The Passenger Pigeon
From "Ornithological Biography," by John James Audubon
The Passenger Pigeon, or, as it is usually named in America, the Wild
Pigeon, moves with extreme rapidity, propelling itself by quickly
repeated flaps of the wings, which it brings more or less near to the
body, according to the degree of velocity which is required. Like
the domestic pigeon, it often flies, during the love season, in a
circling manner, supporting itself with both wings angularly elevated,
in which position it keeps them until it is about to alight. Now and
then, during these circular flights, the tips of the primary quills
of each wing are made to strike against each other, producing a smart
rap, which may be heard at a distance of thirty or forty yards. Before
alighting, the wild pigeon, like the Carolina parrot and a few other
species of birds, breaks the force of its flight by repeated flappings,
as if apprehensive of receiving injury from coming too suddenly into
contact with the branch or the spot of ground on which it intends to
settle.
I have commenced my description of this species with the above account
of its flight, because the most important facts connected with its
habits relate to its migrations. These are entirely owing to the
necessity of procuring food, and are not performed with the view of
escaping the severity of a northern latitude, or of seeking a southern
one for the purpose of breeding. They consequently do not take place at
any fixed period or season of the year. Indeed, it sometimes happens
that a continuance of a sufficient supply of food in one district will
keep these birds absent from another for years. I know, at least, to a
certainty, that in Kentucky they remained for several years constantly,
and were nowhere else to be found. They all suddenly disappeared one
season when the mast was exhausted and did not return for a long
period. Similar facts have been observed in other States.
Their great power of flight enables them to survey and pass over an
astonishing extent of country in a very short time. This is proved
by facts well-known in America. Thus, pigeons have been killed in
the neighborhood of New York, with their crops full of rice, which
they must have collected in the fields of Georgia and Carolina, these
districts being the nearest in which they could possibly have procured
a supply of that kind of food. As their power of digestion is so great
that they will decompose food entirely in twelve hours, they must in
this case have traveled between three hundred and four hundred miles in
six hours, which shows their power of speed to be at an average about
one mile in a minute. A velocity such as this would enable one of these
birds, were it so inclined, to visit the European continent in less
than three days.
This great power of flight is seconded by as great a power of vision,
which enables them, as they travel at that swift rate, to inspect the
country below, discover their food with facility, and thus attain the
object for which their journey has been undertaken. This I have also
proved to be the case, by having observed them, when passing over a
sterile part of the country, or one scantily furnished with food suited
to them, keep high in the air, flying with an extended front, so as
to enable them to survey hundreds of acres at once. On the contrary,
when the land is richly covered with food, or the trees abundantly hung
with mast, they fly low, in order to discover the part most plentifully
supplied.
Their body is of an elongated oval form, steered by a long, well-plumed
tail, and propelled by well-set wings, the muscles of which are very
large and powerful for the size of the bird. When an individual is seen
gliding through the woods and close to the observer, it passes like a
thought, and on trying to see it again, the eye searches in vain; the
bird is gone.
The multitudes of wild pigeons in our woods are astonishing. Indeed,
after having viewed them so often, and under so many circumstances,
I even now feel inclined to pause, and assure myself that what I am
going to relate is fact. Yet I have seen it all, and that, too, in the
company of persons who, like myself, were struck with amazement.
In the autumn of 1813, I left my house at Henderson, on the banks of
the Ohio, on my way to Louisville. In passing over the Barrens a few
miles beyond Hardensburgh, I observed the pigeons flying from northeast
to southwest, in greater numbers than I thought I had ever seen them
before, and feeling an inclination to count the flocks that might
pass within the reach of my eye in one hour, I dismounted, seated
myself on an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot
for every flock that passed. In a short time, finding the task which
I had undertaken impracticable, as the birds poured in in countless
multitudes, I rose, and counting the dots then put down, found that one
hundred and sixty-three had been made in twenty-one minutes. I traveled
on, and still met more the farther I proceeded. The air was literally
filled with pigeons; the light of noonday was obscured as by an
eclipse; the dung fell in spots, not unlike melting flakes of snow; and
the continued buzz of wings had a tendency to lull my senses to repose.
Whilst waiting for dinner at Young's Inn, at the confluence of Salt
River with the Ohio, I saw, at my leisure, immense legions still
going by, with a front reaching far beyond the Ohio on the west, and
the beechwood forests directly on the east of me. Not a single bird
alighted; for not a nut or acorn was that year to be seen in the
neighborhood. They consequently flew so high, that different trials to
reach them with a capital rifle proved ineffectual; nor did the reports
disturb them in the least. I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty
of their aërial evolutions, when a hawk chanced to press upon the rear
of the flock. At once, like a torrent, and with a noise like thunder,
they rushed into a compact mass, pressing upon each other towards the
center. In these almost solid masses, they darted forward in undulating
and angular lines, descended and swept close over the earth with
inconceivable velocity, mounted perpendicularly so as to resemble a
vast column, and, when high, were seen wheeling and twisting within
their continued lines, which then resembled the coils of a gigantic
serpent.
Before sunset I reached Louisville, distant from Hardensburgh
fifty-five miles. The pigeons were still passing in undiminished
numbers, and continued to do so for three days in succession. The
people were all in arms. The banks of the Ohio were crowded with men
and boys, incessantly shooting at the pilgrims, which there flew lower
as they passed the river. Multitudes were thus destroyed. For a week or
more, the population fed on no other flesh than that of pigeons, and
talked of nothing but pigeons. The atmosphere, during this time, was
strongly impregnated with the peculiar odor which emanates from the
species.
It is extremely interesting to see flock after flock performing
exactly the same evolutions which had been traced as it were in the
air by a preceding flock. Thus, should a hawk have charged on a group
at a certain spot, the angles, curves and undulations that have been
described by the birds, in their efforts to escape from the dreaded
talons of the plunderer, are undeviatingly followed by the next group
that comes up. Should the bystander happen to witness one of these
affrays, and, struck with the rapidity and elegance of the motions
exhibited, feel desirous of seeing them repeated, his wishes will be
gratified if he only remain in the place until the next group comes up.
It may not, perhaps, be out of place to attempt an estimate of the
number of pigeons contained in one of those mighty flocks, and of
the quantity of food daily consumed by its members. The inquiry will
tend to show the astonishing beauty of the great Author of Nature in
providing for the wants of His creatures. Let us take a column of one
mile in breadth, which is far below the average size, and suppose it
passing over us without interruption for three hours, at the rate
mentioned above of one mile in a minute. This will give a parallelogram
of one hundred and eighty by one, covering one hundred and eighty
square miles. Allowing two pigeons to the square yard, we have one
billion, one hundred and fifty millions, one hundred and thirty-six
thousand pigeons in one flock. As every pigeon daily consumes fully
half a pint of food, the quantity necessary for supplying this vast
multitude must be eight millions, seven hundred and twelve thousand
bushels per day.
As soon as the pigeons discover a sufficiency of food to entice them
to alight, they fly around in circles, reviewing the country below.
During their evolutions, on such occasions, the dense mass which they
form exhibits a beautiful appearance, as it changes its direction, now
displaying a glistening sheet of azure, when the backs of the birds
come simultaneously into view, and anon, suddenly presenting a mass
of rich deep purple. They then pass lower, over the woods, and for
a moment are lost among the foliage, but again emerge, and are seen
gliding aloft. They now alight, but the next moment, as if suddenly
alarmed, they take to wing, producing by the flapping of their wings
a noise like the roar of distant thunder, and sweep through the
forests to see if danger is near. Hunger, however, soon brings them
to the ground. When alighted, they are seen industriously throwing up
the withered leaves in quest of the fallen mast. The rear ranks are
continually rising, passing over the main body, and alighting in front,
in such rapid succession, that the whole flock seems still on the wing.
The quantity of ground thus swept is astonishing, and so completely has
it been cleared, that the gleaner who might follow in their rear would
find his labor completely lost. Whilst feeding, their avidity is at
times so great that in attempting to swallow a large acorn or nut, they
are seen gasping for a long while, as if in agonies of suffocation.
On such occasions, when the woods are filled with these pigeons,
they are killed in immense numbers, although no apparent diminution
ensues. About the middle of the day, after their repast is finished,
they settle on the trees, to enjoy rest, and digest their food. On the
ground they walk with ease, as well as on the branches, frequently
jerking their beautiful tail, and moving the neck backwards and
forwards in the most graceful manner. As the sun begins to sink beneath
the horizon, they depart _en masse_ for the roosting place, which not
infrequently is hundreds of miles distant, as has been ascertained by
persons who have kept an account of their arrivals and departures.
Let us now, kind reader, inspect their place of nightly rendezvous.
One of these curious roosting places, on the banks of the Green River
in Kentucky, I repeatedly visited. It was, as is always the case, in
a portion of the forest where the trees were of great magnitude, and
where there was little underwood. I rode through it upwards of forty
miles, and, crossing it in different parts, found its average breadth
to be rather more than three miles. My first view of it was about a
fortnight subsequent to the period when they had made choice of it, and
I arrived there nearly two hours before sunset. Few pigeons were then
to be seen, but a great number of persons, with horses and wagons,
guns and ammunition, had already established encampments on the borders.
Two farmers from the vicinity of Russelsville, distant more than a
hundred miles, had driven upwards of three hundred hogs to be fattened
on the pigeons which were to be slaughtered. Here and there, the people
employed in plucking and salting what had already been procured, were
seen sitting in the midst of large piles of these birds. The dung lay
several inches deep, covering the whole extent of the roosting place,
like a bed of snow. Many trees two feet in diameter, I observed, were
broken off at no great distance from the ground; and the branches of
many of the largest and tallest had given way, as if the forest had
been swept by a tornado. Everything proved to me that the number of
birds resorting to this part of the forest must be immense beyond
conception. As the period of their arrival approached, their foes
anxiously prepared to receive them. Some were furnished with iron
pots containing sulphur, others with torches of pine knots, many with
poles, and the rest with guns. The sun was lost to our view, yet not
a pigeon had arrived. Everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing
on the clear sky, which appeared in glimpses amidst the tall trees.
Suddenly there burst forth a general cry of "Here they come!" The
noise which they made, though yet distant, reminded me of a hard gale
at sea passing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As
the birds arrived and passed over me, I felt a current of air that
surprised me. Thousands were seen knocked down by the pole-men. The
birds continued to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent,
as well as wonderful and almost terrifying sight presented itself.
The pigeons, arriving by thousands, alighted everywhere, one above
another, until solid masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the
branches all round. Here and there the perches gave way under the
weight with a crash, and, falling to the ground destroyed hundreds of
the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick
was loaded. It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it quite
useless to speak, or even to shout to those persons who were nearest
to me. Even the reports of the guns were seldom heard, and I was made
aware of the firing only by seeing the shooters reloading.
No one dared venture within the line of devastation. The hogs had been
penned up in due time, the picking up of the dead and wounded being
left for the next morning's employment. The pigeons were constantly
coming, and it was past midnight before I perceived a decrease in the
number of those that arrived. The uproar continued the whole night; and
as I was anxious to know to what distance the sound reached, I sent
off a man, accustomed to perambulate the forest, who, returning two
hours afterwards, informed me he had heard it distinctly when three
miles distant from the spot. Toward the approach of day, the noise in
some measure subsided, long before objects were distinguishable, the
pigeons began to move off in a direction quite different from that in
which they had arrived the evening before, and at sunrise all that were
able to fly had disappeared. The howlings of the wolves now reached our
ears, and the foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, raccoons, opossums, and
pole-cats were seen sneaking off, whilst eagles and hawks of different
species, accompanied by a crowd of vultures, came to supplant them and
enjoy their share of the spoil.
It was then that the authors of all this devastation began their entry
amongst the dead, the dying and the mangled. The pigeons were picked up
and piled in heaps, until each had as many as he could possibly dispose
of, when the hogs were let loose to feed on the remainder.
Persons unacquainted with these birds might naturally conclude that
such dreadful havoc would soon put an end to the species. But I have
satisfied myself, by long observation, that nothing but the gradual
diminution of our forests can accomplish their decrease, as they not
infrequently quadruple their numbers yearly, and always at least double
it. In 1805 I saw schooners loaded in bulk with pigeons caught up
the Hudson River, coming into the wharf at New York, when the birds
sold for a cent apiece. I knew a man in Pennsylvania, who caught and
killed upward of five hundred dozens in a clap net in one day, sweeping
sometimes twenty dozens or more at a single haul. In the month of
March, 1830, they were so abundant in the markets of New York, that
piles of them met the eye in every direction. I have seen the negroes
at the United States' Salines or Saltworks of Shawnee Town, wearied
with killing pigeons, as they alighted to drink the water issuing from
the leading pipes, for weeks at a time; and yet in 1826, in Louisiana,
I saw congregated flocks of these birds as numerous as ever I had seen
them before, during a residence of nearly thirty years in the United
States.
The breeding of the wild pigeons, and the places chosen for that
purpose, are points of great interest. The time is not much influenced
by season, and the place selected is where food is most plentiful and
most attainable, and always at a convenient distance from water. Forest
trees of great height are those in which the pigeons form their nests.
Thither the countless myriads resort, and prepare to fulfill one of
the great laws of nature. At this period the note of the pigeon is a
soft coo-coo-coo-coo much shorter than that of the domestic species.
The common notes resemble the monosyllables kee-kee-kee-kee, the first
being the loudest, the others gradually diminishing in power. The
male assumes a pompous demeanor, and follows the female whether on
the ground or on the branches, with spread tail and drooping wings,
which it rubs against the part over which it is moving. The body is
elevated, the throat swells, the eyes sparkle. He continues his notes,
and now and then rises on the wing, and flies a few yards to approach
the fugitive and timorous female. Like the domestic pigeon and other
species, they caress each other by billing, in which action, the bill
of the one is introduced transversely into that of the other, and both
parties alternately disgorge the contents of their crops by repeated
efforts. These preliminary affairs are soon settled, and the pigeons
commence their nests in general peace and harmony. They are composed
of a few dry twigs, crossing each other, and are supported by forks
of the branches. On the same tree from fifty to a hundred nests may
frequently be seen: I might say a much greater number, were I not
anxious, kind reader, that however wonderful my account of the wild
pigeons is, you may not feel disposed to refer it to the marvelous. The
eggs are two in number, of a broadly elliptical form, and pure white.
During incubation, the male supplies the female with food. Indeed, the
tenderness and affection displayed by these birds toward their mates,
are in the highest degree striking. It is a remarkable fact that each
brood generally consists of a male and a female.
Here again, the tyrant of the creation, man, interferes, disturbing
the harmony of this peaceful scene. As the young birds grow up, their
enemies armed with axes, reach the spot, to seize and destroy all
they can. The trees are felled, and made to fall in such a way that
the cutting of one causes the overthrow of another, or shakes the
neighboring trees so much, that the young pigeons, or squabs, as they
are named, are violently hurled to the ground. In this manner, also,
immense quantities are destroyed.
The young are fed by the parents in the manner described above; in
other words, the old bird introduces its bill into the mouth of the
young one in a transverse manner, or with the back of each mandible
opposite the separations of the mandibles of the young bird, and
disgorges the contents of its crop. As soon as the young birds are
able to shift for themselves, they leave their parents, and continue
separate until they attain maturity. By the end of six months they are
capable of reproducing their species.
The flesh of the wild pigeon is of a dark color, but affords tolerable
eating. That of young birds from the nest is much esteemed. The skin
is covered with small white filmy scales. The feathers fall off at
the least touch, as has been remarked to be the case in the Carolina
Turtle. I have only to add that this species, like others of the same
genus, immerses its head up to the eyes while drinking.
In March, 1830, I bought about three hundred and fifty of these birds
in the market of New York, at four cents apiece. Most of these I
carried alive to England, and distributed among several noblemen,
presenting some at the same time to the Zoölogical Society.
ADULT MALE
Bill--straight, of ordinary length, rather slender, broader than deep
at the base, with a tumid, fleshy covering above, compressed toward the
end, rather obtuse; upper mandible slightly declinate at the tip, edges
inflected. Head--small; neck, slender; body, rather full. Legs--short
and strong; tarsus, rather rounded; anteriorly scutellate; toes,
slightly webbed at the base; claws, short, depressed, obtuse.
Plumage--blended on the neck and under parts, compact on the back.
Wings--long, the second quill longest. Tail--graduated, of twelve
tapering feathers.
Bill--black. Iris--bright red. Feet--carmine purple, claws blackish.
Head--above and on the sides light blue. Throat, fore-neck, breast,
and sides--light brownish-red, the rest of the under parts white.
Lower part of the neck behind, and along the sides, changing to gold,
emerald green, and rich crimson. The general color of the upper parts
is grayish-blue, some of the wing-coverts marked with a black spot.
Quills and larger wing-coverts blackish, the primary quills bluish in
the outer web, the larger coverts whitish at the tip. The two middle
feathers of the tail black, the rest pale blue at the base, becoming
white toward the end.
Length, 16-1/4 inches; extent of wings, 25; bill, along the ridge,
5/6, along the gap, 1-1/12; tarsus, 1-1/4 middle toe, 1-1/3.
ADULT FEMALE
The colors of the female are much duller than those of the male,
although their distribution is the same. The breast is light
grayish-brown, the upper parts pale reddish-brown, tinged with blue.
The changeable spot on the neck is of less extent, and the eye of a
somewhat duller red, as are the feet.
Length, 15 inches; extent of wings, 23; bill, along the ridge, 3/4;
along the gap, 5/6.