50 The Passenger Pigeon 



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, won- 

 der, and admiration been so stirred as when I have wit- 

 nessed these birds drop from their course like meteors 

 from heaven. 



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. 



. . . 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, rum- 

 bling 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 com- 



