What Became of the Wild Pigeon?
By Sullivan Cook, from "Forest and Stream," March 14, 1903.[D]
[Footnote D: I think that anyone who reads this article will be, like
myself, satisfied that the destruction of the pigeons was wrought to
gratify the avarice and love of gain of a few men who slaughtered them
until they were virtually exterminated.--W. B. M.]
When a boy and living in northern Ohio, I often had to go with a gun
and drive the pigeons from the newly sown fields of wheat. At that time
wheat was sown broadcast, and pigeons would come by the thousands and
pick up the wheat before it could be covered with the drag. My father
would say, "Get the gun and shoot at every pigeon you see," and often I
would see them coming from the woods and alighting on the newly sowed
field. They would alight until the ground was fairly blue with these
beautiful birds.
I would secrete myself in a fence corner, and as these birds would
alight on the ground they would form themselves in a long row,
canvassing the field for grain, and as the rear birds raised up and
flew over those in front, they reminded one of the little breakers on
the ocean beach, and as they came along in this form, they resembled a
windrow of hay rolling across the field.
I would wait until the end of this wave was opposite my hiding place
and then arise and fire into this windrow of living, animated beauty,
and I have picked up as many as twenty-seven dead birds killed at a
single shot with an old flintlock smooth bore. Later in the fall these
birds would come in countless millions to feed on the wild mast of
beech nuts and acorns, and every evening they would pass over our home,
going west of our place to what was known as Lodi Swamp.
Many and many a time have I seen clouds of birds that extended as far
as the eye could reach, and the sound of their wings was like the roar
of a tempest. And for those who are not acquainted with the habits
and flight of these birds, I wish to say that once in the month of
November, while these pigeons were going from their feeding grounds
to this roost in the Lodi Swamp, they were met with a storm of sleet
and snow. The wind blew so hard that they could not breast it and were
compelled to alight in a sugar orchard near our place. This orchard
consisted of twenty acres, where the timber had all been cut out,
except the maples, and when they commenced alighting, the trees already
partially loaded with snow and ice, and the vast flock of pigeons being
attracted by those alighting, all sought the same resting place.
Such vast numbers alighted that in a short time the branches of the
trees were broken and as fast as one tree gave way those birds would
alight on the already loaded tree adjoining, and, that, too, was
stripped of its long and limber branches. Suffice it to say that in a
half hour's time this beautiful sugar orchard was entirely ruined by
the loads of birds which had attempted to rest from the storm.
About this time I enjoyed my first pigeon hunt in a roost. Being a boy
about sixteen years of age, having a brother about thirteen, and as we
had seen the pigeons going by to their roost for hours and knowing that
many people went there every night to shoot pigeons on the roost, my
brother and I were seized with a desire to go and enjoy this exciting
sport. Then arose the difficulty of a gun suitable for the occasion.
As we had nothing but a small-bore rifle and not owning a shotgun, we
appealed to father as to what we should do for a gun. We had previously
gained his consent to our going. He suggested that we take the old
horse pistol; one of the Revolutionary time, which had been kept in the
family as a reminder of troublesome years.
Let the young man of to-day, who hunts with the improved breechloader,
think of two boys starting pigeon hunting, their only outfit consisting
of a horse pistol, barrel twelve inches long, caliber 12-gauge,
flintlock, one pound of No. 4 shot, a quarter of a pound of powder, a
pocket full of old newspaper for wadding, a two-bushel bag to carry
game in, and a tin lantern. Thus equipped, we started for the pigeon
roost a little after dark. Although three miles from the roost when
we started from home, we could hear the sullen roar of that myriad of
birds, and the sound increased in volume as we approached the roost,
till it became as the roar of the breakers upon the beach.
As we approached the swamp where the birds roosted, a few scattered
birds were frightened from the roost along the edge of the swamp. These
scattering birds we could not shoot, but kept advancing further into
the swamp. As we approached this vast body of birds, which bent the
alders flat to the ground, we could see every now and then ahead of us
a small pyramid which looked like a haystack in the darkness, and as
we approached what appeared to be this haystack, the frightened birds
would fly from the bended alders, and we would find ourselves standing
in the midst of a diminutive forest of small trees of alders and
willows.
We now found these apparent haystacks were only small elms or willows
completely loaded down with live birds. My brother suggested that I
shoot at the next "haystack." So we advanced along very carefully among
the now upright alders till we came to where it was a perfect roar of
voices and wings, and just ahead of us we saw one of those mysterious
objects which so resembled a haystack.
My brother suggested that I aim at the center of it and let the old
horse pistol go. I instantly obeyed his suggestion, pointing as best I
could in the dim light at the center of that form, and pulled. There
was a flash and a roar, and the very atmosphere seemed to be alive
with flying, chattering birds. The old tin lantern was lighted. The
horse pistol was hunted for, as it had recoiled with such force I had
lost hold of it. The gun being found, we then approached as nearly as
we could the place where I had shot at the stack. From this discharge
we picked up eighteen pigeons and saw some hobbling away into thick
brush, from which we could not recover them. After an hour of this kind
of hunting our bag was full of pigeons, and our tallow candle in the
lantern nearly consumed. We retraced our steps out of the swamp, and
about 11 o'clock at night arrived home well satisfied with the night's
hunt in the pigeon roost. We had had acres of enjoyment and had brought
home bushels of pigeons.
This is only to give an idea of what pigeons were in northern Ohio in
the days of my boyhood. This was in the years of 1844 to 1846. In 1854,
having grown to man's estate, I moved to Michigan and settled in Cass
County, where I built a log house and began clearing up a farm. After
having cleared three or four fields around my house, one morning one of
my girls came running in from out of doors and said: "Pa, come out and
see the pigeons."
I went to the door and saw scooting across my fields, as it seemed
skimming the surface of the earth, flock after flock of the birds,
one coming close upon the heels of another. I hastened into the house
and grasped my double barreled shotgun, powder flask and shot pouch;
my little girl, then a miss of twelve summers, following me. I took a
stand on a slight rise in the middle of a five-acre field and commenced
shooting, you might say, at wads of pigeons, so closely huddled were
they as they went by. Letting the birds get opposite me and firing
across the flock, I was enabled to kill from three to fifteen pigeons
at a shot. And my girl was wildly excited, picking up the dead birds
and catching the winged ones and bringing them to me.
You never saw two mortals more busy than we were for a half hour. At
this time my wife called for breakfast, as we were near the house, and
I found my stock of ammunition nearly exhausted. We went into the house
for our breakfast and when we came out the birds were flying as thickly
as ever. She says, let us count the pigeons and see how many we have.
We found we had killed and picked up in this short time twenty-three
dozen. My wife said I had better take them to Three Rivers, which
was our nearest town, and sell them. And as my ammunition was about
exhausted, I hitched up my team, took twenty dozen of the birds and
drove ten miles to the station, sold my birds for sixty-five cents a
dozen and returned home well satisfied with my day's work, and having
on hand a good supply of ammunition for the next morning's flight.
Now I wish to pass along, the lapse of time being about sixteen years.
During this time I had removed from Cass County to Van Buren County,
where I had located in the beautiful village of Hartford. In the year
1869 or 1870, the pigeoners, a class of men who lived in Hartford, made
a business of netting pigeons, and they are living here yet, and not
one of them feels any pride in the part he took in the destruction of
these beautiful birds. In March, 1869, word was received that a large
flight of pigeons were coming north through the State of Indiana. These
men, who had followed the pigeons for years, said, "As we have snow on
the ground they will be sure to nest near here, and as we have had a
big crop of beech nuts and acorns last fall they will be sure to stop
to get the benefit of this mast." A queer thing about the pigeon was
that he always built his nest on the borders of the snow, that is,
where the ground underneath was covered with snow.
Sure enough, as predicted, in two days after receiving notice of the
flight of the birds from Indiana, myriads of pigeons were passing north
along the east shore of Lake Michigan, and soon scattering flocks
were seen going south towards the bare ground. In a few days word was
received that pigeons had gone to nesting in what was then called
Deerfield Township, a vast body of hardwood and hemlock timber. Then it
was that the pigeon killers, with their nets, stool birds and flyers
commenced making preparations for the slaughter of the beautiful birds
when they began laying their eggs. This takes place only three or four
days after they commence nesting, as a pigeon's nest is the simplest
nest ever built by a bird seen in a tree. It consists of a few little
twigs laid crosswise, without moss or lining of any kind, and the lay
of eggs is but one. As soon as one egg is laid, they commence sitting,
and the male pigeon is quite a gentleman in his way, taking his turn
and sitting one-half of the time.
In about twelve or fourteen days--some claim twenty--the young pigeon
is hatched. As soon as hatched the male and female birds commence
feeding on what is known as marsh feed, that is, on low, springy
ground. And from this feed is supplied to both the male and female bird
what is known as pigeon's milk, forming inside of the crop a sort of
curd, on which the young pigeon is fed by both father and mother, who
supply this food. The young bird is gorged with this food, and in a few
days becomes as heavy as the parent bird. Another singular thing about
the wild pigeon is that as the snow melts and the ground is left bare
where the nesting is, the old birds never eat the nuts in the nesting,
but leave them for the benefit of the young one, and so when he comes
off the nest he always finds an abundance of food at his very door,
as it were. As soon as the young birds are able to leave the nest and
begin feeding on the ground in the nesting, the old birds immediately
forsake them, move again on to the borders of the snow and start
another nesting. In five or ten days the young birds will follow in
the direction of the old birds.
When the young birds first come off the nest and commence feeding on
the ground, they are fat as balls of butter, but in ten days from this
time, when they start on their northern flight to follow their mother
bird, they are poor as snakes, and almost unfit to eat, while, when
they first leave the nest they are the most palatable morsel man ever
tasted. However, in about forty days from the time they began nesting
to the time they took their northern flight, there were shipped from
Hartford and vicinity, three carloads a day of these beautiful meteors
of the sky. Each car containing 150 barrels with 35 dozen in a barrel,
making the daily shipment 24,750 dozen.
Young men who are now hunting for something to shoot and wondering
what has become of our game, must hear with anger and regret such
reports as this from western Michigan in the days gone by: "In three
years' time there were caught and shipped to New York and other eastern
cities 990,000 dozen pigeons, and in the two succeeding years it was
estimated by the same men who caught the pigeons at Hartford that there
were one-third more shipped from Shelby than from Hartford; and from
Petoskey, Emmett County, two years later, it is now claimed by C. H.
Engle, a resident of this town, who was a participant in this ungodly
slaughter, that there were shipped five carloads a day for thirty
days, with an average of 8,250 dozen to the carload. Now, when one asks
you what has become of the wild pigeons, refer them to C. H. Engle,
Stephen Stowe, Chas. Sherburne, and Hiram Corwin, and a man by the name
of Miles from Wisconsin, Mr. Miles having caught 500 dozen in a single
day. And when you are asked what has become of the wild pigeons, figure
up the shipping bills, and they will show what has become of this, the
grandest game bird that ever cleft the air of any continent."
My young friends, I want to humbly ask your forgiveness for having
taken a small part in the destruction of this, the most exciting of
sport. And there is not one of us but is ashamed of the slaughter which
has robbed you of enjoyment. If we had been restrained by laws of
humanity, you, too, could have enjoyed this sport for years to come.