WHERE ARE THE WILD PIGEONS? 



STANLEY WATERLOO. 



No more in Spring, when smelling things awake 



And thin ice silvers yet the shallow pools. 



And all is youth and strength and buoyancy, 



The upper vaults reveal wild visitors. 



No more the flocks show clear against the sky, 



Proclaiming Air, like Earth, alive again ; 



No more the beech woods, brownly carpeted, 



Resound with rustle of the busy wings, 



No more, in Autumn, mighty stubbles change 



From yellow to the shifting mass of blue. 



The skies are still, the stubble tenantless ; 



There are no Pigeons come in countless flight ; 



They are all gone as is the Buffalo ; 



Leaving the broad plains tenantless and dead 



Save for the smaller and less noble game, 



All the result of man's rapacity. 



Where are the birds ? From equatorial fields 



Now fly they Southward to Brazilian wilds ? 



Or were these living things swept from the earth, 



This type of hopefulness and daring guest ? 



Did Man, the butcher, do his work so well 



That nowhere wing their way Wild Pigeons now ? 



Talk about a wild goose chase! Never 

 did wild goose chase compare with the 

 chase of the passenger pigeon, which has 

 been going on for the last 15 years. We 

 all know the story of the wonderful bird; 

 the bird whose enormous numbers and 

 striking characteristics made it rank, in one 

 sense, with the buffalo, among the marvels 

 of animal life on this continent. It was 

 part of the great life of the spring and one 

 of the features of the autumn, throughout 

 the temperate zone, from the Atlantic coast 

 to the Rocky mountains. It is a delightful 

 memory to every man over 30 years of age, 

 who was born in this country. Its existence 

 made rural American life, throughout a 

 vast area, different from life on any other 

 part of the globe. 



It was the wild pigeon that developed 

 the sporting instinct in thousands of beys. 

 As a game bird it became famous next to 

 the turkey, and " pigeon pie " became one 

 of the recognized American dishes. But 

 the passenger pigeon was migratory. It 

 nested in such manner that it became the 

 easy prey of slaughterers, as did the buf- 

 falo, and it has gone, as has the buffalo. 

 It was exterminated by degrees, territorial- 

 ly. It was formerly as abundant on the 

 Atlantic coast as in the states of the Mis- 

 sissippi valley. New York, Virginia, and 

 Pennsylvania, were among its favorite nest- 

 ing places. In those states began the first 

 scientifically conducted work of extermina- 

 tion, and with the instinct which God had 

 given the bird it disappeared absolutely 

 from that region, while still appearing in 

 enormous flocks, and having nesting places 

 in Michigan, Wisconsin and other inland 

 states. 



It is scarcely worth while to call atten- 

 tion to the magnitude of the flights which 

 came in early spring from the equatorial 

 regions, where the birds wintered. This 



story has been told and retold from the 

 time of Audubon. Almost every man, of 

 middle age, can remember when the sky 

 was darkened by the flights of Hocks con- 

 taining millions. They were the attractive 

 feature of the upper world in spring time, 

 and when a flock alighted to sweep the 

 beech woods of the nuts which lay beneath 

 the leaves of the preceding autumn, they 

 afforded the first sport of the year to the 

 average country boy, with the old muzzle- 

 loading shot-gun, and the first delicious 

 game pies of the season to the family. In 

 autumn, the returning myriads made blue 

 the yellow and brown stubble of the fields, 

 and the farmers found, in the young pig- 

 eons, even better food than had come to 

 them in spring. 



In some as yet unsettled districts the 

 birds had selected a forest in which the 

 millions nested together, and a " pigeon 

 roost " became the synonym for something 

 vast. Great branches were torn away by 

 the weight of the nests and the offspring; 

 and wild cats, foxes and other carnivorous 

 beasts fattened on the squabs which fell to 

 the ground. Those, relatively to the mill- 

 ions above which lived to develop and 

 make the Southern flight, were, until men 

 came, an insignificant factor. Audubon, 

 telling of a scene near a roost on Green 

 river, Kentucky, says: 



" The noise they made reminded me of 

 a strong sea breeze among the cordage of 

 a ship. When they passed above my head 

 I felt a current of air which astonished me. 

 Thousands were already struck down by 

 men armed with poles, but they continued 

 to arrive without intermission. Fires were 

 lighted. The birds precipitated themselves 

 in masses and pitched where they could, 

 one upon the other, in large heaps like bar- 

 rels. Then the branches gave w T ay under 

 their weight, cracked and fell, bringing to 

 the ground and crushing the closely packed 

 flocks which covered every part of the 

 trees. It was a scene of tumult and confus- 

 ion. In vain I tried to speak, or even to 

 call the person nearest me. It was with 

 difficulty I could hear the guns fired, and 

 I only perceived the men had fired, by see- 

 ing them reload their arms. 



" Pigeons continued to come, and it was 

 past midnight before I noticed any diminu- 

 tion. The uproar continued all night. At 

 last the day approached, the noise began to 

 abate a little, and long before we could 

 distinguish objects the pigeons commenced 

 to start. At sunrise all that could fly had 

 disappeared. Now it was the wolfs turn, 

 the howls of which saluted our ears. Foxes, 

 lynxes, cougars, bears, rats, opossums, and 



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