A NIGHT IN A PIGEON ROOST. 



WM. A. CRAWLEY. 



When a boy in my frontier home, I had 

 netted, trapped or ensnared almost every 

 species of game, but the wild pigeon was 

 easily my favorite ; I can hardly tell why. 

 Perhaps it was their singular beauty, their 

 swiftness of flight, their sudden appearance 

 in great numbers, and their recklessness, 

 which almost invited capture. 



At that time I heard wonderful stories 

 about wild pigeon roosts, which I could 

 scarcely believe ; but these roosts were in 

 the wilderness, so remote from civilization 

 that I hardly expected ever to see one. I 

 was, therefore, overjoyed when, at the age 

 of 19. I unexpectedly had an opportunity 

 of visiting the great pigeon roosts in Ar- 

 kansas. 



I was a trooper, and we were construct- 

 ing winter quarters near Brownsville, in. a 

 woodland at the edge of a beautiful prairie, 

 which lay to the East and North of us. 

 Flocks of pigeons flew over our camp every 

 day, going North, and I learned from an 

 old citizen that they roosted only 8 miles 

 distant, a little East of North of where we 

 were then quartered. He said that if we 

 would go to the roost at night with a lan- 

 tern and a club we could in a short 

 time kill all the pigeons we could carry 

 away. I explained to him the scarcity of 

 lanterns, and he suggested that a small wire 

 basket in which we could carry burning 

 pine knots would answer the purpose. 



I found some old telegranh wire and 

 made 2 pear shaped baskets, with wire bales, 

 each holding, perhaps, half a peck. As we 

 were in a pine country, I soon gathered a 

 supply of pine knots which made a bright 

 light and were not easily extinguished. 



The old man had also suggested that we 

 carry a bag at the left side, suspended from 

 the shoulders, shot-pouch fashion. 



I decided to go at once, and soon found a 

 comrade who was as anxious to visit tfoe 

 roost as I was. It was necessary to start 

 in daylight to reach the roost by dark, so 

 we had to run the picket, but were not dis- 

 covered. Our road lay across 4 miles of 

 prairie and 4 miles of timber. Near the 

 edge of the timber on the farther side of the 

 prairie was a solitary tree known as the 

 Lone Tree, and at that point the roads 

 forked. The old settler had instructed me 

 to take the road to the right. When we 

 reached the tree, although we were 4 miles 

 from the roost, we heard a dull, roaring 

 sound, as of a heavy freight train, which 

 made our hearts beat faster and caused us 

 to quicken the pace of our horses. Enter- 

 ing the woods at the farther edge of the 



prairie, we soon came into a creek bottom, 

 and after crossing the creek we began to 

 notice feathers in the road. The roaring 

 sound had become so loud that we could 

 hardly hear each other speak, and soon we 

 came to a sight not easily forgotten. Even 

 now I can liken it to nothing so much as a 

 mighty river of pigeons rushing to the 

 East, half a mile in width and 50 feet in 

 depth. The bottom of this great river 

 passed through the tree tops, and we were 

 afterward told that no matter from what 

 direction a flock of pigeons arrived at the 

 roost, they always circled around and 

 joined this mighty flight, moving to the 

 East with the majesty of a great army. 



We could not resist the temptation to 

 dismount and throw clubs among the 

 pigeons. We also stood a long pole on end 

 and by making it sway violently at the top 

 tried to bring some of them down ; but 

 they were experts at dodging and we had 

 poor success at this. 



Our road led us to an elevated plateau 

 where the pigeons were beginning to alight. 

 Along this road we came to a small log 

 dwelling. The proprietor, a typical Arkan- 

 sas pioneer, stood in front of the house and 

 to our inquiry as to how long the pigeons 

 had been roosting there, he replied, 



"You cain't prove it by me. I hev bin 

 here 30 year, and they was here when I 

 come." 



We made camp in a clump of bushes and 

 decided to get supper before making an as- 

 sault on the roost. Gathering dry brush 

 and wood, we soon had our coffee, bacon 

 and hard bread, winding up with a smoke, 

 during which we were able to take a survey 

 of the roost. It covered more than 1,000 

 acres of soil that was naturally poor, but 

 which has been enriched by the dropoings 

 of these birds for probably 50 years that it 

 had grown up into a wilderness of almost 

 every variety of tree and briar and shrub ; 

 and the sheer weight of these birds had 

 bent and twisted this tree growth into near- 

 ly every shape and direction. Under every 

 tree of any size were mounds formed by 

 these droppings, often 3 feet in height. 

 This jungle was well nigh impenetrable 

 but for the paths made by fierce looking 

 hogs in their hunt for dead and crippled 

 pigeons. 



These birds would alight on a tree until 

 every available space was occupied and then 

 alight on each other until the tree became a 

 quivering mass of pigeons. Often the 

 breaking of a branch would cause this 

 great mass to arise suddenly and the sound 



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