In the autumn of 1813, I left my house in Henderson, on the banks of the Ohio, on my way to Louisville. Having met the pigeons flying from north-east to south-west in the barrens or natural wastes, a few miles beyond Hardensburgh, in greater apparent numbers than I had ever seen them before, I felt an inclination to count the flocks that would pass within the reach of my eye in one hour. I dismounted, and, seating myself on a little eminence, took my pencil to mark down what I saw going by and over me; and I made a dot for every flock which passed. Finding, however, that this was next to impossible, and feeling unable to record the flocks as they multiplied constantly, I arose, and counting the dots already put down, discovered that one hundred and sixty-three had been made in twenty-one minutes.
I travelled on, and still met more flocks the farther I went. The air was literally filled with pigeons. The light of noonday became dim as during an eclipse. The continued buzz of wings over me had a tendency to incline my senses to repose.
Whilst waiting for my 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 beech wood forest directly on the east of me. Yet not a single bird would alight, for not a nut or acorn was that year to be seen in the neighborhood.
The pigeons flew so high that different trials to reach them with a capital rifle proved ineffectual, and not even the report disturbed them in the least. A black hawk now appeared in their rear. At once like a torrent, and with a thunder-like noise, they formed themselves into almost a solid, compact mass, all pressing towards the centre.
In such a solid body, they zigzagged to escape the murderous falcon, now down close over the earth sweeping with inconceivable velocity, then ascending perpendicularly like a vast monument, and, when high up, wheeling and twisting within their continuous lines, resembling the coils of a gigantic serpent.
Before sunset, I reached Louisville, fifty-five miles distant from Hardensburgh. The pigeons were still passing, and continued for three days. The banks of the river were crowded with men and children, for here the pigeons flew rather low passing the Ohio.
The whole atmosphere, during the time, was full of the smell belonging to the pigeon species. It is extremely curious to see flocks after flocks follow exactly the same evolutions when they arrive at the same place. If a hawk, for instance, has chanced to charge a portion of the army at a certain spot, no matter what the zigzags, curved lines, or undulations might have been during the affray, all the following birds keep the same track; so that if a traveller happens to see one of these attacks, and feels a wish to have it repeated, he may do so by waiting a short time.
It may not perhaps be out of place to attempt an estimate of the number of pigeons contained in one flock, and of the quantity of food they daily consume.
We shall take, for example, a column, one mile in breadth, which is far below the average size, and suppose the birds to pass over us, without interruption, for three hours, at the rate we have mentioned, of one mile in a minute. This will give us a line one hundred and eighty miles long by one broad, and covering one hundred and eighty square miles. Now, allowing two pigeons to the square yard, we have one billion, one hundred and fifteen million, one hundred and thirty-six thousand pigeons in one flock. As every pigeon consumes fully half a pint of food a day, the quantity required to feed such a flock for one day must be eight million, seven hundred and twelve thousand bushels.
As soon as these birds discover a sufficiency of food to entice them to alight, they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below, and, at this time, exhibit all the beauty of their plumage. Now they display a large glistening sheet of bright azure, by exposing their back to view. Suddenly turning, they exhibit a mass of rich, deep purple.