September, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
465 
BIRD MIGRATION UNDER THE STARS 
DURING LATE SEPTEMBER DAYS THE BLUE SKY IS OFTEN DOTTED WITH BIRD 
MIGRANTS BUT IT IS ON QUIET NIGHTS THAT THE SQUADRONS CHIEFLY PASS 
By WILMOT TOWNSEND 
T he laws that govern times and sea- 
sons for our bird migrants are not 
as yet thoroughly understood by 
ornithologists. i 
There are many theories, but little pos- 
itive knowledge on the subject. 
Food supply is undoubtedly a power- 
ful factor in bird economy, and will ac- 
count for their absence in certain locali- 
ties where they were formerly abundant. 
The draining of large tracts of 
meadow has given increased acreage to 
cultivation, but the resulting scarcity of 
waterfowl is owing to the destruction of 
the wild rice and water plants that for- 
merly supplied I 
their swarm- 
ing thousands ^ 
with food in 
these localities. ^ 
In other sec- wo 
tions the clear- 
ing of forests 
and woodland 
has had its ef- 
fect, as seen in 
the diminished 
numbers of 
our land birds 
whose cherry 
voices once 
bright ened 
these now des- 
olate places in 
spring and au- 
tumn. 
The migra- 
tion continues 
as. in ages 
past, but these 
local changes 
affect it, de- 
flecting the 
travel s o m e- 
what, that the 
comfort and 
well being of 
the tourists 
“en route” 
may be prop- 
erly provided 
for. Many of 
our birds mig- 
as the fairy forms pass between his tele- 
scope and the silver disk of the moon. 
The lighthouse keeper hears a tiny thud 
on the glass of his light and feels a pang 
of regret that a bright little life has 
dashed itself away, bewildered by the 
glare. 
In foggy weather he picks up many 
lifeless and broken little bodies at the 
foot of the tower, bird travellers gone 
astray and destroyed in the misty night. 
The keeper at Fire Island Light, in 
speaking of this to me, many years since, 
said: “Wild geese used to ‘raise ned’ 
round here on foggy nights. Three of 
From a drawing by Wilmot Townsend. — 
Wild-fowl were wheeling and weaving about in erratic flight over the dun meadows 
rate by day as well as by night. Wild 
geese, swans and waterfowl of all kinds 
are often seen on their travels. 
In late September the blue sky is 
often dotted with circling hawks in every 
direction while hordes of high-holders 
and their kin “bound” along, clipping the 
crisp morning air with swift wing 
strokes, but ’tis “under the stars” on 
quiet nights that the squadrons chiefly 
pass. Hence the mystery and charm of 
it. We have the inland flights via the 
Mississippi and Ohio valleys, and a coast- 
wise flight along our ocean borders. 
Twice each year, as regularly as the 
tides ebb and flow, the streams of bird 
life pour along these ancient highways. 
The astronomer sees their “silhouettes” 
them once banged through the glass 
screen that protects the lantern. I got 
two up there, and one next morning down 
below', with his neck broken and his head 
almost cut off by the breaking glass when 
he struck. They soon learned to steer 
clear of the light, though, and now for 
the most part don’t Toother me. 
“I get all the ducks I want to eat every 
spring and fall; they very seldom strike 
the light; seem to hit the tower ’bout 
twenty foot down mostly, while them lit- 
tle birds always go for the light. I can 
hear ’em some night spat, spat, spat agin 
the glass. I mostly save ’em and sell 
’em to bird staffers. ” 
I knew an old gunner who told me he 
had often picked up six or eight ducks 
on the rocks at Execution Light on Long 
Island Sound after a thick night. 
Execution Light, how appropriate. 
There are many such casualties at every 
lighthouse on the coast. Where many 
millions are travelling some are sure to 
fall by the way while the majority pass 
in safety. 
{ WITNESSED a spring migration of 
shore birds on the Virginia coast in 
1894. The miles on miles of salt 
marsh were very desolate in early April 
of that year when I first arrived, but one 
morning I awoke to find the air vibrant 
with the harsh 
. cackle of the 
' meadow hens 
■ that had come 
over night. 
There must 
have been 
thousands 
of them scat- 
tered over the 
meadows, and 
from then till 
we left, their 
noise was in- 
cessant. In 
spite of their 
numbers we 
saw but few, 
so well did 
they keep hid- 
d e n in the 
sedge. After a 
few days the 
balmy weather 
we had so 
much enjoyed 
changed to 
chilly easterly 
winds and 
howling gales 
that pelted the 
marsh with 
driving rains 
into sodden 
d r e a riness. 
One afternoon 
the wind 
changed and 
off, leaving a 
soon the gale boomed 
strange silence after the wild tumult that 
had so lately raged. A lurid sunset pre- 
ceded the quiet night. At 10:30 P. M. 
the yacht swung peacefully to the 
swirling tide. We were reading quiet- 
ly in her cosy cabin when suddenly 
the clear pipes of curlew rang above the 
din of the meadow hen. A wild scramble 
followed as we tumbled out on deck. 
The night was pitchy dark, not a star 
visible, but so still was the air that the 
cries of the birds, whose advent had so 
startled us, could still be heard as they 
swept on, fainter, fainter, till the night 
closed them in. Soon far to the south I 
heard another party; louder grew the 
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