202 PASSENGER PIGEON. 



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. 



I had left the public road to visit the remains of the breed- 

 ing 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 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 Kiver, at the town of 

 Frankfort, at which time the living torrent above my head 

 seemed as numerous and as extensive as ever. Long after 



