Sept., 1904 1 
THE CONDOR 
117 
cloudy nights when they can not possibly see the Florida shores, and safely reach 
their destination, provided no change occurs in the weather. But if meantime 
the wind changes or a storm arises to throw them out of their reckoning, they be- 
come bewildered, lose their way, and fly toward the light-house beacon. Unless 
killed by striking the lantern, they hover near or alight on the balcony, to con- 
tinue their flight when morning breaks, or, the storm ceasing, a clear sky allows 
them once more to determine the proper course. 
Birds flying over the Gulf of Mexico to Louisiana, even if they ascended to the 
height of five miles, would still be unable to see a third of the way across. Never- 
theless this trip is successfully made twice each year by countless thousands of 
the warblers of the Mississippi Valley. 
A favorite belief of many American ornithologists is that coast lines, mountain 
chains, and especially the courses of the larger rivers and their tributaries, form 
rvell-marked highways along which birds return to previous nesting sites. Ac- 
cording to this theory a bird breeding in northern Indiana would in its fall migra- 
tion pass down its own little rivulet to the nearest creek, along this to the Wabash 
River, thence to the Ohio, and finally reaching tlie Mississippi, would follow its 
course to the Gulf of Mexico; and would use the same route reversed for the re- 
turn trip in the spring. The fact is that each county in the Central States con- 
tains nesting birds, the different species of which at the beginning of the fall 
migration scatter toward half the points of the compass. Indeed, it would be safe 
to say “all the points of the compa.ss,” as some young herons preface their regular 
journey south with a little pleasure trip to the unexplored North. 
In the fall thousands of birds reared in Indiana, Illinois and northwestward 
visit South Carolina and Georgia, cutting directly across the valley of the Ohio and 
the main chain of the Allegheny Mountains. Palm warblers from New England 
and others from the Northern Mississippi V'alley both pa.ss in the fall through 
Georgia, but by courses approximately at right angles to each other; and the Con- 
necticut warbler seeks variety by choosing different routes for the spring and fall, 
each course in part being at right angles to the other. The truth seems to be that 
birds pay little attention to natural physical highways, except when large bodies 
of water force them to deviate from the desired course. Probably there are many 
short zigzags from one favored feeding spot to another, but the general course be- 
tween the summer and winter homes is as straight as the birds can find without 
missing the usual stopping places. 
CASUALTIES DURING MIGRATION. 
Migration is a season full of peril for myriads of winged travelers, especially 
for tho.se that cross large bodies of water. Some of the shore birds, such as the 
plover and curlew, which take long ocean voyages can rest on the waves if over- 
taken by storms, but woe to the luckless warbler whose feathers once become 
water-soaked! — a grave in the ocean or a burial in the sand of the beach is the 
inevitable result. Nor are such accidents infrequent. A few years ago on Lake 
Michigan a storm during spring migration piled many birds along the shore. If 
such a mortality could occur on a lake less than 100 miles wide, how much greater 
might it not be during a flight across the Gulf of Mexico. Such a catastrophe 
w'as once witnessed from the deck of a vessel 30 miles off the mouth of the Miss- 
issippi River. Large numbers of migrating birds, mostly warblers, had accom- 
plished nine-tenths of their long flight and were nearing land when they were 
caught by a “norther” with w'hich most of them were unable to contend, and 
falling into the Gulf were drowned by hundreds. During migration, birds are 
