were from three to five hundred men
catching pigeons and squabs. It was a great sight to
see the birds going back and forth after food. When
nesting in such large bodies, they leave the food in
the near vicinity for their young. If they can find
plenty of food, they nest in large bodies; if not, they
scatter over the country and nest in scattered colonies.</p>
<p>The nesting I mentioned in Pennsylvania was within
one mile of the cleared lands. We camped within two
miles of the nesting. The pigeons kept up a continual
roaring by their combined twittering and cooing, so
that it could be heard for miles away by night as well
as day.</p>
<p>Sometimes it is almost impossible to catch the pigeons.
At the nesting mentioned the most experienced hands
found it impossible to take large numbers. The whole
crowd of men could not catch more than one man ought
to have caught under the circumstances.</p>
<p>The young pigeons (squabs) were much sought after
in New York and Boston, and if sent in moderate numbers
brought big prices, usually about two dollars per
dozen. When the squabs were old enough to market,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
the army of pigeoners (estimated to be about five hundred)
commenced taking them. Entering the woods in
which the nesting was located, they cut down the trees
right and left, cutting the timber over thousands of
acres. When a tree fell, bringing with it the squabs,
they picked the young birds up, sometimes getting as
many as two dozen from one tree. The large trees,
which might have yielded fifty or a hundred, were left
standing. Our company of five took in two days thirteen
barrels of squabs, averaging 400 to the barrel.</p>
<p>There were shipped from two stations on the Erie
road in one day 200 barrels of these young pigeons.
If they had been old birds, they would not have broken
the market, but this was too many squabs, and the price
dropped 25 to 45 cents per dozen.</p>
<p>Osborn told me that he once caught 3,500 at one
catch. It was at a big nesting in the State of Wisconsin.
He had an enormous flock baited. He said that he put
out as high as forty bushels of shelled corn at one time
on the bed where he caught this large number. For
a trap, he had constructed a board pen built up from
the ground four or five feet high. This pen was about
one hundred feet long by twenty feet wide. He took
three large-sized nets, and, tying them together, set
them on this pen. He had feeding pens built by the
side of the trap-pen, so when he made a catch he could
drive the pigeons into the feeding pens and fatten them
for market, these "stall-fed" birds bringing much
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
higher prices than poor birds. This large catch filled
all his feeding pens. He said he could have made
another catch fully as large as the one just mentioned,
in one-half hour afterward but, having no room, he
could not take care of any more.</p>
<p>This method of catching pigeons was much the best
when they were to be preserved alive. It was rather a
late invention in the pigeon-netting business. We have
caught with one net in the same way as many as four
hundred at one time. With a net set on the ground
we have taken from three to five hundred a great many
times. In this latter manner, a brother of mine caught
556 with one net. Without help, in one day I have
caught from thirteen to fourteen hundred out of a flock
as they were flying over.</p>
<p>We have two ways of pigeoning. One is catching
out of flocks as they are flying over; the other is catching
baited pigeons. One way of bringing the flocks
out of the air was by using live pigeons kept for that
purpose. These we called "fliers" and "stool-pigeons;"
generally from three to five fliers and two stool-pigeons.
For the "fliers" and "stools" we made what we called
"boots" of soft leather. These were slipped on the
leg a little above the foot. To the boots of the fliers
were fastened small stout cords from two to four rods
long, on the other end of which was fastened a small
bush. If the birds were flying high, we used a longer
string.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
<p>The stool-pigeons were fastened to stools and set on
the "bed"; when the net was sprung the birds were
under it. The bed over which the net was sprung was
the same size as the net, or from thirty to forty feet
long by twelve to fifteen feet wide. It was made by
clearing the ground of all rubbish, and making it as clean
as a garden. Before the net was set it covered the bed.
We tied a rope to each of the front corners. On the
front side we used two spring stakes fastened in the
ground at the ends of the ropes, which were tied to the
stake about five feet from the ground. At one of the
stakes we built a bough house so that the rope from
the net would pass through the house. The back corners
were fastened with small, notched stakes which
were driven in the ground so that the notches faced the
bough house. We used what we called "flying staffs"—small
stakes about four feet long and the thickness
of a broom handle, with a notch cut in one end. We
also used two more small stakes to set the flying staffs
against, to hold the net when set. It took two to
properly set a net. Each one took a staff, stepped in
front, one at each corner, caught hold of the rope, and
crowded the front edge back of the back edge about six
inches. Then the flying staffs were placed against
the small stakes, notch end against the ropes. The net
was now crowded to the ground and the staffs slipped
into the notches of the stakes to hold the net in
place. The slack of the net was laid alongside the rope
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
on the ground. By crowding the net back, it sprung
the stakes over, which sprung the net. The stool-pigeons
were made to hover by pulling a line reaching
into the bough house, where the pigeoner awaited them
with his fliers.</p>
<p>When a flock of pigeons came near enough to spy
the fliers, the pigeoner threw the tethered birds into
the air. They quickly flew the length of the line and
then hovered near the ground. They had the appearance
of feeding on the bed, which, of course, has been
supplied with food. The wild flock alighted and began
feeding. The net rope passing through the bough
house was pulled by the pigeoner, and this drew the
flying staffs from under the hooks, the staffs raised the
front edge of the net up about four feet, and over it
went as quick as a flash, covering or catching perhaps
five hundred at once.</p>
<div id="fp130" class="figcenter" style="width: 464px;">
<img src="images/fp_130.png" width="464" height="649" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">BAND-TAILED PIGEON<br />(<i>Columba fasciata</i>)</p>
<p class="fig_caption">Often mistaken for Passenger Pigeon</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
<p class="pmt2">Letter from James B. Purdy, of Plymouth, Mich.:</p>
<p class="tdr">November, 1894.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Oscar B. Warren</span>,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Palmer, Mich.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Yours of November 24 received, asking
me to send notes on the Passenger Pigeon. In the
beginning I would say that I am now fifty-one years of
age, and I am writing this under the roof of the old
homestead where I was born, hence my memory of the
passenger pigeon for this locality extends back to my
early boyhood, when millions of pigeons visited this
locality on their spring and fall migrations, and during
their spring migrations comparatively few halted with
us to feed, but the great majority of them winged their
way in a high-flying flock of unbroken columns, sometimes
half a mile in length, to the north and west, probably
to their breeding grounds; but on their return,
from the first to the fifteenth of September, they would
swarm down on our newly sowed wheat fields until acres
of ground would be blue, and when they arose they
would darken the air and their wings would sound like
distant thunder. They were not so shy at this time of
the year, as part of them were young birds, which were
easily distinguished from the old ones by their speckled
breasts; and I would here state that, during both spring
and fall migrations, their greatest flight seemed to be
from sunrise until about nine or ten o'clock <span class="smcap">A.M.</span></p>
<p>My father was an old pigeon catcher, and it was during
these fall migrations that he would go out in the
middle of a wheat field, build his bough house, set his
net, and prepare for the finest sport in which it was ever
my good fortune to participate; and many a time have
I been with him when he has caught hundreds of them
in a single morning. You may ask, What did you do
with so many pigeons? Well, I will tell you. We
skinned out the breasts, pickled them for two or three
days in weak brine, and then strung them on strings,
from one hundred and fifty to two hundred on a string,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
and hung them up to dry in the same manner as dried
beef (I mean the breasts). Of course the remainder
of the carcasses we cooked for immediate use, or as much
of them as we needed for the family. Let me tell you
that those pigeon breasts were a dainty morsel, and
would last as long as dried beef and was far its superior
in taste.</p>
<p>While rummaging through the attic a few days since,
I came across the old pigeon stool upon which the stool-pigeon
was tied, which my father used so many years
ago, and it carried me back to my boyhood and conveyed
to my mind vivid memories of the past.</p>
<p>The pigeons continued to visit us in great abundance
for a number of years, although there would be an occasional
season when there would not be so many. As
the years rolled by they became fewer in number until
in the fall of 1876, when I saw my last Passenger
Pigeons (a small flock of ten or fifteen), I tried hard to
procure some for my cabinet, but failed.</p>
<p>One peculiar habit of the Passenger Pigeons was
that during their migrations, should they alight and
their crops were filled with inferior food, they would
vomit it up in order to fill themselves with something
better should they find it.</p>
<p class="pmt2">F. N. Lawrence stated in <i>Forest and Stream</i> of February
18, 1899, that when a boy, in the late forties,
he spent most of his time on his grandfather's country
seat at Manhattanville, on the North River. In those
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
years the wild pigeon flew south on both sides of the
North River by the thousands in the fall, and in lesser
numbers flew north in the spring.</p>
<p>He also wrote: "These migrations occurred with the
utmost regularity. The first easterly storm after September
1st, clearing up with a strong northwest wind,
was as surely followed by a flight of wild pigeons as
the sun was to rise. During such storms, I have passed
many a sleepless night watching to catch the first change
of wind, and when it veered northwest, daybreak found
me on the river bank watching for the flight that never
failed. Ah! how my heart jumped as flock after flock
of wild pigeons came flying over Fort Washington like
small clouds. I have shot a great many of them, but
alas, like the buffalo, they are almost exterminated."</p>
<p class="pmt2">I have run across what was evidently my first diary,
dated 1872, when I was fourteen years old. I make the
following extracts from it:</p>
<p>April 6th. "Pigeon flew this morning."</p>
<p>Then on April 8th I mention 9 pigeons shot in the
afternoon by my father, and say "they flew very thick
in the morning."</p>
<p>The record, like most boys' diaries, seems to have
many skips, for the next item about pigeons is on the
11th of May, saying that I shot 2 that day and on the
1st of June I mention that I killed 3 pigeons in the
morning, "the most I ever have shot at one time."</p>
<p>My marksmanship seems to have improved after that,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
for on the 7th of June I mention shooting 7, and on the
8th 8 (I used to go every morning), and on the 10th
I got 8 again and on the 11th 12, and so on with varying
success. On June 11 I mention that the young ones
were beginning to fly plentifully.</p>
<p class="tdr">W. B. M.</p>
<p class="pmt2">Extract from a letter written by the late Alexander
McDougall of Duluth, February 8, 1905:</p>
<p class="pmt2">I have been about Lake Superior since 1863. Have
never known any rookery near the lake or in Lake
Superior Basin, although I think they did breed near
Lake Superior, for they were in such great quantities
about the lake during the whole summer. In 1871
when this town (Duluth) was first building, there were
millions of them about here. In the Lake Superior
region there are lots of berries but no beech nuts, except
near Grand Island, 40 miles east of Marquette.
It is likely if there was any roosting on Lake Superior,
this would be the most favorable place. . . . The
pigeon was numerous on Lake Superior in 1872, for I
have recollections of catching some that year while captain
of the Steamer <i>Japan</i>. During foggy weather and
at night, they would alight on the boat in great numbers,
tired out. On foggy mornings, the blowing of our
whistle would start them up. Often, when they would
light on the eave of our overhanging deck, we could
sneak along under the deck and quickly snatch one. I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
remember having caught several in that way. As
clearly as I can remember, they left all at once along
about 1875. I have seen a few here along about 1882,
and one fall in October, I think, of 1884, I saw two or
three, the last I remember of them.</p>
<p class="pmt2 tdr"><span class="smcap">Kalamazoo, Mich.</span>, June 13th, 1905.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">Wm. B. Mershon, Saginaw, Mich.:</p>
<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:3em">* * * * *</p>
<p>It seems too bad that this noble bird should have
been blotted out. The last flock, a small one, that I
ever saw was in 1891. I saw pigeons in 1883, 1885
and 1886.</p>
<p>I have been in their nesting grounds. The males and
the females sit on the nest on alternate days. When
their big nesting was near South Haven in this State,
the birds used to fly over this town every day in their
quest for food, some of them going fully seventy-five
miles in an air line from their nesting. One day it
would be a continuous stream of male birds and the
next day it would be the females.</p>
<p>How the netters did massacre them and ship them
away by thousands and thousands. Many were kept
alive and shipped all over the country for pigeon
shoots. The last wild pigeons ever used for this purpose
that I know of was at John Watson's Grand Grossing,
Chicago, Illinois, in 1886. I asked Watson, in
February last, where he got those birds, and he said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
from Indian Territory, so I think the netters finally
cleaned up what was left of the big flight that perished
from the sleet and fog at their last nesting in Michigan,
near Petoskey, in 1881.</p>
<p>Their nests were built and eggs laid in late April. A
big wind and storm of sleet came up just at dusk and
the birds left; there was a big fog on Lake Michigan,
and the birds were swallowed up by the storm; anyhow
they disappeared then and there. I have heard tell of
the beach being strewn for miles with dead pigeons, and
I heard an old woodsman tell of the stench arising from
dead pigeons in the woods.</p>
<p>It was that storm of ice that surely wiped them out.</p>
<p>I was at Petoskey in 1882, and no pigeons showed up
that year.</p>
<p>What a host of memories of boyhood days are recalled,
when one thinks of the wild pigeons. I can see
myself a boy again, equipped with a long, single barrel
shot gun, shot pouch and powder flask a-dangling, a
box of G. D. caps in my pocket, and I a-sneakin' and
a-sneakin' up for a shot at an old cock pigeon perched
away up on a dead limb at the top of a tall tree. How
handsome is that old cock with neck outstretched and
tail a-streamin', the richness of his coloring, the red of
the breast, the metallic sheen of that outstretched neck
is of marvelous luster as bathed in the glories of the
morning sunlight. He turns his head! He is onto
that boy who is sneaking so carefully along the old
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
rail fence. Carefully the gun is raised and aimed; the
trigger is pressed. "Ker-whang" in a cloud of smoke
is the loud report. The old cock, startled, flies away.
"Missed him, by gosh!" is the boy's lament as he starts
to reload, whilst in unison with the rattle of the grains
of powder in the flask, there comes drifting down on the
morning breeze, slowly wafting here and there, a long
tail feather from that noble bird to show that though
missed, yet the aim was true.</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">Ben O. Bush.</p>
<p class="pmt2 tdr"><span class="smcap">Kalamazoo, Mich.</span>, June 17th, 1905.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">Dear Mershon:</p>
<p>Do not understand me as to my assertion, that in nesting
time the wild pigeons in feeding, the males always
alternate with the females, each having a day off and
a day on throughout the period of incubation and the
rearing of the young. It depended upon the amount of
food and the distance that they had to go to get it,
and they changed their habit according to the conditions.
If they had to make a long flight, as was the case when
they passed over here, then they alternated; but I will
agree with you that their habit in nesting time when
food was plenty and not far away, was for the males to
sit first in the morning, then the females, and sometimes
the males a second time, all in the same day. Pigeons
require a great deal of water, and sometimes their crops
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
would show that they had been to water prior to their
return flight, while at other times the food in their crops
would be dry.</p>
<p>Some other boys and I had a lot of wild birds that
we bought alive from a netter. We put the birds in the
loft of a big barn where there was a lot of beans that
had not been threshed. We would put in a big trough
of water for them every day. The way those birds
threshed out those bean pods was a caution. They became
very fat and fairly tame. What wouldn't I give
to hear the call note of Tete! Tete! Tete! of the pigeons
once more.</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">Ben O. Bush.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>J. S. Van Cleef of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., wrote in
<i>Forest and Stream</i> of May 20, 1899, as follows:</p>
<p class="pmt2">For many years up to about 1850, flocks of wild
pigeons in the fall were quite abundant, and were very
often taken with nets, which was a very favorite way of
capturing them at that time, but very few, if any, have
been taken in this manner since that time. A few small
flocks appeared in the fifties, but not to such an extent
that an attempt was made to capture them through the
aid of pigeon nets, and I find upon inquiry that the experience
of others agrees with my own.</p>
<p>The last flight of pigeons of which I have any knowledge
occurred in the seventies, where they nested in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
mountain range south of the Beaverkill in the lower part
of Ulster County. There were two flights about this
time, one small one, and in the course of two or three
years this was followed by a flight where the pigeons
appeared in great numbers.</p>
<p>This flock had nested in Missouri in the month of
April, and the most of the squabs were killed by those
who were in the business of furnishing squabs for the
market.</p>
<p>When the nesting was over the entire flock went to
Michigan, where they nested again, and they were followed
there by the same persons who again destroyed
most of the squabs. When they left Michigan they
took their flight eastward, and telegrams were sent all
over that part of the country where the pigeons would
be likely to nest a third time, and as soon as they settled
in the Catskills these persons were apprised of the location
and very soon appeared on the scene.</p>
<p>The party, about thirty strong, stopped at Monson's,
whose house was located on the upper Beaverkill, about
three miles from the nest.</p>
<p>This nest was a mile from the Willewemoc Lodge,
where I happened to be during the whole time that the
pigeons were in their roost. It was claimed at the
time that the squabs were sent down to New York by
the ton, but as to this I have no personal knowledge,
though I do know that during the nesting all, or nearly
all, of the squabs were destroyed, and this was done by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
invading the grounds at night and striking the trunks
of the trees with a heavy axe or sledge hammer, upon
which the squabs would tumble out of the nests on the
ground, and be picked up and carried to Monson's and
shipped to New York the next day.</p>
<p>I do know, however, that from a natural ice house
and the ice house belonging to our club, these persons
obtained not less than fifteen tons of ice for the purpose
of preserving the squabs.</p>
<p>This is the last flight of pigeons that has ever taken
place in this part of the country, so far as I have any
knowledge, and I am very sure that if there had been
any I would have known it.</p>
<p>
<span class="smcap">Poughkeepsie, N. Y.</span>, May 12.<br />
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Last of the Pigeons</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">From "The Auk," July, 1897, under the title "Additional Records
of the Passenger Pigeon (<i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>.)"</p>
<div class="dropcap">M</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">M</span>OST of the notes on the Passenger Pigeon
recorded in the past year have referred to
single birds or pairs. It is with much pleasure
that I now call attention to a flock of some fifty,
observed in southern Missouri. I am not only greatly
indebted to Mr. Chas. H. Holden, Jr., for this interesting
information, but for the present of a beautiful
pair which he sent me in the flesh, he having shot them
as they flew rapidly overhead. Mr. Holden was, at
the time (December 17, 1896), hunting quail in Attie,
Oregon County, Mo. The residents of this hamlet
had not seen any pigeons there before in some years.</p>
<p>Simon Pokagon, Chief of the remaining Pottawattamie
tribe, and probably the best posted man on the wild
pigeon in Michigan, writes me under date of October
16, 1896: "I am creditably informed that there was a
small nesting of pigeons last spring not far from the
headwaters of the Au Sable River in Michigan." Mr.
Chase S. Osborn, State Game and Fish Warden of
Michigan, under date, Sault Ste. Marie, March 2, 1897,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
writes: "Passenger Pigeons are now very rare indeed
in Michigan, but some have been seen in the eastern
parts of Chippewa County, in the upper peninsula, every
year. As many as a dozen or more were seen in this
section in one flock last year, and I have reason to believe
that they breed here in a small way. One came
into this city last summer and attracted a great deal of
attention by flying and circling through the air with
the tame pigeons. I have a bill in the Legislature of
Michigan, closing the season for killing wild pigeons
for ten years."</p>
<p class="tdr">
<span class="smcap">Ruthven Deane</span><span style="padding-right:1em;">,</span><br />
Chicago, Ill.</p>
<p class="caption4">From "The Auk," April, 1898, Vol. 15, Page 184, under the title,
"The Passenger Pigeon (<i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>) in
Wisconsin and Nebraska."</p>
<p>Our records of this species during the past few years
have referred in most instances, to very small flocks and
generally to pairs or individuals. In <i>The Auk</i> for
July, 1897, I recorded a flock of some fifty pigeons
from southern Missouri, but such a number has been
very unusual. It is now very gratifying to be able to
record still larger numbers and I am indebted to Mr.
A. Fugleberg of Oshkosh, Wis., for the following letter
of information, under date of September 1, 1897: "I
live on the west shore of Lake Winnebago, Wis. About
6 o'clock on the morning of August 14, 1897, I saw a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
flock of wild pigeons flying over the bay from Fisherman's
Point to Stony Beach, and I assure you it reminded
me of old times, from 1855 to 1880, when
pigeons were plentiful every day. So I dropped my
work and stood watching them. This flock was followed
by six more flocks, each containing about thirty-five
to eighty pigeons, except the last, which only contained
seven. All these flocks passed over within half
an hour. One flock of some fifty birds flew within gunshot
of me, the others all the way from one hundred
to three hundred yards from where I stood." Mr.
Fugleberg is an old hunter and has had much experience
with the wild pigeon. In a later letter dated September
4, 1897, he writes: "On Sept. 2, 1897, I was hunting
prairie chickens near Lake Butte des Morts, Wis.,
where I met a friend who told me that a few days
previous he had seen a flock of some twenty-five wild
pigeons and that they were the first he had seen for
years." This would appear as though these birds were
instinctively working back to their old haunts, as the
Winnebago region was once a favorite locality. We
hope that Wisconsin will follow Michigan in making
a close season on wild pigeons for ten years, and thus
give them a chance to multiply, and, perhaps, regain, in
a measure, their former abundance.</p>
<p>In <i>Forest and Stream</i> of Sept. 25, 1897, appeared a
short notice of "Wild Pigeons in Nebraska," by "W. F.
R." Through the kindness of the editor he placed me in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
correspondence with the observer, W. F. Rightmire, to
whom I am indebted for the following details given in
his letter of Nov. 5, 1897: "I was driving along the
highway north of Cook, Johnson County, Neb., on
August 17, 1897. I came to the timber skirting the
head stream of the Nemaha River, a tract of some
forty acres of woodland lying along the course of the
stream, upon both banks of the same, and there feeding
on the ground or perched upon the trees were the
Passenger Pigeons I wrote the note about. The flock
contained seventy-five to one hundred birds. I did not
frighten them, but as I drove along the road the feeding
birds flew up and joined the others, and as soon as I
had passed by they returned to the ground and continued
feeding. While I revisited the same locality, I
failed to find the pigeons. I am a native of Tompkins
County, N. Y., and have often killed wild pigeons in
their flights while a boy on the farm, helped to net
them, and have hunted them in Pennsylvania, so that I
readily knew the birds in question the moment I saw
them." I will here take occasion to state that in my
record of the Missouri flock (<i>Auk</i>, July, 1897, p. 316)
the date on which they were seen (Dec. 17, 1896) was,
through error, omitted.</p>
<p class="tdr">
<span class="smcap">Ruthven Deane</span><span style="padding-right:1em;">,</span><br />
Chicago, Ill.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption4">From "The Auk," January, 1896, under the title, "Additional
Records of the Passenger Pigeon (<i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>)
in Wisconsin and Illinois."</p>
<p>I am indebted to my friend, Mr. John L. Stockton,
of Highland Park, Ill., for information regarding the
occurrence of this pigeon in Wisconsin. While trout
fishing on the Little Oconto River in the Reservation
of the Menominee Indians, Mr. Stockton saw, early in
June, 1895, a flock of some ten pigeons for several consecutive
days near his camp. They were first seen while
alighting near the bank of the river, where they had
evidently come to drink. I am very glad to say that
they were not molested.</p>
<p>Mr. John F. Ferry of Lake Forest, Ill., has kindly
notified me of the capture of a young female pigeon
which was killed in that town on August 7, 1895. The
bird was brought to him by a boy who had shot it with
a rifle ball, and although in a mutilated condition he
preserved it for his collection.</p>
<p>I have recently received a letter from Dr. H. V.
Ogden, Milwaukee, Wis., informing me of the capture
of a young female pigeon which was shot by Dr. Ernest
Copeland on the 1st of October, 1895. These gentlemen
were camping at the time in the northeast corner
of Delta County, Mich. (Northern Peninsula), in the
large hardwood forest that runs through that part of
the State. They saw no other of the species.</p>
<p class="tdr">
<span class="smcap">Ruthven Deane</span><span style="padding-right:1em;">,</span><br />
Chicago, Ill.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption4">From "The Auk," July, 1895, under the title, "Additional Records
of the Passenger Pigeon in Illinois and Indiana."</p>
<p>The occurrence of the wild pigeon (<i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>)
in this section of the country, and, in fact,
throughout the West generally, is becoming rarer every
year, and such observations and data as come to our
notice should be of sufficient interest to record.</p>
<p>I have, in the past few months, made inquiry of a
great many sportsmen who are constantly in the field
and in widely distributed localities, regarding any observations
on the wild pigeon, and but few of them
have seen a specimen in the past eight or ten years. N.
W. Judy & Co., of St. Louis, Mo., dealers in poultry,
and the largest receivers of game in that section, wrote
as follows: "We have had no wild pigeons for two
seasons; the last we received were from Siloam Springs,
Ark. We have lost all track of them, and our netters
are lying idle."</p>
<p>I have made frequent inquiry among the principal
game dealers in Chicago and cannot learn of a single
specimen that has been received in our markets in several
years. I am indebted to the following gentlemen for
notes and observations regarding this species, which
cover a period of eight years. I have various other
records of the occurrence of the pigeon in Illinois and
Indiana, but do not consider them sufficiently authentic
to record, as to the casual observer this species and the
Carolina dove are often confounded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
<p>A fine male pigeon was killed by my brother, Mr.
Chas. E. Deane, April 18, 1887, while shooting snipe
on the meadows near English Lake, Ind. The bird
was alone and flew directly over him. I have the specimen
now in my collection.</p>
<p>In September, 1888, while teal shooting on Yellow
River, Stark County, Ind., I saw a pigeon fly up the
river and alight a short distance off. I secured the bird
which proved to be a young female.</p>
<p>On Sept. 17, 1887, Mr. John F. Hazen and his
daughter Grace, of Cincinnati, Ohio, while boating on
the Kankakee River near English Lake, Ind., observed
a small flock of pigeons feeding in a little oak
grove bordering the river. They reported the birds
as quite tame and succeeded in shooting eight specimens.</p>
<p>Mr. Frank M. Woodruff, Assistant Curator, Chicago
Academy of Sciences, informs me that on Dec. 10,
1890, he received four Passenger Pigeons in the flesh,
from Waukegan, Ill., at which locality they were said
to have been shot. Three of the birds were males and
one was a female. One pair he disposed of, the other
two I have recently seen in his collection. In the fall of
1891, Mr. Woodruff also shot a pair at Lake Forest,
Ill., which he mounted and placed in the collection of
the Cook County Normal School, Englewood, Ill.</p>
<p>In the spring of 1893, Mr. C. B. Brown, of Chicago,
Ill., collected a nest of the wild pigeon containing two
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
eggs at English Lake, Ind., and secured both parent
birds. Mr. Brown describes the nest as being placed
on the horizontal branch of a burr oak about ten feet
from the trunk and from forty to fifty feet from the
ground. He did not preserve the birds, but the eggs
are still in his collection. The locality where this nest
was found was a short distance from where the Hazens
found their birds six years before.</p>
<p>Mr. John F. Ferry informs me that three pigeons
were seen near the Des Plaines River in Lake County,
Ill., in September, 1893. One of these was shot by Mr.
F. C. Farwell.</p>
<p>In an article which appeared in the Chicago <i>Tribune</i>
Nov. 25, 1894, entitled "Last of His Race," Mr. E. B.
Clark related his experience in observing a fine male
wild pigeon in Lincoln Park, Chicago, Ill., in April,
1893. I quote from the article: "He was perched on
the limb of a soft maple and was facing the rising sun.
I have never seen in any cabinet a more perfect specimen.
The tree upon which he was resting was at the
southeast corner of the park. There were no trees between
him and the lake to break from his breast the
fullness of the glory of the rising sun. The pigeon
allowed me to approach within twenty yards of his
resting place and I watched him through a powerful
glass that permitted as minute an examination as if he
were in my hand. I was more than astonished to find
here, close to the pavements of a great city, the representative
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
of a race which always loved the wild woods,
and, which I thought had passed away from Illinois
forever."</p>
<p>Mr. R. W. Stafford of Chicago, Ill., who has shot
hundreds of pigeons in former years within the present
city limits of Chicago, informs me that in the latter
part of September, 1894, while shooting at Marengo,
Ill., he saw a flock of six flying swiftly over and apparently
alight in a small grove some distance off.</p>
<p>The above records will show that while in this section
of the country large flocks of Passenger Pigeons
are a thing of the past, yet they are still occasionally
observed in small detachments or single birds.</p>
<p>A. B. Covert of Ann Arbor, Mich., wrote under date
of Oct. 27, 1894: "Prior to the spring of 1881 the
wild pigeon was everywhere a common bird of passage
throughout the southern part of Michigan and nested
commonly in the northern part. My home, in 1880,
and for a few years after, was at Cadillac, Mich., and
there was at that time a nesting place near Muskrat
Lake in Missaukee County. Thousands of the birds
were killed there. In the spring of 1881 the birds
failed to make their appearance, and since then have
been very rare. Nov. 23, 1892, I secured one male
and two young females; these were killed in Scio, Washtenaw
County, Oct. 9, 1893; one male near Ypsilanti,
Mich., Sept. 27, 1894; one female killed at Honey
Brook, Scio, Washtenaw County. There is also a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
female bird in this city that was killed in Livingston
County in October, 1892."</p>
<p>In a bulletin of the Michigan Ornithological Club,
Vol. II, No. 3-4, July to December, 1898, Mr. A. B.
Covert, the club's president, tells of seeing a flock of
about two hundred pigeons. On Oct. 1, 1898, in Washtenaw
County, Mich., he watched a large number of
them all day.</p>
<p>Mr. Stewart E. White writes from Ann Arbor under
date of Feb. 9, 1894: "My notebooks are not here so
I cannot give exact dates, but I can remember distinctly
every specimen I ever saw. I observed one flock of
about sixty in Kent County in the fall, the last of October
or first of November, 1890. At Mackinac Island at
various times in September of 1889 I saw parts of a
large flock, of say two hundred. My field experience
in the western part of Michigan has been quite extensive
and thorough, but these two flocks are all I ever recorded."</p>
<p>F. M. Falconer of Hillsdale, Mich., on Dec. 3, 1904,
writes to Mr. Warren as follows: "During the last
week of March, 1892, one of the students here shot a
nice male. There were two together, but only one was
secured. That summer I saw a small flock feeding in
some thick woods along the banks of a stream in which
I was fishing, in Chautauqua County, N. Y. There
were eight or ten birds at least, and perhaps many more,
as they scattered along in spots."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
<p>Mr. T. E. Douglas of Grayling, Mich., reports that
in the year 1900 he saw three Passenger Pigeons on the
East Branch of Au Sable River, Michigan, and about
five years previous to that date a flock of ten was seen
around George's Lake, which is eight miles southwest
of West Branch, Michigan.</p>
<p>I also have a record of one pigeon taken by
Mr. John H. Sage, in Portland, Conn., in October,
1889.</p>
<p>In May, 1904, Hon. Chase S. Osborn wrote:</p>
<p class="pmt2"><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Mershon</span>: I haven't much information
relating to the pigeons in this section of the country. In
fact, the pigeon was practically gone from the north
when I first visited the country in 1880. I remember
seeing a flock of about three hundred in Florence
County, Wis., which would probably be on a line fifty
miles south of here, in 1883. In 1884 I saw a flock in
that same section, in the woods northwest of Florence,
of about fifty. In 1890 I six of these birds near the
mouth of the Little Munoskong River in this county.
This river empties into Munoskong Bay, about thirty
miles southeast of here. In 1897 I saw a single wild
pigeon, flying with the tame pigeons around this town.
It was a remarkable sight and attracted the attention of
many local bird lovers. There is no doubt that it was a
pigeon, and it was absolutely alone as far as we could
discover.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
<p>Upon inquiry here among old residents, I am told
that there was quite a large roost on a beech ridge
about forty miles west of here, which would be at a
point north of the present station of Eckerman. I have
been unable to learn just when this roosting place was
discontinued, but as near as I can make out from comparing
statements and records, it must have been in '78,
'79, or '80.</p>
<p>I have heard of a large roosting place in northern
Wisconsin which was used as late as 1874 by vast numbers
of birds. It was located to the south and a little
west of Lac Vieux Desert. At the head of the Pike
River in Wisconsin, a point probably sixty-five miles
south of here, and west into that State, the pigeons
were seen in large numbers until 1872. As I understand
it, in the early days they were very likely to frequent
the same section year after year when not too
much disturbed.</p>
<p>Mr. Newell A. Eddy of Bay City, Mich., under date
of Aug. 7, 1905, wrote me as follows:</p>
<p class="pmt2">I find that I have but few notes regarding this
species. On Sept. 13, 1880, I took a single bird near
the city of Bangor, Maine. The sex was not determined.
This was an unusual capture for the place and
the time. A few years previous to that time, on a
canoeing trip to the headwaters of the Penobscot River,
I fell in with a small flock of a dozen or more in an old
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
burnt-over swamp, but was unable to secure any of
them.</p>
<p>I presume that you have an abundance of notes on
the Passenger Pigeon in this section of the country at
the time it was so abundant here, as such information
is readily obtainable from any of the old inhabitants
of this locality. I had a very interesting interview the
other day with Mr. C. E. Jennison of this city, who
was one of our earliest settlers, and he gave me a great
deal of information about this bird in the earlier days
of Bay City. He also stated, which was quite interesting,
that six or seven years ago he saw a few birds at
Thunder Bay Island, near Alpena. This appears to
be his last record of this species.</p>
<p>The most interesting information I have was obtained
from Mr. Birney Jennison, his son, who advised
me a few days ago while we were on our way to Point
Lookout, Saginaw Bay, that about the 15th of July,
this year, he saw a pair of these birds in a swale at
Point Lookout while roaming through the woods. He
and I visited the same locality about two weeks after
that, but saw nothing of them. Of course there is some
likelihood that the birds Mr. Jennison saw may have
been the common Carolina doves. Mr. Birney Jennison
also had a great deal of experience with this bird
in his younger days about Bay City, and there would
appear to be no question as to his ability to accurately
identify the bird.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
<p class="pmt2">From Mr. Neal Brown, Warsaw, Wis., May 20,
1904:</p>
<p class="pmt2 p0"><span class="smcap">Mr. W. B. Mershon</span>, Saginaw, Mich.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir:</span>—Your favor at hand with reference to
the wild pigeon. It was, I think, three or four years
ago that, in hunting with Mr. Emerson Hough near
Babcock in this State in September, we killed an unmistakable
wild pigeon. I saw a few pigeons in the woods
in Forest County, in this State, about fifteen years ago.
About seven years ago I saw three near Wausau and
shot one of them. There was a pigeon roost for many
years in Wood County, in this State, but it has long
since disappeared.</p>
<p>When I was a boy in southern Wisconsin in the 60's
and 70's, wild pigeons were so numerous as to almost
darken the air. In the early 70's there was a small roost
on Bark River, near Ft. Atkinson, in this State.</p>
<p>The wild pigeon had practically disappeared in
southern Wisconsin as early as 1880, in fact, it was two
or three years before that that I saw the last of them.</p>
<p>Charles W. Ward of Queens, L. I., New York, reports
that in October, 1883, he saw a flock of at least
one hundred Passenger Pigeons along the Manistee
River in Township 26-5 and the following year about
one dozen nested in a Spruce swamp near Orchard Lake
on his old homestead. He often saw the nest and the
birds. He remembers the time as being the season of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
the year when huckleberries were ripe, for he was
berry-picking when he first observed them.</p>
<p>The writer of the following newspaper clipping of
recent date is emphatically skeptical regarding the present-day
existence of even an isolated pigeon:</p>
<p class="caption3">LAST PIGEON FLIGHT IN IOSCO IN 1880</p>
<p class="caption4">MILLIONS PASSED THROUGH THEN, BUT THEY HAVE
NEVER BEEN THERE SINCE</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tawas, Mich.</span>, July 27.—John Sims, county game
and fish warden, ridicules the idea of flocks of wild
pigeons being found in Iosco County, as was reported
in some of the State papers. He says: "There are no
wild pigeons in Iosco County; nor have there been any
here since April 1, 1880. There fell about six inches
of snow on that day, then the weather cleared and the
sun rose bright and clear, but it was but for a short
time, as the air was clouded with pigeons going westward.
That was the first time they had been here for
a number of years, and, although it was Sunday, everyone
who had a gun was shooting or trying to shoot, and
there were lots of pigeons killed that day in nearly all
the streets of Tawas. There were simply millions of
them going westward, and those that were killed were
picked up out of the snow. Since that day there have
been no wild pigeons here. We have lots of mourning
doves here, and the writer has probably seen these.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
There is a certain magazine that offers $50 for a pair
of wild pigeons, and I think the sportsmen would add
another $50 to it to have the wild pigeons with us
again."</p>
<p>In the report of the Massachusetts commissioners on
fisheries and game for the year ending December 31,
1903, is to be found the following:</p>
<p>The occurrence of the wild pigeon is a matter of
public and scientific interest, and for this reason, and not
because it is a game bird, reference to it is introduced
here. Deputy Samuel Parker, who is perfectly familiar
with the wild pigeon, makes mention of its appearance
at Wakefield this year as follows: "In September a
flock of wild pigeons, twenty-five or thirty in number,
came over Crystal Lake." This notice of the presence
of a species believed to be extinct is interesting and must
be important to ornithologists.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> I believe that this informant was mistaken—W. B. M.</p></div>
<p>George King, guide and trapper, living in Otsego
County, Michigan, told me in 1904 that four years before
he had seen along Black River a flock of wild
pigeons, a dozen or more birds. He said there is no
mistake about it, because he was familiar with the wild
pigeon early in life. These alighted in a tree near him.
He said that in 1902, also, he heard the call of two
wild pigeons, although he hunted for the birds and did
not find them.</p>
<div id="fp156" class="figcenter" style="width: 632px;">
<img src="images/fp_156.png" width="632" height="431" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">COMPARATIVE SIZE OF PIGEON AND DOVE</p>
<p class="fig_caption">From photo furnished by Prof W. B. Burrows, of the Michigan Agricultural College</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
<p>I believe that six wild pigeons were actually seen in
the latter part of April of 1905 near Vanderbilt, Mich.,
by this George King. I have tested his honesty and
truthfulness time and time again. He told me he was
seated in the branches of an apple tree when he saw six
wild pigeons alight in another tree near him. He kept
perfectly still and watched their movements for about
thirty minutes. They flew from the old tree in which
they had alighted, underneath a beech tree and began
feeding on beech nuts from the ground. He says he
heard them call and they made the same old crowing
call of the wild pigeon. He was close to them; he is
perfectly familiar with the dove and knows that these
six were Passenger Pigeons. King has for many years
lived in the section that formerly was the great pigeon
nesting and feeding ground of northern Michigan.</p>
<p class="tdr2 smcap">Michigan Agricultural College,</p>
<p class="tdr">July 14, '05.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir:</span>—I have been away for the past three
weeks and find your letter of June 27 here on my return.
The photographs sent you were those of the Passenger
Pigeon and the Carolina dove, the one of the two birds
being intended to show relative size and appearance.
It was taken from two of the best specimens in the
museum, placed at exactly the same distance from the
camera so that the picture shows the comparative size
exactly. The birds being so similar in general appearance,
the smaller one looks as if it were further away
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
than the larger, and this, I think, shows clearly how
impossible it is for the ordinary observer to discriminate
between these two species when seen separately in the
field. Of course a mixed flock would be a different
proposition, but so far as I know the two species never
mingle, and, at least in this State, it is an unusual thing
to find the Carolina dove in large compact flocks such
as are characteristic of the Passenger Pigeon. In several
cases, however, during August and September I have
seen large scattered flocks of the Carolina dove which
were feeding on weed seeds and grain in open fields,
and which when disturbed, gathered into small bands
of twenty to fifty each and flew and perched very much
like Passenger Pigeons. In one case I saw at least five
hundred Carolina doves acting this way, and had hard
work to convince a sportsman friend of mine that they
were not Passenger Pigeons. Finally, after getting
directly under a small tree on which a dozen or more
were perched, he was able to see that characteristic
black dot on the side of the neck, and was also able to
estimate more correctly the actual size of the birds.</p>
<p class="center">Yours very truly,</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Walter B. Burrows</span>,<br />
<i>Professor of Zoology.</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
<p class="pmt2 tdr2 smcap">Agricultural College,</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Ingham Co., Mich.</span>, June 17, 1905.</p>
<p><span class="smcap p0">Mr. W. B. Mershon</span>, Saginaw, Mich.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir:</span>—Yours of the 16th is at hand and in
reply I would say that the Carolina dove is <i>rarely</i>
found north of the Au Sable River, and I should not
expect <i>ever</i> to see it there in flocks in the spring; on
the other hand it is just as likely to be found <i>early</i> in
the season as the Passenger Pigeon, since the Carolina
dove winters regularly in southern Michigan and is
one of the first birds to appear in the spring in this
county, in fact not infrequently staying <i>here</i> through
the winter. On the whole, however, I think there can
be little doubt that Mr. King's report relates to the Passenger
Pigeon and not to the dove. I have had some
photographs taken of the Carolina dove and Passenger
Pigeon together, and will ask my assistant, Mr. Myers,
to mail you prints of these within a few days as soon as
he has time to make some good ones. If these do not
show what you desire we will try again.</p>
<p class="center">Yours very truly,</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Walter B. Burrows</span>,<br />
<i>Professor of Zoology.</i></p>
<p class="pmt2">Mr. George E. Atkinson, to whom I am indebted
for much valuable data in this book, writes from
Portage La Prairie, Manitoba, July 21, 1905, as
follows:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
<p>I was on a holiday trip on the Assiniboia River last
week, and a pair of birds flew by me at a few yards'
distance, flashing the pigeon color to all appearances
in the sun and alighting on the bank. I turned my boat
and until after I shot the bird, I would have sworn it
was a pigeon, but it proved to be a large, bright
plumaged dove. Atmospheric conditions considerably
affected the size so that I am convinced that it is possible
for even the best of us to be deceived, and a scientific
record must not be formed on any supposition.</p>
<p class="tdr tdr2 smcap">Iron Mountain, Mich.,</p>
<p class="tdr">May 30, 1904.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Mr. W. B. Mershon</span>, Saginaw, Mich.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—In reply to your letter of inquiry respecting
the Passenger Pigeon, I will say that my knowledge
of it is very limited except from hearsay, but I am credibly
informed that it nested at the east end of Deerskin
Lake, Sec. 30, N44 W31, as late as 1888. Mr. Armstrong,
a timber cruiser, late a resident of this city, gave
me this information. He said there was a small colony
of less than a hundred birds then. Fire has since destroyed
the timber there and he doubted if they were
still there when he told me about them. Mr. A. was a
keen observer and thoroughly reliable; had been familiar
with the species when abundant in lower Michigan,
and I have great confidence in the accuracy of his reports.
I used to see them as late as 1883 in this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
vicinity. They were shot in the summer of 1883 during
the blueberry season. I should estimate that as
many as fifty birds were taken that summer. I cannot
imagine why they should have disappeared from this
region. I have no reports concerning the birds from
the north shore.</p>
<p>In 1897 a young bird was taken in the neighboring
town of Norway with a broken wing and identified by
hunters who had known the species in the day of its
abundance.</p>
<p>Dr. J. D. Cameron of this city informs me that he
saw a flock of about fifty birds flying over the St.
George Hospital of this place on the 28th of October,
1900. He was positive that he was not mistaken, as
the birds were flying low, and he had formerly been well
acquainted with the species in Canada. You can take
this latter for what it is worth. Dr. C's. veracity is
beyond question, but whether he could have mistaken
some other birds for the pigeons I am not prepared to
say. He is not interested in ornithology and I would not
expect him to recognize ordinary birds, but he may
have hunted the wild pigeon in his younger days
and so be familiar with its manner of flight. I
cannot imagine any other birds that he could mistake
for them.</p>
<p>I have an idea that I may have seen one myself in the
summer of 1900, but am not sufficiently well acquainted
with it to recognize it at sight. I fired at it with a .22
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
rifle, and the peculiar maneuvers which it executed in
the air as the bullet passed, attracted my attention. I
was afterward told that the wild pigeon tumbled in the
air that way when fired at. I thought at first that it
was hit.</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">E. E. Brewster</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">What Became of the Wild Pigeon?</p>
<p class="caption3">By Sullivan Cook, from "Forest and Stream," March 14, 1903.<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a></p>
<div class="footnote pmb2">
<p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> I think that anyone who reads this article will be, like myself, satisfied
that the destruction of the pigeons was wrought to gratify the avarice and
love of gain of a few men who slaughtered them until they were virtually
exterminated.—W. B. M.</p></div>
<div class="dropcap">W</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">W</span>HEN a boy and living in northern Ohio, I
often had to go with a gun and drive the
pigeons from the newly sown fields of wheat.
At that time wheat was sown broadcast, and pigeons
would come by the thousands and pick up the wheat
before it could be covered with the drag. My father
would say, "Get the gun and shoot at every pigeon you
see," and often I would see them coming from the woods
and alighting on the newly sowed field. They would
alight until the ground was fairly blue with these beautiful
birds.</p>
<p>I would secrete myself in a fence corner, and as these
birds would alight on the ground they would form themselves
in a long row, canvassing the field for grain, and
as the rear birds raised up and flew over those in front,
they reminded one of the little breakers on the ocean
beach, and as they came along in this form, they resembled
a windrow of hay rolling across the field.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
<p>I would wait until the end of this wave was opposite
my hiding place and then arise and fire into this windrow
of living, animated beauty, and I have picked up as
many as twenty-seven dead birds killed at a single shot
with an old flintlock smooth bore. Later in the fall
these birds would come in countless millions to feed
on the wild mast of beech nuts and acorns, and every
evening they would pass over our home, going west of
our place to what was known as Lodi Swamp.</p>
<p>Many and many a time have I seen clouds of birds
that extended as far as the eye could reach, and the
sound of their wings was like the roar of a tempest.
And for those who are not acquainted with the habits
and flight of these birds, I wish to say that once in the
month of November, while these pigeons were going
from their feeding grounds to this roost in the Lodi
Swamp, they were met with a storm of sleet and snow.
The wind blew so hard that they could not breast it and
were compelled to alight in a sugar orchard near our
place. This orchard consisted of twenty acres, where
the timber had all been cut out, except the maples, and
when they commenced alighting, the trees already partially
loaded with snow and ice, and the vast flock of
pigeons being attracted by those alighting, all sought the
same resting place.</p>
<p>Such vast numbers alighted that in a short time the
branches of the trees were broken and as fast as one
tree gave way those birds would alight on the already
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
loaded tree adjoining, and, that, too, was stripped of
its long and limber branches. Suffice it to say that in
a half hour's time this beautiful sugar orchard was
entirely ruined by the loads of birds which had attempted
to rest from the storm.</p>
<p>About this time I enjoyed my first pigeon hunt in
a roost. Being a boy about sixteen years of age, having
a brother about thirteen, and as we had seen the pigeons
going by to their roost for hours and knowing that
many people went there every night to shoot pigeons
on the roost, my brother and I were seized with a desire
to go and enjoy this exciting sport. Then arose
the difficulty of a gun suitable for the occasion. As
we had nothing but a small-bore rifle and not owning
a shotgun, we appealed to father as to what we should
do for a gun. We had previously gained his consent
to our going. He suggested that we take the old horse
pistol; one of the Revolutionary time, which had been
kept in the family as a reminder of troublesome years.</p>
<p>Let the young man of to-day, who hunts with the
improved breechloader, think of two boys starting
pigeon hunting, their only outfit consisting of a horse
pistol, barrel twelve inches long, caliber 12-gauge, flintlock,
one pound of No. 4 shot, a quarter of a pound of
powder, a pocket full of old newspaper for wadding,
a two-bushel bag to carry game in, and a tin lantern.
Thus equipped, we started for the pigeon roost a little
after dark. Although three miles from the roost when
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
we started from home, we could hear the sullen roar of
that myriad of birds, and the sound increased in volume
as we approached the roost, till it became as the roar
of the breakers upon the beach.</p>
<p>As we approached the swamp where the birds roosted,
a few scattered birds were frightened from the roost
along the edge of the swamp. These scattering birds
we could not shoot, but kept advancing further into the
swamp. As we approached this vast body of birds,
which bent the alders flat to the ground, we could see
every now and then ahead of us a small pyramid which
looked like a haystack in the darkness, and as we approached
what appeared to be this haystack, the
frightened birds would fly from the bended alders, and
we would find ourselves standing in the midst of a
diminutive forest of small trees of alders and willows.</p>
<p>We now found these apparent haystacks were only
small elms or willows completely loaded down with live
birds. My brother suggested that I shoot at the next
"haystack." So we advanced along very carefully
among the now upright alders till we came to where it
was a perfect roar of voices and wings, and just ahead
of us we saw one of those mysterious objects which so
resembled a haystack.</p>
<p>My brother suggested that I aim at the center of it
and let the old horse pistol go. I instantly obeyed his
suggestion, pointing as best I could in the dim light at
the center of that form, and pulled. There was a flash
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
and a roar, and the very atmosphere seemed to be alive
with flying, chattering birds. The old tin lantern was
lighted. The horse pistol was hunted for, as it had
recoiled with such force I had lost hold of it. The
gun being found, we then approached as nearly as we
could the place where I had shot at the stack. From
this discharge we picked up eighteen pigeons and saw
some hobbling away into thick brush, from which we
could not recover them. After an hour of this kind
of hunting our bag was full of pigeons, and our tallow
candle in the lantern nearly consumed. We retraced
our steps out of the swamp, and about 11 o'clock at
night arrived home well satisfied with the night's hunt
in the pigeon roost. We had had acres of enjoyment
and had brought home bushels of pigeons.</p>
<p>This is only to give an idea of what pigeons were in
northern Ohio in the days of my boyhood. This was in
the years of 1844 to 1846. In 1854, having grown to
man's estate, I moved to Michigan and settled in Cass
County, where I built a log house and began clearing
up a farm. After having cleared three or four fields
around my house, one morning one of my girls came
running in from out of doors and said: "Pa, come
out and see the pigeons."</p>
<p>I went to the door and saw scooting across my fields,
as it seemed skimming the surface of the earth, flock
after flock of the birds, one coming close upon the heels
of another. I hastened into the house and grasped my
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
double barreled shotgun, powder flask and shot pouch;
my little girl, then a miss of twelve summers, following
me. I took a stand on a slight rise in the middle of a
five-acre field and commenced shooting, you might say,
at wads of pigeons, so closely huddled were they as they
went by. Letting the birds get opposite me and firing
across the flock, I was enabled to kill from three to
fifteen pigeons at a shot. And my girl was wildly
excited, picking up the dead birds and catching the
winged ones and bringing them to me.</p>
<p>You never saw two mortals more busy than we were
for a half hour. At this time my wife called for breakfast,
as we were near the house, and I found my stock
of ammunition nearly exhausted. We went into the
house for our breakfast and when we came out the birds
were flying as thickly as ever. She says, let us count
the pigeons and see how many we have. We found we
had killed and picked up in this short time twenty-three
dozen. My wife said I had better take them to Three
Rivers, which was our nearest town, and sell them.
And as my ammunition was about exhausted, I hitched
up my team, took twenty dozen of the birds and drove
ten miles to the station, sold my birds for sixty-five
cents a dozen and returned home well satisfied with my
day's work, and having on hand a good supply of ammunition
for the next morning's flight.</p>
<p>Now I wish to pass along, the lapse of time being
about sixteen years. During this time I had removed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
from Cass County to Van Buren County, where I had
located in the beautiful village of Hartford. In the
year 1869 or 1870, the pigeoners, a class of men who
lived in Hartford, made a business of netting pigeons,
and they are living here yet, and not one of them
feels any pride in the part he took in the destruction
of these beautiful birds. In March, 1869, word was
received that a large flight of pigeons were coming
north through the State of Indiana. These men, who
had followed the pigeons for years, said, "As we have
snow on the ground they will be sure to nest near
here, and as we have had a big crop of beech nuts and
acorns last fall they will be sure to stop to get the
benefit of this mast." A queer thing about the pigeon
was that he always built his nest on the borders of the
snow, that is, where the ground underneath was covered
with snow.</p>
<p>Sure enough, as predicted, in two days after receiving
notice of the flight of the birds from Indiana,
myriads of pigeons were passing north along the east
shore of Lake Michigan, and soon scattering flocks were
seen going south towards the bare ground. In a few
days word was received that pigeons had gone to nesting
in what was then called Deerfield Township, a vast
body of hardwood and hemlock timber. Then it was
that the pigeon killers, with their nets, stool birds and
flyers commenced making preparations for the slaughter
of the beautiful birds when they began laying
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
their eggs. This takes place only three or four days
after they commence nesting, as a pigeon's nest is the
simplest nest ever built by a bird seen in a tree. It consists
of a few little twigs laid crosswise, without moss
or lining of any kind, and the lay of eggs is but one.
As soon as one egg is laid, they commence sitting, and
the male pigeon is quite a gentleman in his way, taking
his turn and sitting one-half of the time.</p>
<p>In about twelve or fourteen days—some claim twenty—the
young pigeon is hatched. As soon as hatched
the male and female birds commence feeding on what
is known as marsh feed, that is, on low, springy ground.
And from this feed is supplied to both the male and
female bird what is known as pigeon's milk, forming
inside of the crop a sort of curd, on which the young
pigeon is fed by both father and mother, who supply
this food. The young bird is gorged with this food,
and in a few days becomes as heavy as the parent
bird. Another singular thing about the wild pigeon
is that as the snow melts and the ground is left bare
where the nesting is, the old birds never eat the nuts
in the nesting, but leave them for the benefit of the
young one, and so when he comes off the nest he always
finds an abundance of food at his very door, as
it were. As soon as the young birds are able to leave
the nest and begin feeding on the ground in the
nesting, the old birds immediately forsake them, move
again on to the borders of the snow and start another
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
nesting. In five or ten days the young birds will follow
in the direction of the old birds.</p>
<p>When the young birds first come off the nest and
commence feeding on the ground, they are fat as
balls of butter, but in ten days from this time, when
they start on their northern flight to follow their
mother bird, they are poor as snakes, and almost unfit
to eat, while, when they first leave the nest they are
the most palatable morsel man ever tasted. However,
in about forty days from the time they began nesting to
the time they took their northern flight, there were
shipped from Hartford and vicinity, three carloads a
day of these beautiful meteors of the sky. Each car
containing 150 barrels with 35 dozen in a barrel, making
the daily shipment 24,750 dozen.</p>
<p>Young men who are now hunting for something to
shoot and wondering what has become of our game,
must hear with anger and regret such reports as this
from western Michigan in the days gone by: "In three
years' time there were caught and shipped to New York
and other eastern cities 990,000 dozen pigeons, and in
the two succeeding years it was estimated by the same
men who caught the pigeons at Hartford that there
were one-third more shipped from Shelby than from
Hartford; and from Petoskey, Emmett County, two
years later, it is now claimed by C. H. Engle, a resident
of this town, who was a participant in this ungodly
slaughter, that there were shipped five carloads a day
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
for thirty days, with an average of 8,250 dozen to the
carload. Now, when one asks you what has become of
the wild pigeons, refer them to C. H. Engle, Stephen
Stowe, Chas. Sherburne, and Hiram Corwin, and a man
by the name of Miles from Wisconsin, Mr. Miles having
caught 500 dozen in a single day. And when you
are asked what has become of the wild pigeons, figure
up the shipping bills, and they will show what has
become of this, the grandest game bird that ever cleft
the air of any continent."</p>
<p>My young friends, I want to humbly ask your forgiveness
for having taken a small part in the destruction
of this, the most exciting of sport. And there is
not one of us but is ashamed of the slaughter which has
robbed you of enjoyment. If we had been restrained
by laws of humanity, you, too, could have enjoyed this
sport for years to come.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></p>
<p class="caption2">A Novel Theory of Extinction</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">By C. H. Ames and Robert Ridgway</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Boston</span>, March 8, 1906.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Mr. W. B. Mershon</span>:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Thank you for your note of the third
in reply to mine of the first, in regard to your book on
the Passenger Pigeon. I note that you say:</p>
<p class="smaller">"There is room to make additions if you think you have something
that would be interesting, and would like to submit it to me for my
consideration."</p>
<p>Thanking you for your courtesy in the matter, I beg
to say that I have long had great interest in the problem
of the so sudden and complete destruction of this
great species, and have from the first been quite unable
to believe that the ordinarily assigned agencies for the
destruction of the pigeon were adequate, or anywhere
near adequate, to make a destruction so sudden and
complete.</p>
<p>Several accounts which have come to my notice have
strengthened my view. I know well that the attack of
man and beast upon the pigeons in their rookeries, or
breeding places, was fierce, persistent and enormously
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
destructive, and that at these breeding places the destroyers
gathered in great numbers, but, with my vivid
recollection of the tremendous flights of pigeons which
I myself saw in the '60's in northern Illinois, the wide
distribution of the bird, and what I know of its migratory
habits (I wish I knew very much more about these
habits), I cannot think that in so few years the practical
destruction of the species could be effected by the means
referred to.</p>
<p>Years ago—I cannot tell how many, but I am confident
it must have been at about the time of the disappearance
of the great pigeon flights—I read an account,
either in or quoted from a New Orleans newspaper, giving
the stories of several ship captains and sailors who
had arrived in New Orleans from the Gulf of Mexico.
They stated that they had, in crossing the Gulf, sailed
over leagues and leagues of water covered, and covered
thickly, with dead pigeons. The supposition was that
an enormous flight of the pigeons crossing the waters
of the Gulf had been overwhelmed by a cyclone, or
some such atmospheric disturbance, and that the birds
had been whirled into the surf and drowned.</p>
<p>I have been told by competent ornithologists connected
with the Boston Society of Natural History that
Pigeon Cove, a well-known and much frequented extremity
of Cape Ann, near Gloucester, Mass., received
its name from the fact that a large flight of pigeons was
similarly overwhelmed in flying along the Atlantic near
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
that place, and that their bodies covered the shore in
"windrows."</p>
<p>Not more than two years ago, if so long, I read a
lengthy and signed account in a Montreal paper of a similar
catastrophe to a great flight of pigeons in attempting
to cross Lake Michigan, and similar statement was
made that for miles the beach above Milwaukee was
heaped and piled with "windrows" of dead pigeons.</p>
<p>Within two or three years several accounts have
reached us, bearing every mark of believability, that
considerable flights of geese, swans and ducks have
been drowned in the surf off the New Jersey and Maryland
shores. These flights of birds have been overwhelmed
in a sudden storm or gale of wind, which beat
them down into the surf where they were drowned, their
bodies drifting about, and some of them being thrown
up on the shore.</p>
<p>These accounts have come from fishermen, sportsmen
and others, and I see no reason whatever to doubt
that a flight of birds of any species known could easily
be destroyed if caught off shore in some of the wind
storms of which we have so many instances. I have
frequently in <i>Forest and Stream</i> propounded my
theory and asked for information about it before it
became too late. The whole theory stands or falls, as
it seems to me, with the ascertainment of the southern
limit of the migration of the great pigeon flight. If
the birds did not cross the Gulf of Mexico there is far
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
less likelihood of my theory being the correct one,
though my inquiries in <i>Forest and Stream</i> elicited
one very circumstantial account of an enormous destruction
of pigeons on the Gulf Coast, the birds being
blown into the Gulf and destroyed by a fierce "norther"
which beat down the coast for two or three days. Persons
familiar with this phenomena of the Texas
"norther" need no help to their imaginations in seeing
how a pigeon flight, being caught on the shores of the
Gulf by such a wind could be practically destroyed.</p>
<p>I do not know that you will think my theory worth
any consideration, but I have finally interested a number
of ornithologists who share my view that the final and
sudden wiping out of the great bulk of the pigeon flight
must have been by some cataclysmic agency. It seems
to me that the question is one of great interest from
the point of view of the naturalist and biologist, and
well worth serious investigation by all who care for
these things. I shall be pleased to know if what I have
said seems to you of interest and to have any weight.</p>
<p>Wishing you all success in your admirable undertaking,
and anticipating with great pleasure the results
of your studies in your proposed book, I am,</p>
<p class="center">Yours very truly,</p>
<p class="tdr pmb2"><span class="smcap">C. H. Ames.</span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>
<p class="hanging"><i>Memorandum prepared by Mr. Robert Ridgway, Curator
of the Division of Birds, U. S. National Museum,
to accompany letter to Mr. W. B. Mershon, Saginaw,
Mich.</i></p>
<p>If Mr. Mershon will communicate on the subject of
Passenger Pigeons with Mr. William Brewster,<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> 145
Brattle Street, Cambridge, Mass., he may get some
data which will (or ought to) dismiss from consideration
the idea that the passenger pigeon could have been
exterminated in the manner suggested by Mr. Ames.
During a visit to northern Michigan, Mr. Brewster
talked with a great many pigeon netters. I have forgotten
the figures, and may be very inexact in my recollection
of them, but my recollection is that at one
"roost" there were one hundred netters who averaged
one thousand (it may have been ten thousand) pigeons
per day. When it is considered that this was the rate
of destruction at one locality in one State only, that
the same was going on in other States, and that tens of
thousands were being killed by hunters and others, and
this year after year, I cannot see anything surprising in
the eventual extermination of the species, no matter
how numerously represented originally.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> See
Chapter VII, "Netting the Pigeon" by Wm. Brewster.</p></div>
<p>Nothing in the history of the Passenger Pigeon is
more certainly known than the fact that its range to
the southward <i>did not extend beyond the United States</i>.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
There is a single Cuban record, but the occurrence was
purely accidental. The migrations of the Passenger
Pigeon were wholly different in their character from
those of true emigrants, that is to say, they were influenced
or controlled purely by the matter of food
supply, as in the case of the robin and some other birds,
and the flights were as often from west to east and
<i>vice versa</i> as from south to north or north to south; in
short, the flocks moved about in various directions in
their search for food or nesting places. For myself,
I do not believe in the story of drowning in the Gulf
of Mexico for two reasons. In the first place the birds
are extremely unlikely to have been there, a hurricane
from the <i>northward</i> being absolutely necessary to explain
their presence in that quarter, and, in the second
place, no such explanation is needed in view of what is
known to be the facts concerning their wholesale destruction
by human agency alone.</p>
<p>The range of the Passenger Pigeon was limited to
the mixed hardwood forest region of the eastern
United States and Canada, and any that occurred beyond
were stragglers, pure and simple. Consequently
it was not found, except as stragglers, in the long-leaf
pine belt of the Gulf Coast, but only on the uplands
from northern or middle Alabama, Mississippi, and
Louisiana, northward.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">News from John Burroughs</p>
<div class="dropcap">W</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">W</span>HEN the following report from so high an
authority as John Burroughs appeared in
<i>Forest and Stream</i> it seemed too important
to be overlooked. I therefore ventured to open a
correspondence with this famous naturalist, even suggesting
that his informants might have mistaken some
other species of migratory bird for a flight of wild
pigeons. I had once made a similar mistake in Texas
when the northern migration of the curlews was in full
flight. Countless flocks of them were streaming past at
a considerable distance from me, and I could have sworn
they were wild pigeons until I was lucky enough to see
them at much closer range. Even now the newspapers
east and west contain an annual crop of wild pigeon
reports, most of which are to be found fake reports
upon careful investigation. It has happened often that
hunters and woodsmen mistake the wild dove for the
pigeon, and refuse to believe otherwise. The correspondence
explains itself, however, and is a valuable
contribution to the subject in hand.</p>
<p class="tdr">W. B. M.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption3">A FLOCK OF WILD PIGEONS<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></p>
<div class="footnt_cntr">
<a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_F_6" class="label"><span>[F]</span></a> From
<i>Forest and Stream</i>, May 19, 1906.
</div>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">West Park, N. Y.</span>, May 11th.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Editor</span> <i>Forest and Stream</i>:</p>
<p>I have received evidence which is to me entirely convincing
that a large flock of Passenger Pigeons was seen
to pass over the village of Prattsville, Greene County,
this State, late one afternoon about the middle of April.
The fact was first reported in the local paper, the Prattsville
<i>News</i>. An old boyhood schoolmate of mine,
Charles W. Benton, was, with others, reported to have
seen them. I have corresponded with Mr. Benton and
have no doubt the pigeons were seen as stated. Mr.
Benton saw pigeons, clouds of them, in his boyhood,
and could not well be mistaken. He says it was about
5 o'clock, and that the flock stretched out across the
valley about one-half mile and must have contained
many hundreds. It came from the southeast, and went
northwest. Mr. Benton says that a large flock was reported
last year as having passed over the village of
Catskill, and that a wild pigeon was shot near Prattsville
last fall. A friend of mine saw two pigeons in the
woods at West Point a year or so ago.</p>
<p>I have no doubt, therefore, that the wild pigeon is
still with us, and that if protected we may yet see them
in something like their numbers of thirty years ago.</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">John Burroughs.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
<p class="pmt2 tdr"><span class="smcap">West Park</span>, N. Y., May 27, 1906.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">To W. B. Mershon:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—I can give you no more definite information
about that flock of pigeons than I reported to
<i>Forest and Stream</i>. I have no doubt about the fact.
If you will write to C. W. Benton, Prattsville, N. Y.,
he can put you in communication with several people
who saw the flock.</p>
<p>I am just about to write to <i>Forest and Stream</i> of
another very large flock of pigeons that was seen to pass
over the city of Kingston, N. Y., on the morning of the
15th. I have written to Judge A. T. Clearwater of
that city, who replies that he has talked with many persons
who saw the pigeons and who had seen the pigeons
years ago. The flock is described as a mile long. I
am going up to Kingston soon to question the persons
who saw the flock. If I learn anything to discredit the
story I will let you know. We never have a flight of
any birds here that could be mistaken for pigeons by
any one who had ever seen the latter. If these flocks
were pigeons, where have they been hiding all these
years?</p>
<p class="center">Very sincerely yours,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">John Burroughs.</p>
<p class="pmt2 tdr"><span class="smcap">Prattsville</span>, N. Y., June 9, 1906.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">W. B. Mershon</span>, Saginaw, Mich.:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Yours of the 6th inst. is before me and
I hasten to reply. Now, in the first place, you speak
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
of John Burroughs. Mr. Burroughs and I went to
school together when we were boys, and, as you say, he
is a good authority on natural history, and I have had
some communication with him on the pigeon question.
I live in the heart of the Catskill Mountains, which was
once a great resort for wild pigeons, and I have seen a
vast number of them, dating back as far as 1848, when
this country was literally covered with them, and for
some years after. Now in regard to the wild pigeons
I saw this spring. I was going to my home in the village
of Prattsville, in company with a man by the name
of M. E. Kreiger, one Sunday afternoon, and when
near my house we stopped to talk a few minutes, when,
on looking up, we saw the flock of pigeons. They were
coming from the southeast and went to the northwest.
The flock was about one-half mile long and flew in the
same manner as pigeons of old. There were thousands
of them. Now in regard to ducks, teal and plover, we
never see any of them here in the mountains, though
once in a while a few ducks, but only in small flocks of
seven or eight in a bunch; and there are no birds that
gather in flocks here but crows in the fall, but never at
any other time. Wild geese fly over here in the fall.</p>
<p>The <i>Daily Leader</i>, a daily paper published in Kingston,
Ulster County, N. Y., contained an item a few
weeks since stating that a flock of wild pigeons passed
over the city a short time ago. The flock was about
one mile long and contained many thousands. And in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
the spring of 1905, the <i>Catskill Recorder</i>, a newspaper
published in this county, reported seeing a flock similar
to the one seen at Kingston.</p>
<p>Wishing you success on your fishing trip, I am,</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="smcap tdr">C. W. Benton.</p>
<p class="caption3">THE SULLIVAN COUNTY PIGEONS</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">West Park</span>, N. Y., June 30th.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Editor</span> <i>Forest and Stream</i>:</p>
<p>Since I wrote you a few weeks ago, I have been looking
up the men who were reported to have seen wild
pigeons recently. I have seen six men who are positive
they have seen flocks of wild pigeons—some of them
two years ago, and some of them this past spring. As
these men were all past middle age and had been
familiar with the pigeon thirty and forty years ago and
were, moreover, men reported truthful and sober by
their neighbors, and who impressed me as being entirely
reliable, I feel bound to credit their several statements.
At De Bruce, Sullivan County, Mr. Cooper,
the postmaster and village blacksmith, said he had seen
a large flock of pigeons in the fall two years ago. They
were about a buckwheat field. He pointed out the hill
about which they were flying. Mr. Cooper had shot
and trapped a great many pigeons years ago, and was
sure he could not mistake any other bird for a pigeon.
A farmer, whose name I do not now remember and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
who heard Mr. Cooper's statement, said he saw a large
flock last fall about a buckwheat field, in the same town.
This man was reported to me as perfectly reliable, and
he gave me that impression.</p>
<p>At Port Ewen, I met a Hudson River shad fisherman,
Mr. Van Vliet, who said he had seen early one
morning in April or May, two years ago, a flock of wild
pigeons over the Hudson. He estimated the flock as
containing seventy or eighty birds. Mr. Van Vliet is
a man nearly seventy years old, and one cannot look
into his face and have him speak and doubt for a moment
the truth of what he is saying. When I asked
him if he knew the wild pigeon, he smiled good-humoredly
and said he knew them as well as he knew
anything; he had lived in the time of pigeons, and had
killed hundreds of them.</p>
<p>Another man, one of the leading grocerymen of Port
Ewen, said he had seen a very large flock of pigeons
between 4 and 5 o'clock on May 15 last, flying over
as he was on his way to open his store. His hired man,
who was with him, also saw them. Mr. Van Leuven
had also seen pigeons in his youth and described to me
accurately their manner of flight and the form of the
flock against the sky. A neighbor of his told me he
had seen a flock of fifteen or twenty pigeons on a foggy
morning only a few days before. The rush of their
wings overhead first attracted his attention to them.
But he had never seen wild pigeons, and might have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
been deceived, though he was sure they were pigeons
by their speed and general look.</p>
<p>None of these men could have had any motive in
trying to deceive me, and I feel bound to credit their
stories. Their statements, taken in connection with the
statement of my old schoolfellow at Prattsville, N. Y.,
of whom I wrote you, makes me believe that there is a
large flock of wild pigeons that still at times frequents
this part of the State, and perhaps breeds somewhere
in the wilds of Sullivan or Ulster County. But they
ought to be heard from elsewhere—from the south or
southwest in winter.</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">John Burroughs.</span></p>
<p>P. S.—Just as I finished the above, I came upon the
following in the Poughkeepsie <i>Sunday Courier</i>:</p>
<p>"We noticed recently an item asking whether wild
pigeons are returning. Sullivan County people seem
to be taking the lead in answering the question, but a
Dutchess County farmer named David Rosell, living
near Fishkill Plains, who was familiar with the aforesaid
birds in old days, reports having seen a flock of
about thirty feeding on his buckwheat patch one morning
last week, which gives evidence that the birds are
not extinct as supposed, but a flock may merely be
taking a tour around the world like Magellan of old.
Mr. Rosell stated that he had not seen any before in
about forty years. At first sight, he could hardly believe
his eyes, but he was not long in becoming convinced
of their identity."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Pigeon in Manitoba<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a>
<a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a></p>
<p class="caption3">By George E. Atkinson</p>
<div class="footnote pmb2">
<p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a>
<a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> This
paper was read at a meeting of the Manitoba Historical and
Scientific Society at Winnepeg in 1905, by the author, a naturalist, residing
at Portage la Prairie.</p></div>
<div class="dropcap">W</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">W</span>HILE the biological history of any country
records the decrease and disappearance of
many forms of life due to just or unjust circumstances,
it remains for the historical records of
North America to reveal a career of human selfishness
which may be considered the paragon. Within four
centuries of North American civilization (or modified
barbarism) we can be credited with the wiping into the
past of at least three species of animal life originally
so phenomenally abundant and so strikingly characteristic
in themselves as to evoke the wonder and amazement
of the entire world. And, sad to relate, so effectual
has been the extermination, that it is doubtful if
our descendants a few generations hence will be able to
learn anything whatever about them save through the
medium of books. While herein again we shall be just
subjects of their censure for having manifestly failed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
to preserve in history's archives any material amount of
specific information.</p>
<p>The early settlers landing upon the Atlantic coast
between Newfoundland and the Carolinas found them
in possession of armies of great auks, and the few scraps
of authenticated history which we now possess disclose
a most iniquitous course of wanton slaughter and destruction
which ended in the complete extinction of the
bird over sixty years ago. Yet in the face of this destruction
there remain but four mounted specimens and
two eggs in the collections of North America to-day,
while but seventy skins remain in the collections of the
entire world.</p>
<p>If possible, more ruthless and inhuman was the carnage
waged against the noble buffalo, the countless
thousands of which roaming over virgin prairies excited
the wonder and amazement of the entire sporting
and scientific world, and which, to-day, are represented
only in the zoölogical parks, where all individuality
will eventually be lost in domestication.</p>
<p>Coincident almost with the passing of the buffalo
we have to record the decline and fall of the Passenger
Pigeon, a bird which aroused the excitement and wonder
of the entire world during the first half of the last
century because of its phenomenal numbers; a bird also
which stood out unique in character and individuality
among the 300 described pigeons of the world and
which won the admiration of every ornithologist who
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
was fortunate enough to have experience with it living
or dead. Yet it was not exempt from the oppression
of its human foe, who has been instrumental, through
interference with the breeding and feeding grounds and
through a continued persecution and ruthless slaughter
for the market, in reducing the species almost beyond
the hope of salvation.</p>
<p>The Passenger Pigeon, the species under observation,
was first described under the genus <i>Columba</i>, or type
pigeons, but subsequently Swainson separated it from
these and placed it under the genus <i>Ectopistes</i> because
of the greater length of wing and tail.</p>
<p>Generically named <i>Ectopistes</i>, meaning moving about
or wandering, and specifically named <i>Migratoria</i>, meaning
migratory, we have a technical name implying not
only a species of migrating annually to and from their
breeding ground, but one given to moving about from
season to season, selecting the most congenial environment
for both breeding and feeding.</p>
<p>. . . With all the knowledge we have possessed of
the inestimable multitudes which existed during the
early part of the last century, and with their decline,
begun and noted generally in the later sixties and early
seventies, we still find that no steps whatever were taken
to prevent their possible depletion, and few records of
any value are made of the continuance or speed of this
decrease; and not until the last decade of the century
do we awake to the fact that the pigeons are gone beyond
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
the possibility of a return in any numbers. When
a few years later reports are made that pigeons still
exist and are again increasing, scientific investigation
shows that the mourning dove has been mistaken for
the pigeon or that the band-tailed pigeon of California
is taken for the old Passenger Pigeon, and so we have
continued since the early nineties investigating rumors
of their appearance from all over America, north and
south, and the West India Islands, but all reports point
us to the past for the pigeon and some other species
under suspicion. . . . I doubt very much if the
historian desirous of compiling any historical work
would find himself confronted with such a decided blank
in historical records during an important period as that
confronted in the compilation of a historical record of
the Passenger Pigeon within any district which it formerly
frequented during the period from about 1870,
when the decline was first noticed, to 1890, when the
birds had practically passed away. . . .</p>
<p>In this matter, Mr. J. H. Fleming of Toronto, in
writing me, says: "The pigeons seem to have gone off
like dynamite. Nobody expected it and nobody prepared
a series of skins"; and to this I can add that no
one seems to have made any series of records of the
birds from year to year. Since their disappearance,
however, things have changed: everybody is alert for
pigeons, and everybody has a theory; but beyond offering
subject of social conversation, or awakening a recital
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
of old pigeon experiences from the old timers,
these rumors and theories seem to return to the winds
from whence they came.</p>
<p>The latest theory advanced to me by a correspondent
is the possibility of some disturbance of the elements in
the shape of a cyclone, or a storm striking a migrating
host in crossing the Gulf of Mexico and destroying them
almost completely. This is a plausible theory, but I am
unable to conceive how such immense hosts of pigeons
as are recorded up to 1865 could possibly have met
with sudden disaster in this manner, even in the center
of the Gulf, without leaving some wreckage to tell the
story, and such is not recorded. While again I do not
think that the entire host would cross the Gulf, but that
a large portion of the migrating birds would take an
overland route through Mexico and Central America
to the southern boundary of their flight. Personally I
am inclined to cherish my original contentions that the
continued disturbance of the breeding and feeding
grounds, both by the slaughter of the birds for market
and by the dissipating of the original immense colonies
by the clearing of the hardwood and pine forests of the
United States and eastern Canada, compelling these
sections of the main column to travel farther in search
of congenial environment, curtailing the breeding season,
and, I have no doubt, frequently preventing many
from breeding for several seasons.</p>
<p>While the persistent persecution and destruction for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
the market was in no way proportionately lessened in
the vicinity of these smaller colonies as long as a sufficient
number of the birds remained to make the traffic
profitable, it can at once be seen that this continued drain
upon these smaller colonies, when other conditions were
becoming more difficult for the birds to contend with,
would be instrumental in depleting the entire former
main column to a point when netting and shooting were
no longer profitable; and, the remnant of these colonies
having to run a gantlet of persecution over their entire
course of migration to and from winter quarters,
there could be but one result to such proceeding, and
that one we now face; extermination.</p>
<p>Of these records made during the pigeons' day, as
we might call it, the earliest we have are those made
by a Mr. T. Hutchins, who was a Hudson's Bay Company
trader, operating for some twenty-five years in
the district adjacent to Hudson's Bay, during which
time he made copious notes of the birds frequenting
that district, which were afterwards published by
Pennant in his "Arctic Zoölogy" in 1875. He says in
part:</p>
<p>"The first pigeon I shall take note of is one I received
at Severn in 1771; and, having sent it home to
Mr. Pennant, he informed me that it was the <i>migratoria</i>
species. They are very numerous inland and visit our
settlement in the summer. They are plentiful about
Moose Factory and inland, where they breed, choosing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
an arboreous situation. The gentlemen number them
among the many delicacies the Hudson's Bay affords
our tables. It is a hardy bird, continuing with us until
December. In summer their food is berries, but after
these are covered with snow, they feed upon the juniper
buds. They lay two eggs and are gregarious. About
1756 these birds migrated as far north as York Factory,
but remained only two days."</p>
<p>In a report issued in 1795, Samuel Hearne also reports
the birds being abundant inland from the southern
portion of Hudson's Bay, but states that, though good
eating, they were seldom fat.</p>
<p>The first provincial record is that made by Sir John
Richardson in 1827, in which he says: "A few hordes
of Indians who frequent the low floods districts at the
south end of Lake Winnipeg subsist principally on the
pigeons during the period when the sturgeon fishing is
unproductive and the wild rice is still unripened, but
farther north the birds are too few in numbers to furnish
material diet."</p>
<p>I presume that he means farther up the Lake Winnipeg
shores, since Hutchins and Hearne both reported
them common nearer Hudson's Bay.</p>
<p>The early records of the birds in eastern Canada in
later years corroborate the earlier statements of Wilson
and Audubon in almost every particular; and one acquainted
with the timbered conditions of the country
to the immediate west of the Red River Valley and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
north of the American boundary line can readily appreciate
the utter inadequacy of an acceptable food supply
for these countless millions of pigeons; and we can also
readily understand how very soon the breaking up of
the original hardwood forests of eastern Canada would
tend to decrease the visible food supply and cause these
hungry millions to seek new pastures.</p>
<p>The breaking of these feeding grounds would first
be instrumental in scattering or breaking up the largest
flocks, and even the very long distances the bird was
able to fly from breeding to feeding ground would be
exceeded, necessitating next the nesting in smaller colonies,
where careless nesting habits with continued changing
conditions would tend to continue to decline their
numbers, while the tenacity with which even the smaller
roosts were clung to by man, like leeches to a frog, and
the hapless victim shot, netted and stolen from the nest
before maturity, was but another effectual and not the
least responsible agent in the relegation of the pigeon
to that past from which none return.</p>
<p>When I decided to attempt the preparation of a review
history of the pigeon in Manitoba, I felt that,
having had practically no experience with the bird myself,
I should have to depend upon the reports of representative
pioneers of the country for my facts as to the
numbers of the birds formerly found here, and the
period of their decline and disappearance. I accordingly
drafted a series of questions which I submitted to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
these gentlemen, and I have to tender them all my sincere
thanks, as well as that of the scientific world, for
the ready responses and the conciseness of the information
received.</p>
<p>One of the earliest residents of Portage la Prairie,
Mr. George A. Garrioch, informs me:</p>
<p>"I was born in Manitoba and came to Portage la
Prairie about 1853. I was then only about six years
old, and as far back as I can remember pigeons were
very numerous.</p>
<p>"They passed over every spring, usually during the
mornings, in very large flocks, following each other in
rapid succession.</p>
<p>"I do not think they bred in any numbers in the
province, as I only remember seeing one nest; this contained
two eggs.</p>
<p>"The birds, to my recollection, were most numerous
in the fifties, and the decline was noticed in the later
sixties and continued until the early eighties, when they
disappeared. I have observed none since until last year,
when I am positive I saw a single male bird south of the
town of Portage la Prairie."</p>
<p>Mr. Angus Sutherland of Winnipeg, in reply to my
interrogation, states:</p>
<p>"I was born in the present city of Winnipeg and have
lived here over fifty years. The wild pigeons were very
numerous in my boyhood. They frequented the mixed
woods about the city, and while undoubtedly many birds
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
bred here, I remember no extensive breeding colonies
in the province, and believe the great majority passed
farther north to breed. About 1870 the decrease in
their numbers was most pronouncedly manifest, this decline
continuing until the early eighties, when they had
apparently all disappeared, and I have seen only occasional
birds since, and none of late years."</p>
<p>Mr. W. J. McLean, formerly of the Hudson's Bay
Company and at present a resident of Winnipeg, sends
me some valuable information, which supports my contention
regarding the influence of food supply. He
writes:</p>
<p>"I came to the Red River Settlement in 1860 and
found the pigeons very plentiful on my arrival. The
birds came in many thousands, and great numbers of
them bred in the northeastern portion of the province
through the district north of the Lake of the Woods
and Rainy Lake, where the cranberry and blueberry
are abundant. These fruits constitute their chief food
supply, as they remain on the bushes and retain much
of their food properties until well on into the summer
following their growth. They also feed largely on
acorns wherever they abound. The decline began about
the early seventies, and 1877 was the first year in which
I encountered large flocks of them passing northwesterly
from White Sand River near Fort Pelly. This was on
a dull, drizzling day about the middle of May, and I
presume they were then heading towards the Barren
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
Grounds district, where the blueberry and the cranberry
are very abundant."</p>
<p>Mr. E. H. G. G. Hay, formerly police magistrate of
Portage la Prairie, now of St. Andrews, reports:</p>
<p>"I came to the country in June, 1861, and found that
the pigeons were abundant previous to my arrival. To
give you an idea of their numbers, a Mr. Thompson of
St. Andrews some mornings caught with a net about
ten feet square as many as eighty dozen, and in the
spring of 1864 I fired into a flock as they rose from
the ground and picked up seventeen birds.</p>
<p>"The birds were mostly migratory in what is now
known as Manitoba, and most of them went farther
north after the seeding season. I never heard of any
extensive rookeries such as those observed in the east
and south. The few that bred here frequented mixed
poplar and spruce. They seemed most numerous in the
sixties and began to show signs of decreasing about
1869 or 1870, and by 1875 they had all disappeared
and I have only seen an occasional bird since."</p>
<p>Mr. William Clark of the Hudson's Bay Company,
Winnipeg, informs me:</p>
<p>"The first place I remember having seen pigeons in
Manitoba was at White Horse Plains (St. François
Xavier) in 1865, where they were very numerous,
breeding in the oak trees in that district. Two years
after this I went to Oak Point on Lake Manitoba, but
do not remember the birds there then nor since."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
<p>Mr. Charles A. Boultbee of Macgregor, Man., replies
as follows:</p>
<p>"I have resided in Manitoba since 1872, and have
taken pigeons as far north as Fort Pelly in the fall of
1874, but know nothing of them previously. In our
district they usually made their appearance in the fall
and fed upon the grain. They continued fairly numerous
until about 1882, at which time we had to drive
them from the grain stocks, but they then disappeared
and only stragglers have been noted since."</p>
<p>There is no doubt that many other reports could have
been secured, but, as all seem to tend toward the one
conclusion, I shall save time and space by summarizing
the information at hand.</p>
<p>Some months ago I made a statement in an article,
written for local interest, to the effect that Manitoba
had never been the home of the wild pigeon. By this
I meant that, because of unfavorable breeding and feeding
conditions within the province, only the smallest
percentage of the enormous flocks recorded for the
south and east could possibly exist here. The records
here collected support me in this contention so far as
that portion of the province west of the Red River is
concerned, but the record of Sir John Richardson tends
to show that favorable conditions must have existed immediately
south of Lake Winnipeg, through what he
calls a low-lying district, and where we can assume that
the cranberry and blueberry were abundant, as they
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
were through the district subsequently reported by Mr.
McLean to the east and northeast of this district.
There is no doubt that the difference in the character
of the country east of the Red River from that of the
west would present more favorable conditions for the
birds, but not in one case has it been shown that the
birds nested in colonies approaching the size of the
famous eastern and southern roosts. Reports seem
rather to show that those which bred within the province
were more generally scattered over the country, at
the same time being numerous enough to permit the
shooter and the netter to make a profitable business of
killing the birds.</p>
<p>All evidence seems to show that large numbers passed
through the province to and from a northern breeding
ground, possibly that recorded by Hutchins near Hudson's
Bay and to the westward, and that they were excessively
numerous up to about 1870, when they began
to decrease. As to the latest authenticated records, I
quote from notes in my pamphlet on "Rare Bird
Records:"</p>
<p>"The beautiful specimen of the Passenger Pigeon that
I have been able to secure for illustration is loaned me
by Mr. Dan Smith of Winnipeg, who shot it in St.
Boniface, southeast of the cathedral, in the fall of 1893;
and, so far as I have been able to discover, it was the
last bird found in the vicinity of Winnipeg, while the
only specimen in the flesh which I was ever privileged
to handle in Manitoba was killed at Winnipegosis on
April 10, 1896, and sent me to be mounted."</p>
<div id="fp198" class="figcenter" style="width: 448px;">
<img src="images/fp_198.png" width="448" height="600" alt="" />
<p class="fig_caption">Photo by C. O. Whitman (University of Chicago)</p>
<div class="smaller">
<p class="pmt2 tdr">October 16, 1906.</p>
<p class="smcap p0">Mr. W. B. Mershon,</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—I am much chagrined over
my carelessness in overlooking your request for a photo of a young
Passenger Pigeon. I had best of intentions, but crowded work threw
this out of mind. I should have attended to it at first, had it been
easy to get at the picture. I have been away all summer and found
things misplaced on my return. I fear it is now too late, but send the
picture to be used if you are still able to do so. I shall be very
much interested to see your book. I still have two female pigeons and
two hybrids between a former male pigeon and the common Ring-dove. The
hybrids are unfortunately infertile males.</p>
<p class="center">Very truly,</p>
<p class="tdr smcap">C. O. Whitman.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
<p>Since that time I have expended much effort in following
up rumors of the bird's presence in various districts
with a view of locating a breeding pair. Not
only have I sought to secure a bird to mount, but also
to get a live pair, or the eggs while fresh, to assist in
the preservation of the pigeon in a partially domesticated
state, since the only specimens now living in captivity
are those owned by Prof. Whitman of the University
of Chicago, who, in writing me, says: "My
stock seems to have come to a complete standstill, having
raised no young for the last four years. The weakness
is due to long inbreeding, as my birds are from a
single pair captured about twenty-five years ago in
Wisconsin. I have long tried to secure new stock, but
have been unsuccessful. A single pair would enable me
to save them, for they breed well in confinement.</p>
<p>"I have crossed them with ring doves, and still have
three hybrids, but as these are infertile there is no hope
of even preserving these half-breeds alive. Of all the
wild pigeons in the world the Passenger Pigeon is my
favorite. No other pigeon combines so many fine qualities
in form, color, strength and perfection of wing
power."</p>
<p>I am enabled through the kindness of Prof. Whitman
to exhibit a photograph of one of his younger birds
taken in his aviary at Chicago.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">The Passenger Pigeon in Confinement</p>
<p class="caption2">(<i>Ectopistes migratorius</i>)</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">From "The Auk," July, 1896.</p>
<div class="dropcap">I</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">I</span>N the <i>American Field</i> of December 5, 1895, I
noticed a short note, stating that Mr. David
Whittaker of Milwaukee, Wis., had in a spacious
inclosure a flock of fifty genuine wild pigeons. Being
much interested of late in this bird, I at once wrote to
Mr. Whittaker, asking for such information in detail
regarding his birds as he could give me, but, owing to
absence from the city, he did not reply. Still being
anxious to learn something further regarding this interesting
subject, I recently wrote to a correspondent
in Milwaukee, asking him to investigate the matter. In
due time I received his reply, stating that he had seen
the pigeons, but that the flock consisted of fifteen instead
of fifty birds, and inviting me to join him and
spend a few hours of rare pleasure.</p>
<p>On March 1, 1896, I visited Milwaukee, and made
a careful inspection of this beautiful flock. I am
greatly indebted to Mr. Whittaker, through whose
courtesy we saw and heard so much of value and interest,
not only in regard to his pet birds, but also about
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
his large experience with the wild pigeon in its native
haunts; for, being a keen observer of nature, and having
been a prospector for many years among the timber
and mining regions of Wisconsin, Michigan and Canada,
his opportunities for observation have been extensive.
In the fall of 1888 Mr. Whittaker received
from a young Indian two pairs of pigeons, one of
adults and the other quite young. They were trapped
near Lake Shawano, in Shawano County in northeastern
Wisconsin.</p>
<p>Shortly after being confined, one of the old birds
scalped itself by flying against the wire netting, and
died; the other one escaped. The young pair were,
with much care and watching, successfully raised, and
from these the flock has increased to its present number,
six males and nine females. The inclosure, which
is not large, is built behind and adjoining the house,
situated on a high bluff overlooking Milwaukee River.
It is built of wire netting and inclosed on the top and
two sides with glass. There is but slight protection
from the cold, and the pigeons thrive in zero weather
as well as in summer. A few branches and poles are
used for roosting, and two shelves, about one foot wide
and partitioned off, though not inclosed, are where the
nests are built and the young are raised. It was several
years before Mr. Whittaker successfully raised the
young, but, by patient experimenting with various kinds
of food, he has been rewarded. The destruction of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
nests and egg, at times by the female, more often by
others of the flock, and the killing of the young birds,
after they leave the nest, by the old males, explains in
part the slow increase in the flock.</p>
<p>When the pigeons show signs of nesting, small twigs
are thrown onto the bottom of the inclosure; and, on
the day of our visit, I was so fortunate as to watch the
operations of nest building. There were three pairs
actively engaged. The females remained on the shelf,
and, at a given signal which they only uttered for this
purpose, the males would select a twig or straw, and in
one instance a feather, and fly up to the nest, drop it and
return to the ground while the females placed the
building material in position and then called for more.</p>
<p>In all of Mr. Whittaker's experience with this flock
he has never known of more than one egg being
deposited. Audubon, in his article on the Passenger
Pigeon, says: "A curious change of habits has taken
place in England in those pigeons which I presented to
the Earl of Kirby in 1830, that nobleman having assured
me that, ever since they began breeding in his
aviaries, they have laid only one egg." The eggs are
usually laid from the middle of February to the middle
of September, some females laying as many as seven or
eight during the season, though three or four is the
average.</p>
<p>The period of incubation is fourteen days, almost to
a day, and, if the egg is not hatched in that time, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
birds desert it. As in the wild state, both parents assist
in incubation, the females sitting all night, and the
males by day. As soon as the young are hatched the
parents are fed on earth worms, beetles, grubs, etc.,
which are placed in a box of earth, from which they
greedily feed, afterwards nourishing the young, in the
usual way, by disgorging the contents from the crop.
At times the earth in the inclosure is moistened with
water and a handful of worms thrown in, which soon
find their way under the surface. The pigeons are so
fond of these tid-bits they will often pick and scratch
holes in their search, large enough to almost hide themselves.</p>
<p>When the birds are sitting during cold weather, the
egg is tucked up under the feathers, as though to support
the egg in its position. At such times the pigeon rests
on the side of the folded wing, instead of squatting on
the nest. During the first few days, after the young is
hatched, to guard against the cold, it is, like the egg,
concealed under the feathers of the abdomen, the head
always pointing forward. In this attitude, the parents,
without changing the sitting position or reclining on
the side, feed the squab by arching the head and neck
down, and administering the food. The young leave
the nest in about fourteen days, and then feed on small
seeds, and later, with the old birds, subsist on grains,
beech nuts, acorns, etc.</p>
<p>The adults usually commence to molt in September
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
and are but a few weeks in assuming their new dress,
but the young in the first molt are much longer. At the
time of my visit the birds were all in perfect plumage.
The young in the downy state are a dark slate-color.</p>
<p>The pigeons are always timid, and ever on the alert
when being watched, and the observer must approach
them cautiously to prevent a commotion. They inherit
the instincts of their race in a number of ways.
On the approach of a storm the old birds will arrange
themselves side by side on the perch, draw the head and
neck down into the feathers, and sit motionless for a
time, then gradually resume an upright position, spread
the tail, stretch each wing in turn, and then, as at a given
signal, they spring from the perch and bring up against
the wire netting with their feet as though anxious to fly
before the disturbing elements. Mr. Whittaker has
noticed this same trait while observing pigeons in the
woods.</p>
<p>It was with a peculiar sense of pleasure and satisfaction
that I witnessed and heard all the facts about this
flock, inasmuch as but few of us expect to again have
such opportunities with this pigeon in the wild state.
It is to be hoped that, if Mr. Whittaker continues to
successfully increase these birds, he will dispose of a
pair to some zoölogical gardens; for what would be a
more valuable and interesting addition than an aviary
of this rapidly diminishing species?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p>
<p class="center">LETTERS OF COMMENT FROM CHIEF POKAGON.</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Hartford, Mich.</span>, Dec. 17, 1896.</p>
<p class="p0"><span class="smcap">Ruthven Deane</span>, Chicago, Ill.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Your article on wild
pigeons (<i>O-me-me-oo</i>)
received and just read with much interest. I
am now satisfied you are deeply interested in those
strange birds, or you would not have gone to Milwaukee
to see them. I would like to have Whittaker's
full name and address so I can learn the come-out of
that little flock. You note his flock stands zero weather.
Many times in my life I have known O-me-me-oo, while
nesting, to be obliged to search for food in from four
to six inches of snow, and have seen the snow at such
times upturned and intermixed with forest leaves for
miles and miles. They would move out of the nesting
grounds in vast columns, flying one over the other. I
have seen them at such times reminding me of a vast
flood of water rolling over a rocky bottom, sending the
water in curved lines upwards and falling farther down
the stream.</p>
<p>I have seen them many times building nests by the
thousand within sight, both male and female assisting
in building the nest. I have counted the number of
sticks used many times; they number from seventy to
one hundred and ten, sometimes so frail I have plainly
seen the eggs from the ground.</p>
<p>I visited a nesting north of Kilburn City, Wis., about
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
twenty-five years ago, and I there counted as high as
forty nests in scrub oaks not over twenty-five feet high;
in many places I could pick the eggs out of the nests,
being not over five or six feet from the ground.</p>
<p>I stopped then with the Win-a-ba-go Indians, and
was much interested in seeing them play mog-i-cin. I
had heard the fathers explain the game when a boy,
but never saw it before. I call it a gambling game.
Certain it is, when nesting in a wild state, the male
goes out at break of day; returning from eight to eleven
he takes the nest; the hen then goes out, returning from
one to four, and takes the nest; then the male goes out,
returning, according to feed, between that time and
night.</p>
<p>After the young leave their nests, I have always
noticed that a few, both males and females, stay with
them. I have seen as many as a dozen young ones
assemble about a male, and, with drooping wings, utter
the plaintive begging notes to be fed, and never saw
them misused at such times by either gender. Certain
it is, while feeding their young they are frantic for salt.
I have seen them pile on top of each other, about salt
springs, two or more deep. I wonder if your friend
gives his birds, while brooding, salt.</p>
<p class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Hartford, Mich.</span>, Dec. 18, 1896.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—Yours of December 17th at hand. It
is indeed surprising to me that your place of business
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
is so close to old Fort Dearborn. In writing you yesterday,
I overlooked what you said about the Milwaukee
man's experience with his birds just hatching. I understand
they were young birds. Thirty-two years ago
there was a big nesting between South Haven and St.
Joseph on Lake Michigan. About one week after the
main body commenced nesting, a new body of great size,
covering hundreds of acres, came and joined them. I
never saw nests built so thick, high and low. I found
they were all young birds less than a year old, which
could be easily explained from their mottled coloring.
To my surprise, soon as nests were built, they commenced
tearing them down—a few eggs scattered about
told some had laid; within three days they all left,
moving in a body up the lake shore north. I have had
like facts told me by others who have witnessed the
same thing; and therefore conclude that your friend's
experience accurately portrays the habits of these birds
in their wild state.</p>
<p class="tdr2 smcap">University of Chicago,</p>
<p class="tdr">May 30, 1904.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—I have ten of the wild pigeons; they are
from a single pair obtained by Mr. Whittaker of Milwaukee
about twenty years ago. Mr. W. bred from
this pair until he had a dozen or more. I obtained a
few pairs from him, and they bred fairly well for a few
years, but lately have failed to accomplish anything.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
This season a single egg was obtained. It developed
for about a week and then halted. The stock is evidently
weakened by inbreeding so long. I can give no
information as to time of disappearance. I have
sought information far and near. Only a few birds
have been reported the last three years. One was reported
on pretty reliable grounds from Toronto last
summer.</p>
<p>Sorry I can give you no satisfactory details.</p>
<p class="center">Yours truly,</p>
<p class="smcap tdr">C. O. Whitman.</p>
<p>[Under date of June 6, 1905, Prof. Whitman of the
University of Chicago wrote to me that his flock had
been reduced from ten to four since he last wrote. He
says that one pair were then beginning the maneuvers
preceding nesting, but he doubted very much if they
would accomplish anything.]</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></p>
<p class="caption2">Nesting Habits of the Passenger Pigeon</p>
<p class="caption3 pmb2">By Eugene Pericles (Dr. Morris Gibbs), from "The Oölogist, 1894."</p>
<div class="dropcap">T</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">T</span>HERE are hundreds and perhaps thousands of
the younger readers of <i>The Oölogist</i> who have
never seen a Passenger Pigeon alive. In fact,
there are many who have never seen a skin or stuffed
specimen, for the species is so rare now that very few
of the younger collectors have had an opportunity of
shooting a bird. And of the present generation of
oölogists, the ones who have secured a set (one egg)
are indeed very few.</p>
<p>Many of the older ornithologists can remember when
the birds appeared among us in myriads each season,
and were mercilessly and inconsiderately trapped and
shot whenever and wherever they appeared. I could
fill a book with the accounts of their butcheries, and
could easily cause astonishment in my readers by telling
of the immense flocks which were seen a quarter of a
century ago. But wonderful as these tales would appear,
they would be as nothing compared to the stories
of the earlier writers on birds in America.</p>
<p>. . . Of course we know that the net and gun
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
have been the principal means of destruction, but it is
almost fair to assert that even with the net and gun
under proper restrictions, the pigeon would still be with
us in hordes, both spring and autumn. For many years
hunters (butchers) used to shoot the birds regularly at
their nesting places, while the netters were also found
near at hand.</p>
<p>I have seen many birds taken, by unsportsmanlike
netters, for the market during spring migrations, and
the published accounts of the destruction by netters is
almost beyond belief. Doctor Kirtland states that near
Circleville, Ohio, in 1850, there were taken in a single
net in one day 1,285 live pigeons.</p>
<p>The Passenger Pigeon was in the habit of crossing the
Ohio River by March 1 in the spring migrations, and
I have noted the birds several times in Michigan in
February. But this was not usually the case, for the
birds were not abundant generally before April 1,
although no set rule could be laid down regarding their
appearance or departure either in spring or fall. They
usually came with a mighty rush. Sometimes they did
not appear, or, at least, only very sparingly. Their
nesting sites would remain the same for years if the
birds were unmolested, but they generally had to change
every year or two, or as soon as the roost was discovered
by the despicable market netter.</p>
<p>Where the mighty numbers went to when they left
for the south is not accurately stated, and, of course, this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
will now never be known, but they were found to continue
in flocks in Virginia, Kentucky and even Tennessee.</p>
<p>. . . In the latter part of April or early May
the birds began nesting. The nest building beginning
as soon as the birds had selected a woods for a rookery,
the scene was one of great activity. Birds were flying in
every direction in search of twigs for their platform
nests, and it did seem that each pair was intent on securing
materials at a distance from the structure. Many
twigs were dropped in flying, or at the nest, and these
were never reclaimed by their bearers, but were often
picked up by other birds from another part of the rookery.
This peculiarity in so many species of birds in nest
building I could never understand.</p>
<p>It takes a pair of pigeons from four to six days to
complete a nest, and any basketmaker could do a hundred
per cent. better job with the same materials in a
couple of hours. In the nest of the pigeon, man could
certainly give the birds points for their benefit, for it is
one of the most shiftless structures placed in trees that I
have met with.</p>
<p>The nest is always composed of slender dead twigs,
so far as I have observed, or ever learned from others,
and in comparison, though smaller, much resembles
some of the heron's structures. In some nests I have
observed the materials are so loosely put together
that the egg or young bird can be seen through the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
latticed bottom. In fact, it has been my custom to
always thus examine the nests before climbing the
tree.</p>
<p>The platform structures vary in diameter from six
to twelve inches or more, differing in size according to
the length of the sticks, but generally are about nine or
ten inches across. An acquaintance of mine had tamed
some wild birds, which at last bred regularly in captivity.
These birds were well supplied with an abundance
of material for their nests and always selected in
confinement such as described above, and making a nest
about nine inches in diameter.</p>
<p>The breeding places are generally found in oak
woods, but the great nesting sites in Michigan were
often in timbered lands, I am informed.</p>
<p>The height of the nest varies. It may be as low as
six feet or all of sixty-five feet from the ground.</p>
<p>Passenger Pigeons are always gregarious when unmolested,
and hundreds of thousands sometimes breed
in a neighborhood at one time. It is impossible to say
how many nests were the most found in one tree, but
there are authenticated instances of a hundred. One
man, on whose veracity I rely, informs me that he
counted 110 nests in one tree in Emmett County, the
lower peninsula. Still this may not be correct, for we
all know how easy it is to be deceived in correctly counting
and keeping record of even the branches of a tree,
and when these limbs are occupied by nests it is certainly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
doubly difficult, and the tendency to count the
same nests twice is increased.</p>
<p>The first nests that I found were in large white oak
trees at the edge of a pond. The date was May 17,
1873. The nests were few in number and only one nest
in a tree. There was but a single egg in a nest; in fact
this is all I have found at any time. The last nest that
I have met with south of the forty-third parallel was
forty feet up in a tamarack tree in a swamp near the
river, June 1, 1884. This nest was alone and would not
have been discovered had not the birds flown to it. I
have found several instances of pairs of pigeons building
isolated nests, and cannot help but think that if all
birds had followed this custom that the pigeons would
still be with us in vast numbers.</p>
<p>As late as May 9, 1880, my lamented friend, the late
C. W. Gunn, found a rookery in a cedar woods in Cheboygan
County. These nests contained a single egg
each, and he secured about fifty fresh eggs. He did not
think their number excessive, as the netters were killing
the birds in every direction. But now we can look upon
such a trip almost as devastation because the birds are
so scarce.</p>
<p>In 1885 I met with the pigeon on Mackinac Island,
and have found a few isolated flocks in the Lower
Peninsula since then, generally in the fall, but it is safe
to say that the birds will never again appear in one-thousandth
part of the number of former years.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>
<p>The places where the birds are nesting are interesting
spots to visit. Both parents incubate and the scene is
animated as the birds fly about in all directions. However,
as the bulk of the birds must fly to quite a distance
from an immense rookery to find food, it necessarily
follows that the main flocks arrive and depart
evening and morning. Then the crush is often terrific
and the air is fairly alive with birds. The rush of their
thousands of wings makes a mighty noise like the sound
of a stiff breeze through the trees.</p>
<p>Often when the large flocks settle at the roost the
birds crowd so closely on the slender limbs that they
bend down and sometimes crack, and the sound of the
dead branches falling from their weight adds an additional
likeness to a storm. Sometimes the returning
birds will settle on a limb which holds nests and then
many eggs are dashed to the ground, and beneath the
trees of a rookery one may always find a lot of smashed
eggs.</p>
<p>Later in the season young birds may be seen perched
all over the trees or on the ground, while big squabs
with pin-feathers on are seen in, or rather on, the frail
nests, or lying dead or injured on the ground. The
frightful destruction that is sure to accompany the nesting
of a rookery of Passenger Pigeons is bound to attract
the observer's eye. And we cannot but understand how
it is that these unprolific birds with many natural enemies,
in addition to that unnatural enemy, man, fail to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
increase. If the pigeon deposited ten to twenty eggs
like the quail the unequal battle of equal survival might
be kept up. But even this is to be doubted if the bird
continues to nest in colonies.</p>
<p>Many ornithological writers have written that the
wild pigeon lays two eggs as a rule, but these men were
evidently not accurate observers, and probably took their
records at second-hand. There is no doubt that two
eggs are quite often found in a nest, and sometimes
these eggs are both fresh, or else equally advanced in
incubation. But these instances, I think, are evidences
alone that two females have deposited in the same nest,
a supposition which is not improbable with the gregarious
species.</p>
<p>That the wild pigeon may rear two or three young in
a season, I do not doubt, and an old trapper and observer
has offered this theory to explain the condition
where there are found both egg and young in the same
nest, or squabs of widely varied ages. He asserts that
when an egg is about ready to hatch, a second egg was
deposited in the nest, and that the squab assisted in incubating
the egg when the old birds were both away for
food, and that in time a third and last egg was laid, so
that three young were hatched each season, if the birds
are unmolested.</p>
<p>This peculiarity may exist with the pigeon, but I can
add nothing to further it from my own observations,
except to record the finding of an egg in the nest with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
a half-grown bird—the only instance in my experience.
From watching the ways of some captive birds kept as
stool-pigeons, I am well satisfied that two young are not
rarely hatched at some weeks apart, and they do fairly
well in confinement.</p>
<p>The young are fed by a process known as regurgitation,
the partially digested contents of the birds' crops
being ejected into the mouths of the squabs.</p>
<p>The position of the nest varies greatly. Often the
nests are well out on slender branches and in dangerous
positions, considering the shiftlessness of the structure.
When a rookery is visited, nests may be found in all
manner of situation. I have found single nests built on
small twigs next the body of an oak tree, and at a height
of only ten feet, and again have seen nests forty feet up
in thick tamaracks.</p>
<p>The eggs do not vary much in size or color. They
are white, but without the polish seen on the egg of the
domestic pigeon. About one and one-half by one inch
is the regulation size.</p>
<p>By reference to old price lists of nearly a quarter of
a century ago I find that the eggs were then listed at
twenty-five cents, while it would be difficult to secure
good specimens at present at six times the figure.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
<p class="caption2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></p>
<p class="caption2 pmb2">Miscellaneous Notes</p>
<div class="dropcap">T</div>
<p class="p0"><span class="hidden">T</span>HE earliest mention of the wild pigeon I have
been able to find is the following, taken from
<i>Forest and Stream</i>, to which it was contributed
by F. C. Browne, Framingham, Mass. It is
from an old print entitled, "Two Voyages to New England,
Made During the Years 1638-63," by John Josselyn,
Gent. Published in 1674. I am not so fortunate as
to possess an original copy. This extract is from the Boston
reprint of 1865, and is from the "Second Voyage"
(1663), which has a full account of the wild beasts,
birds and fishes of the new settlement:</p>
<p>"The Pidgeons, of which there are millions of millions.
I have seen a flight of Pidgeons in the Spring,
and at Michaelmas when they return back to the South-ward,
for four or five miles, that to my thinking had
neither beginning nor ending, length nor breadth, and
so thick that I could see no Sun. They join Nest to
Nest and Tree to Tree by their Nests many miles together
in Pine-Trees. I have bought at Boston a dozen
Pidgeons ready pulled and garbidged for three pence.
But of late they are much diminished, the English taking
them with Nets."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
<p>It will be noted that the wild pigeons began to be
"much diminished" even at that early date.</p>
<p>The following extract is from the journal of the
voyage of Father Gravier in the year 1700:</p>
<p>"Through the Country of the Illinois to the Mouth
of the Mississippi."</p>
<p>Under date of October 7th he says:</p>
<p>"Below the mouth of the Ouabache (meaning the
Wabash River), we saw such a great quantity of wild
pigeons that the air was darkened and quite covered by
them."</p>
<p>The journal of Alexander Henry, the younger, written
in August, 1800, states that large numbers of wild
pigeons were seen and used for food by his party. This
was at a point on the Red River not far north of what
is now Grand Forks, N. D.</p>
<p>The Passenger Pigeon found a place in a book called
"Quebec and Its Environments; Being a Picturesque
Guide to the Stranger." Printed by Thomas Cary &
Co., Freemasons' Hall, Buade Street, 1831. A rare
copy was found in the library of the late Charles Dean,
having been purchased by him while visiting Quebec in
1841. It is now in the possession of Ruthven Deane of
Chicago. I quote from this old guide-book as follows:</p>
<div id="fp218" class="figcenter" style="width: 612px;">
<img src="images/fp_218.png" width="612" height="454" alt="" />
<p class="fig_title">PIGEON NET</p>
<p class="fig_caption">Taken from an old etching</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
<p>"At one period of the year numerous and immense
flights of pigeons visit Canada, when the population
make a furious war against them both by guns and nets;
they supply the inhabitants with a material part of their
subsistence, and are sold in the market at Quebec remarkably
cheap, often as low as a shilling per dozen,
and sometimes even at a less rate. It appears that the
pigeon prefers the loftiest and most leafless tree to
settle on. In addition to the natural beauty of St. Ann
and its environs, the process by which the inhabitants
take the pigeons is worth remarking. Upon the loftiest
tree, long bare poles are slantingly fixed; small pieces
of wood are placed transversely across this pole, upon
which the birds crowd; below, in ambush, the sportsman
with a long gun enfilades the whole length of the pole,
and, when he fires, few if any escape. Innumerable
poles are prepared at St. Ann for this purpose. The
other method they have of taking them is by nets, by
which means they are enabled to preserve them alive,
and kill them occasionally for their own use or for the
market, when it has ceased to be glutted with them.
Behind Madam Fontane's this sport may be seen in perfection.
The nets, which are very large, are placed at
the end of an avenue of trees (for it appears the pigeons
choose an avenue to fly down); opposite a large tree,
upon erect poles two nets are suspended, one facing the
avenue, the other the tree; another is placed over them,
which is fixed at one end, and supported by pulleys and
two perpendicular poles at the opposite; a man is hid
in a small covered house under the tree, with a rope
leading from the pulleys in his hand. Directly the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
pigeons fly against the perpendicular nets, he pulls the
rope, when the top net immediately falls and incloses
the whole flock; by this process vast numbers are taken."</p>
<p>"Tanner's Narrative," a story (authentic) of thirty
years among the Indians, published in 1830, refers frequently
to great numbers of pigeons, and gives their
range from the Kentucky, Big Miami and Ohio Rivers
to Lake Winnipeg, or "The Lake of Dirty Waters."</p>
<p>Mr. Osborn further adds: "Tanner was a United
States Indian interpreter at the Soo."</p>
<p>William Glazier made a trip to the headwaters of
the Mississippi River in 1881 and wrote a book entitled
"Down the Mississippi River." In three different
places in this book he mentions seeing wild pigeons. In
one place he says that a small flock of pigeons dropped
down in the tops of some tall pines near him.</p>
<p>In Hayden's Survey Report, Interior Department, as
given in Coues' "Birds of the Northwest," 1874, it is
mentioned that wild pigeons were found on the Pacific
coast, and Cooper reports them in the Rocky Mountains.
[High authority, but it must have referred to
the band-tailed pigeon.—W. B. M.]</p>
<p class="pmt2">From the foregoing chapters I have summarized the
latest reports of the presence of the wild pigeon in its
former haunts. These instances have been reported as
follows:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
<p>N. W. Judy & Co., St. Louis, Mo., the largest dealers
in poultry and game in that section, said, in 1895, they
had had no wild pigeons for two years; the last they
received were from Siloam Springs, Ark. This would
mean that they were on the market during the season of
1893. Until 1890 frequent reports were recorded of
pigeons seen singly, in pairs and in small flocks.</p>
<p>In 1891 Mr. F. M. Woodruff, Assistant Curator of
the Chicago Academy of Sciences, secured a pair at
Lake Forest, Ill.</p>
<p>A nest with two eggs and two birds were collected
by C. B. Brown of Chicago in the spring of 1893 at
English Lake, Ind.</p>
<p>In September, 1893, three were reported in Lake
County, Ill.</p>
<p>In April of the same year, a male pigeon was reported
as having been seen in Lincoln Park, Ill.</p>
<p>Mr. R. W. Stafford of Chicago, Ill., reported seeing
a flock in the latter part of September, 1894, at Marengo,
Ill.</p>
<p>Mr. John L. Stockton, Highland Park, Ill., reported
that while trout fishing on the Little Oconto River,
Wis., early in June, 1895, he saw a flock of ten pigeons
for several consecutive days near his camp.</p>
<p>A young female was killed at Lake Forest, Ill., in
August, 1895.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
<p>In October, 1895, Dr. Ernest Copeland of Milwaukee
killed one in Delta, Northern Peninsula, Mich.</p>
<p>On December 17, 1896, C. N. Holden, Jr., while
hunting quail in Oregon County, Mo., observed a flock
of about fifty birds.</p>
<p>Chief Pokagon reports there was a small nesting of
pigeons near the head waters of the Au Sable River in
Michigan, during the spring of 1896.</p>
<p>A. Fugleburg of Oshkosh, Wis., reports that on the
morning of August 14, 1897, he saw a flock of pigeons
flying over Lake Winnebago from Fisherman's Island
to Stony Brook. This flock was followed by six more
flocks containing from thirty-five to eighty pigeons each.
The same observer reports that on September 2, 1897,
a friend of his reported having seen a flock of about
twenty-five near Lake Butte des Mortes, Wis.</p>
<p>W. F. Rightmire reports that while driving along
the highway north of Cook, Johnson County, Neb.,
August 18, 1897, he saw a flock of seventy-five to one
hundred birds; some feeding on the ground, others
perched in the trees.</p>
<p>A. B. Covert of Ann Arbor, President at one time of
the Michigan Ornithological Club, reports seeing stray
birds during 1892 and 1894, and states also that on
October 1, 1898, he saw a flock of 200 and watched
them nearly all day.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p>
<p>T. E. Douglas of Grayling reports seeing a flock of
ten near West Branch, Mich., in 1895, and in 1900 he
saw three on one of the branches of the Au Sable River
in Michigan.</p>
<p>In 1897 C. S. Osborn of Sault Ste Marie reported
having seen a single wild bird flying with the tame
pigeons around the town.</p>
<p>In 1897 or 1898 C. E. Jennison of Bay City saw six
or seven at Thunder Bay Island near Alpena, Mich.</p>
<p>In 1900 Neal Brown of Wausau, Wis., killed one
near Babcock, Wis., in September.</p>
<p>George King of Otsego County, Mich., in 1900 saw
a flock of one dozen or more birds on the Black River,
and he says he heard two "holler" in 1902, but was
unable to find them. In May, 1905, he is certain he saw
six near Vanderbilt, Mich.</p>
<p>John Burroughs reports that a friend of his, Charles
W. Benton, saw a large flock of wild pigeons near
Prattsville, Greene County, N. Y., in April, 1906.</p>
<p class="caption3">EARLY LEGISLATION TO SAVE THE PIGEON</p>
<p>Wild pigeons were used largely by trap-shooters for
tournaments. In 1881, 20,000 of them were killed in
one of these trap-shooting butcheries on Coney Island,
N. Y. The following editorial protest against this outrage
appeared in <i>Forest and Stream</i>, July 14, 1881:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p>
<p><i>Mr. Bergh's Anti-Pigeon Bill.</i>—Just as we go to
press we learn that the Senate has passed the bill prepared
by Mr. Henry Bergh prohibiting the trap-shooting
of pigeons. The bill awaits Governor Cornell's
signature before becoming a law. Its provisions are:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Section 1.</span> Any person who shall keep or use any
live pigeon, fowl, or other bird or animal for the purpose
of a target or to be shot at either for amusement
or as a test of skill in marksmanship, and any person
who shall shoot at any pigeon, fowl, or other bird or
animal, as aforesaid, or be a party to any such shooting
of any pigeon, fowl or other bird or animal; and any
person who shall rent any building, shed, room, yard,
field, or other premises, or shall suffer or permit the use
of any building, shed, room, yard, field, or other premises
for the purpose of shooting any pigeon, fowl, or
other bird or animal, as aforesaid, shall be guilty of a
misdemeanor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Section 2.</span> Nothing herein contained shall apply to
the shooting of any wild game in its wild state.</p>
<p>The bill is a direct and not wholly unexpected result
of the Coney Island pigeon-killing tournament of the
New York State Association for the Protection of Fish
and Game. Had the sport of pigeon shooting been confined
to individual clubs of gentlemen testing their skill
at the traps, it is doubtful if the matter ever would have
received, as it would not have merited, public attention.
But when a society, which organized ostensibly for the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
protection of game, treats the public to such a spectacle
as that at Coney Island, neglects the matter with which
it should be concerned and devotes 20,000 pigeons
brought from their nesting ground to its wholesale
slaughter, its members can hardly look for any other
public sentiment than exactly that feeling which has
been aroused. An afternoon's shoot at a few pigeons,
and a ten days' shoot at unlimited numbers of helpless
birds—many of them squabs, unable to fly, and others
too exhausted to do so—are regarded by the public as
two very different things.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full" />
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div class="transnote">
<p class="caption2">Transcriber's Note</p>
<p>Obvious punctuation and spelling errors were corrected.</p>
<p>One 'signature' of Ruthven Deane was modified from the printed version
to match the others.</p>
<p>Where quotations began and were not closed, a closing quotation mark
was placed at the end of that paragraph:</p>
<p class="p0" style="margin-left:5em;"><a href="#Page_155">p. 155</a> "There are no wild pigeons in Iosco County…<br />
<a href="#Page_71">p. 171</a> "In three years' time…</p>
<p><a id="Transcription"></a>Transcription of circular shown facing
<a href="#Page_92">page 92</a> for screen readers:</p>
<p class="bbox" style="width:70%; margin:0 auto; padding:1.5em; text-align:center;">
AMONG THE PIGEONS.<br />
<br />
A Reply to Professor Roney's Account of<br />
the Michigan Nestings of 1878.<br />
<br />
—BY—<br />
<br />
E. T. MARTIN,<br />
<br />
In the <span class="smcap">Chicago Field</span>, Jan. 25, 1879.<br />
<br />
Illustration: building and pigeons<br />
<br />
E. T. Martin's Headquarters at Boyne Falls, Michigan, during the
Nesting of 1878.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44729 ***</div>
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