Migrations at New Orleans, 
In a perfectly normal season in this latitude, spring 
begins, from the ornithologist's point of view, in the early 
part of February, the time of the arrival of the first pur- 
ple martins, and the signs of returning bird-life grow 
more or less uninterruptedly until the full tide of migra- 
tion sets in. 
That the past season has not been normal in the South 
is a fact only too well realized to call for any comment 
upon the tmusual character of the weather during the 
winter months. But among the changes wrought by the 
unprecedented weather not the least noticeable was that 
upon the movements of the birds. The week preceding 
Feb. I was very variable in New Orleans, and while there 
had been at least two cold days up to the first, several 
days were mild enough to warrant one in expecting the 
first martins soon, and from Feb. 2 to 6 there was a con- 
tinuation of such weather. During recent years martins 
have been recorded by the first week of February more 
than once, but none were seen in this mild period; con- 
ceding that none arrived then, an opportunity for their 
migration was precluded by the weather of the next ten 
or twelve days; during that entire time there was but 
one day that was the least mild, and that was the iith, 
and it was on the night of that day that we had indica- 
tions of the approaching blizzard. The next day snow 
and sleet covered everything, and a temperature of 13 
degrees was recorded, falling to 6 degrees the next day. 
But the indomitable mild character of our climate was 
asserting itself inside of three days. By the i6th the 
mercury had been above 40 degrees, and though there 
was a very chilly north wind, I saw the first grackles 
(Florida) assembled for their usual spring concourses 
and voicing their thankfulness for the approaching bless- 
ings of spring weather in those peculiar squeaky notea 
familiar wherever the crow-blackbird appears at this 
season. Feb. 18 was ah example of what a fine early 
spring day may be in Louisiana, and the purple martin 
was positively recorded for tlie first time. 
While it is natural that cold weather coming in Feb- 
ruary, the time of arrival of martins, should interfere with 
their movements, it does not ordinarily exercise such a 
great influence on the migrations occuring after March i. 
But on the present occasion one was appalled by the 
terribly stricken appearance of nearly every green thing 
about us after the cold blast. The early fruit trees and 
the willows had begun to bloom and leaf respectively 
when the cold came, and a walk in the woods on the 
last day of February showed them as apparently lifeless 
as they are ordinarily the middle of January. Tliis set- 
back in the budding of the trees has undoubtedly delayed 
a great many migrants that occur here. The first parula 
warbler did not appear until March 7, the time the species 
is common most years, while in advanced seasons the 
first come not later than March i. 
Of course, so late in the season trees sprouted much 
more rapidly than if they had begun at their usual time, 
and an incomplete dress of green began to clothe the hid- 
eousness of the waste of frozen vegetation. Then, with 
the spring showers and balmy south winds, the birds 
began to appear again. 
March 13, as far as meager notes could show, seemed 
to be the first day of general migration. On that day 
a friend noted the first white-eyed vireo, evidently a mi- 
grant, though this species does winter here sparingly. 
White-bellied swallows were observed as common for the 
first time. They appeared in even greater numbers on 
the 14th, and purple martins were heard singing as they 
flew low over the houses. The first swallow-tail butterfly 
to appear in spring, usually Papilio crestophontes, was 
seen on the 14th; on the isth two dragon flies appeared. 
Out of the city, my friend, Mr. Andrew Allison, ob- 
served the first hooded warbler {Sylvania mitrata) on the 
14th. 
With the weather fresh and almost fall-like on the 
i6th, there came a mildness and softness about the air 
on the 17th that reminds us what the spring is really 
like; at this time the daisy-like fleabane and the clover 
began to push themselves into prominence everywhere. 
It seemed the weather for chimney swifts and gnac- 
catchers to take advantage of, but they were looked for 
in vain. Martins, however, appeared to become well 
established, being fully a week behind time. 
March 21 the first yellow-crowned night herons (Nycti- 
corax violaceus) were heard at night. The arrival of 
these birds was the first intimation of more migrants 
to come after the uneventful period between the 14th and 
the 2ist. 
March 24. — First red-eyed vireos. 
March 25. — First male orchard oriole and first chimney 
swift. 
March 26, — Bartramian sandpipers passed over in num- 
bers at night. The last days of March I spent about 
thirty-five miles below New Orleans. 
The 29th was very cool, with north wind, but the 
30th was warmer and cloudy, with southeast wind. 
Forester's terns were found very abundant and nois3^ 
in the flooded rice fields, and a flock of five or six black- 
necked stilts was observed feeding beside two woodducks. 
Greater arid lesser yellow-legs were common in a tract 
half swamp, half marsh. The first crested flycatchers 
came March 30, and the first kingbirds the day before. 
The only other migrants observed were the first Ken- 
tucky warblers and the first black-and-white warbler on 
the 31st. Since April i, the season having madetflip a 
good deal of its lost time, things appear to hA^i ^gone 
on more as in most years. April 3 the first summer 
warblers came; this is the usual time for them. Between 
this day and the loth we experienced an unusual amount 
of almost cold weather for April; all through March, in 
fact, there had been many more cool snaps than usual. 
April 9 was a cool but beautiful day, milder than it 
had been for several days past. There arrived the first 
cerulean warbler and wood pewee, and the first belated 
barn swallow appeared among the white-bellies. 
April ID. — Birds interesting and conspicuous. White- 
throated sparrows singing, and warbling vireos making 
their customary rounds unseen through the oaks in a 
well-shadeu 
hummingbirdi. 
lers (females) iu 
gation as they paus> 
orioles (males) plentiK 
These bird notes were 
city. A trip to the woods 
More barn swallows, and 
s. Several cerulean warb- 
'ng material for investi- 
f the oaks. Orchard 
■^me. 
^ suburbs of the 
"iwed that the 
bird wave had passed, and the --s an oven- 
bird, though indigo buntings app 'ance for 
the first time. All the other birds w. resi- 
dent?, as the wood thrush, Kentucky j the 
white-eyed vireo. The arrival of the ^ reasted 
chat was noted, the date being earlier than a. .ecord of 
which I know. I should have least expected to find that 
the case this year, but there is no accounting for what the 
birds will do. 
;It should be observed, however, that the season, or- 
nithologically speaking, made most rapid strides between 
the loth and 13th, and seems as advanced now (April 20) 
as it ever does. With the first nighthawk on the 13th 
and the first but rather belated yellow-billed cuckoo on 
the 17th, there is nothing more of importance to chron- 
icle this season, unless we have a rain followed by a cold 
snap, in which event any "wave" of late transient mi- 
grants that happens to be en route is apt to rest two or 
three days in our woods and fields. 
Henry H. Kopman. 
yellow-throat, hung from the fork of a small bush be- 
side a stone wall, after the manner and resembling a 
nest of the vireo's. 
The finding of the odd nest sites as well as the usual 
ones has brought me much pleasure, and constantly re- 
minds me that the Creator of these lovely creatures 
has scattered them about us to bring happiness and joy 
mto our lives. J, Mekton Swain. 
Portland, April 8, 
Wild Pigeons. 
Unusual Nesting Sites. 
During my many rambles through forest and thicket 
in search of bird life in the last fifteen years, there have 
come to my notice several nesting sites that vary from 
those usually found. One day a lady said to me: "What 
little bird with a red cap on its head builds a little nest 
on the ground among the grasses, and has three little 
bliie eggs with black spots near the end?" 
This was a poser, so I went with her to an old 
orchard near her house, and under the branches of an 
apple tree, on the ground, was the nest, and to my 
surprise it belonged to a chipping sparrow that had 
varied her usual choice of a nesting site. 
One rainy day in June, as I strolled through a large 
field of clover near my boyhood home, I saw a rollicking, 
jubilant, bobolink swaying on a golden rod, going into 
ecstacies over his plain brown mate and his little home 
tucked so snugly away in the clover, when from my feet 
up fluttered Mrs. B., and though I looked closely, I 
. could see no signs of a nest. I parted the grass here 
and there, and was about to give up the search, when by 
chance I gave a piece of dry cow manure, a scuff with 
my foot, and there under it was the nest, with seven 
beautiful eggs, so neatly hidden that I had nearly over- 
looked them. 
In May, 1892, while crossing an old pasture, I vaulted 
over a stone wall, and suddenly, from beneath my feet, 
a slate-colored junco fluttered up from among the ferns, 
coming apparently up out of the ground. Long and 
diligently did I search for a nest, without finding any 
sign of one; but on lifting up a piece of turf that hung 
over a hole from which a flat stone had been taken, be- 
hold ! there was the junco' s. nest of roots and grass, safely, 
tucked away from the sight of any observer, and com- 
pletely protected from the rain by the sod. 
Wonderful to me seemed the instinct and ingenuity — 
almost reasoning powers — of this pretty little sparrow. 
I recall one bright morning in May, 1893, while watch- 
ing a pair of my favorite songsters, the hermit thrush, 
adding the finishing touches to their nearly completed 
nest, on the side of a knoll bordering on the edge 
of a maple wood. The nest was placed under an over- 
hanging rock, making a shelter for the bird, as she should 
sit patiently day after day on her five blue beauties, and 
for her nestlings, as their parents should labor for food 
to appease' their growing appetites. As I stood there 
I saw a small bird fly to the knoll beside this nest and 
remain there. On creeping cautiously nearer, I saw a 
small warbler on a nest, not 3ft. from the thrush's nest. 
Here were near neighbors indeed! I must learn which 
warbler it was, so cautiously working my way to the 
back side of the Icnoll, I slowly and carefully placed my 
hat over her, so closely did she sit, and getting her 
into my hands she proved to be the Nashville warbler. 
Was it chance or sociability that caused these birds to 
nest so near each other? The nest contained five spotted 
eggs. 
While driving along a country road in the spring of 
1894, I saw a flicker's head emerge from a cavity in a 
telephone pole that she was excavating for a nest. The 
pair completed their laborious task, and reared a brood 
of young, beside the noisy thoroughfare, undisturbed 
except by the annoyance of sitting for a photo, which 
I took of the female peering out of the nest, in wonder- 
ment at the to her strange and unheard-of performance. 
I had heard of some of the other woodpeckers excavating 
in the cedar telegraph poles, but have read of no in- 
stance of the flicker doing so. 
I might also mention a nest of that pest, the English 
sparrow, that was recorded before (cf., Swain, Maine 
Sportsman, June, '97, p. 6). A nest of this sparrow 
containing two eggs was found in' a ' car of flour that 
had come directly through from the West. The birds 
had entered the car through a knot-hole, and built the 
nest and to my surprise they were following the 
nest, as the birds presence in the car attracted my at- 
tention to the nest built up over the door. This well 
illustrates this sparrow's persistence. 
I well recall the only instance I know of cowbirds 
attempting to build a nest of their own. 
One spring, large flocks of these birds were seen 
perched on the limbs of the apple trees, sunning them- 
selves, and later, as_ they had paired off and scattered, I 
saw a pair carrying grass and feathers to a hole under 
the eaves of an old building, where the boards had 
started off, leaving a place large ^ejfpugh to build a nest. 
I watched them day after day much interest, until 
the nest was completed ; but %'ljether they were just 
"trying their hand" at building^ aiid 'did not intend to 
rear their own young,^ or that I watched them too closely 
and frightened them away, I am_ unable to say, as they 
left the nest soon after completion, and were" seen no 
more about it. 
Another oddity was a pendant nest of the Maryland 
The statement that this native American bird is extinct 
will seem almost incredible to residents of Dutchess 
county, N, Y., for within a few years it has certainly been 
seen in that vicinity, although not in vast numbers as 
the old residents used to see it. Four years ago there 
Avas a remarkable flight of wild pigeons there, a flight 
like those of forty or fifty years ago. Hundreds were 
killed, and the event created no little interest. This 
was, however, a most unusual occurrence, in that section 
of the country for these latter days. In the flight of four 
years ago, there were thousands of the birds, and it 
hardly seems possible that they could since have become 
extinct. Nevertheless, how have they disappeared or 
where they have gone seems a mystery. There are living 
hundreds of persons who remember when vast flights of 
wild pigeons could be seen almost any day in November. 
AH about Poughkeepsie, for instance, in old times, 
pigeons were killed by thousands, and many men now 
living there have made up parties to hunt the birds. 
A pigeon roost, was a place where confusion worse 
confounded reigned supreme. Toward evening, when the 
foraging army returned to its nightly resting place, the 
uproar and tumult caused by the rustling of tens of 
thousands of wings was deafening and bewildering. The 
place was not without its dangers, for branches of trees 
were torn from their trunks by the weight of the birds 
and crashed to the earth, breaking other branches in their 
fall and startling thousands of ready wings to fluttering, 
until the sound was as a roaring of a mighty wind 
through the tree tops. In such mishaps, which were 
constantly occurring over a wide expanse of country, 
numberless birds were killed or wounded and fell to the 
ground. 
The birds would not forsake the roost, so long as 
food could be obtained within a half-day's journey. In 
the nesting season, when the male birds attended with the 
most assiduous care upon his mate, these dauntless 
husbands have been known to fly 200 miles ,in search of 
food, and their return was the signal for an outburst of 
the most clamorous joy on the part of those who 're- 
mained. 
Always about a pigeon roost were many birds, usually 
males, who evidently believed that they also serve who 
only "stand and wait." Those birds were to the pigeon 
roost as the drones are to the hives, and reaped some 
other pigeon's sowing. These birds were evidently 4^- 
spised by the workers, for when the demand for fogd 
became too aggressive they were set upon by a mob 
of pigeons and remorselessly lynched. The usefulness 
of these idlers has never been discovered, and as the 
family relations of pigeon life were known to exist, it 
. is surmised that they were the dudes of pigeon civiliza- 
tion. 
In many localities around Poughkeepsie these wild 
pigeons in their annual flight southward, seem to have 
had certain woods, where they almost -always stopped to 
rest, yet it is not known that the ^ame'ibirSs .ever, re- 
turned. The steady column swiftly deployed into these 
woods, until every tree was weighted down with its living 
load. Within an hour or two after nightfall the birds 
became quiet, and the sighs of the winds were the only 
sounds, save the gentle coo of some sleepless birds, whose 
rest was disturbed by the encroachments of others. Late 
at night, when the tired birds were supposed to be deep 
in slumber, men came from all directions with wagons 
piled high with coops. They were armed with long poles 
and sticks, and carried torches. The light's glare seems 
to paralyze the birds, for those in the vicinity of the 
lights remained inactive, while the men beat those on the 
lower branches into insensibility with their poles. The 
dead and wounded birds were gathered up and stuffed 
into coops until they would hold no more. In the day- 
time, both in the vicinity of the roosts and over the 
country generally, the birds were caught in nets, and 
countless thousands were destroyed in this manner. The 
nets were stretched over oblong frames of wood about 
6ft. wide and 20 to 30ft. long. A favorite place for set- 
ting the nets was in an open wood, where the nets were 
placed at an angle of 45 degrees and held in position by 
light props at each end. A string tied to each prop ex- 
tended to a screen of cornstalks or brush, under which 
a man lays concealed. Grain was scattered plentifully 
under the net and a few stool pigeons were tied there. 
If a flight of pigeons came near, the foolish stool pigeons 
fluttered to the length of their restraining cords and 
attracted the attention of the passing birds. The pigeons 
— usually hundreds in a single flight — drove on with in- 
credible speed, but whirled and came flying back lower 
and lower each time, and when they saw the alluring 
grain, plumped down to the ground and walked under 
the net, when the props were jerked out, the net fell 
upon the birds, whose struggles availed them not. Then 
they were either carried to market or taken home . and 
usually placed in the corncrib, where they dashed them- 
selves in a frenzy of fear against the sides of the build- 
ing. The worst injured were immediately slaughtered 
and the rest were left until they were wanted, when the 
farmer entered the crib and beat down with sticlis what 
he wanted for his dinner. The nature of these birds was 
wild, and no matter how long they were kept in confine- 
ment, not one of them ever lost its tameless spirit^, or 
ceased to struggle with desperate energy to escape 
when the crib was entered by anyone. 
Sometimes, especially in wet weather, the birds flew 
so low that they could be killed with sticks and stones, 
and any man or boy who could load a gun and fire it 
was sure to bring down one or more at each discharge. 
Sometimes a small cannon was loaded to the muzzle 
with slugs and missiles, and when a flight appeared in 
range it was discharged, and the ground was blue with 
the little soldiers who dragged their maimed bodies 
