A Tragedy of Migration iii 



With the first light of morning, they forsook the Hghthouse and took to the 

 ground, bushes and trees. At that time, the ground at the base of the tower 

 was thickly strewn with dead birds, as were also the balconies around the lan- 

 tern and watch-room at the top of the tower. The keeper said that they collected 

 thousands and threw them into the sea, but, by close questioning, I got the 

 estimates so much reduced that I hope hundreds may be substituted for thou- 

 sands; though the loss of life evidently had been great, and, at the time of my 

 visit, there were still numbers of the dead scattered all over the island. These 

 probably had died after the storm was over, unable to recover from exhaustion 

 or from injuries received. 



If the great number of dead birds presented a notable sight, what may be 

 said of the living? The lighthouse keeper said that there were millions of them. 

 I compared his narrative with those of the assistant keepers, and, aided by my 

 own observation of the great numbers still there six days after the disaster, 

 I feel sure that they may truly be measured in units of tens of thousands. The 

 keepers agreed that they were so numerous that it was difficult to walk anywhere 

 outdoors without stepping upon them, and that they were so tame that the 

 children caught them by simply picking them up off the ground. Exhaustion 

 and bewilderment, of course, played a part in this tameness, but those still there 

 displayed an absence of fear that did not seem possible. When it is considered 

 that this great multitude included several of the most brightly colored species 

 of North America, and that they were all in their fresh spring plumage, it may 

 be imagined what a wonderful and glorious spectacle they presented. 



The lightkeeper told me that nearly all had left, but when I saw what remained 

 I was fairly astonished, for they were so numerous that they would have excited 

 surprise anywhere. The same species that I had seen in Key West were here 

 present in much greater numbers, and there were several species here that I 

 had not seen in Key West. In order of numbers, I would list them about as 

 follows: Summer Tanager, Indigo Bunting, Ovenbird, Orchard Oriole, Scarlet 

 Tanager, Black-throated Blue Warbler, Hooded Warbler, Ruby-throated 

 Humming-bird, Painted Bunting or Nonpareil, Northern Yellow-throat, King- 

 bird, Cape May Warbler, Blue Grosbeak, Warbling Vireo, and Worm-eating 

 Warbler. The five species first named, although only remnants of great flocks 

 were present in hundreds; the others in dozens, and all very fearless except the 

 Blue Grosbeaks, which, for some unaccountable reason, would fly if they saw 

 my glasses leveled at them even a hundred feet or more away. 



In this instance, birds of a feather did not make a point of flocking together, 

 common misfortune having apparently united them into a harmonious community, 

 and it was a beautiful sight to see such numbers of differently colored birds 

 mixed closely together. They were well scattered over the island, which is about 

 three-fourths of a mile long, but were most numerous near the dwelling-houses 

 of the light-keepers, where I approached the multi-colored groups closely without 

 causing alarm; the Ovenbirds were particularly tame, walking all about me in 



