Kitabı oku: «Birds Illustrated by Color Photography [January, 1898]», sayfa 4

THE PASSENGER PIGEON

IF the reader is interested in numbers, he will appreciate the statement written about 1808 by Wilson, who estimated that a flock of Wild Pigeons observed by him near Frankfort, Kentucky, contained at least 2,230,272,000 individuals. If he is also interested in the aspect presented by these birds in flight, cloud-like in form and apparently boundless in extent, he will read the full and graphic descriptions given by Audubon. In 1863, when the writer was a boy, he remembers seeing the birds brought to town in barrels and sold at a price which did not justify transportation to market. What appeared to be a cloud, dark and lowering, was not infrequently seen approaching, soon to shut out the light of the sun, until the birds which composed it, on the way to or from their feeding or roosting places, had passed on. Now hear what Major Bendire, as late as 1892, says: “It looks now as if their total extermination might be accomplished within the present century. The only thing which retards their complete extinction is that it no longer pays to net these birds, they being too scarce for this now, at least in the more settled portions of the country, and also, perhaps, that from constant and unremitting persecution on their breeding grounds, they have changed their habits somewhat, the majority no longer breeding in colonies, but scattering over the country and breeding in isolated pairs.”

The natural home of the Wild Pigeon is within the wooded lands, and they are seldom met with upon the broad prairies. Audubon observed that it was almost entirely influenced in its migrations by the abundance of its food, that temperature had little to do with it, as they not infrequently moved northward in large columns as early as the 7th of March, with a temperature twenty degrees below the freezing point.

“The Wild Pigeons are capable of propelling themselves in long continued flights and are known to move with an almost incredible rapidity, passing over a great extent of country in a very short time.” Pigeons have been captured in the state of New York with their crops still filled with the undigested grains of rice that must have been taken in the distant fields of Georgia or South Carolina, apparently proving that they must have passed over the intervening space within a very few hours. Audubon estimated the rapidity of their flight as at least a mile a minute.

The Wild Pigeon is remarkable for its ease and grace, whether on the ground or the limbs of trees. Though living, moving, and feeding together in large companies, they mate in pairs. Several broods are reared in a season, nesting beginning very early in the spring. The nests are placed on trees, being a slight platform structure of twigs, without any material for lining whatever. Two white eggs are laid.

Mr. Goss says (1891) that the Passenger Pigeon is still to be found in numbers within the Indian Territory and portions of the southern states, and in Kansas a few breed occasionally in the Neosho Valley.

THE PASSENGER PIGEON

Some people call us the Wild Pigeon and the Gypsy among birds. We do wander long distances in search of food, and when we have eaten all the beech nuts in one part of the country, take wing, and away we go like a great army to another place.

And such an army! We form in a column eight or ten miles long, thousands and thousands of us, our approach sounding like a gale among the rigging of a vessel. Not always in a straight course do we go, but in a winding way looking for all the world, against the sky, like a vast river. Then our leaders give the word, our captains, you know, and we form in a straight line, sweeping along as you have seen regiments of soldiers marching on parade. We are just as fond of forming new figures as they are, and our captains, by their actions, give their orders much in the same way.

“Down, Up! Right, Left!” and away we go forming our evolutions in the air.

But you should see us when Mr. Hawk attacks our flock. Then, like a torrent, and with a noise like thunder, we rush into one compact mass, each pressing upon the other toward the center. Swiftly we descend almost to the earth, then up again, forming as we do a straight column, twisting, turning, looking, when far up in the air, like a great serpent. At other times we fly straight ahead, very swiftly, going at the rate of a mile a minute. I don’t believe any of you little folks have ever traveled as fast as that behind a locomotive.

Then our roosting places! Ah, you ought to see us there! There was one in Kentucky, I remember, in a dense forest, where the trees were very large, a forest forty miles long and three wide, larger than many cities. The Pigeons began to collect after sunset, thousands upon thousands, flock after flock continuing to arrive even after midnight. There were not trees enough to go around, and so many of us perched upon one limb that the largest branches broke, killing hundreds of Pigeons in their fall. The noise we made could be heard at the distance of three miles. People who like Pigeon pie came with long poles and guns, and when morning broke, and the Pigeons that could fly had disappeared, there were heaps and heaps of little fellows lying dead upon the ground.

We occupied that roost about two weeks. When we left it for good, the forest looked like it had been swept by a tornado.

THE SHORT-EARED OWL

“I think,” said Bobbie, looking over the present number of Birds, “that the Owl, instead of the Red-eyed Vireo, ought to be called ‘The Preacher.’”

“Why?” said his mamma, always pleased at her boy’s fancy.

“Because the Owl looks so wise – and – solemn!” said Bobby.

Mamma laughed.

“He does look solemn,” she agreed, “but about his wisdom I am not so certain. Turn to the text and let us see what he does say about himself.”

“Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!”

“That doesn’t sound very wise,” said Bobbie, reading aloud, “though Mr. Shouter’s preaching sounds like that to me sometimes.”

“Does it?” replied mamma, suppressing a smile, “well, go on and see what else he says.”

“I’m not a Screech Owl, nor a Barn Owl, nor a Great Horned Owl, nor a Long-eared Owl, though I am related to each of them. Mr. Screech Owl thinks he is a singer, and so does Mr. Horned Owl. Between you and me, I think both their songs most doleful ditties. One gentleman says Mr. Horned Owl hoots in B flat, another says in F sharp, and another in A flat. I must confess it all sounds very flat to me. I don’t pretend to sing at all. Sometimes I feel like saying something, just to hear the sound of my own voice, and then I shout ‘Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!’ as loud as I can. If there are little Owls in the nest, and anything approaches them, I give a shrill, hollow cry, at the same time snapping my bill spitefully.

“I am sometimes called the Marsh Owl, because I frequent the grassy marshes instead of the woods. I don’t confine myself to prowling around only in the night time, like some Owls I know, but you will see me about also on dark days, and sometimes even when the sun is shining.

“My eyes, you see, are round and yellow just like a cat’s, shining in the dark like his. Indeed there is a good deal of the cat in my nature. When stealing on my prey I go about it just as stealthily as he does. Like him I catch mice too, but I also like beetles, gophers, and all sorts of little water birds.

“I have only two eyes, but I have two sets of eyelids. One I draw over my eyes in the day time, a thin sort of curtain to keep out the light, and the other a heavy curtain which I pull down when I go to sleep. I’m going to sleep now. Good night! or, rather, good morning!”