Early in the century the former of these was selected by the government as the site of Fort Delaware, and its importance advanced proportionately in the popular mind. Later on, the lower island, which already boasted of a light-house, became further dignified by the establishment of a quarantine station on its banks.
Although of little importance before the government claimed them, these islands were by no means uninhabited, but were, in fact, well-known as a winter resort. The early inhabitants, though much less imposing than the soldiers and health officers who have superseded them, did not fail to attract attention—even newspaper notoriety; not from their individualities, but from their countless numbers. In fact they were nothing more than ordinary, despised black Crows, but Crows in such countless numbers that they could not fail to be noticed.
Every evening they came at dusk by thousands and tens of thousands, winging their way in long lines from all points of the compass, and settling down on the reed-covered islands in a solid black phalanx. This winter roosting habit of the Crows is well-known, and many roosts have been located, but the habit seems still to lack a satisfactory explanation. Why should these birds fly back and forth every day over miles and miles of country to roost in some definite spot which, so far as we can judge, is no better suited for roosting purposes than hundreds of other places which they pass by? And why should they gather together every night in such numbers as to attract general attention and invite slaughter by thoughtless gunners, when, by roosting in small numbers wherever they happen to be feeding, they would escape notice? These are questions I shall not attempt to solve.
Estimates placed the number of Crows in these two island roosts at half a million, and they held possession of the islands undisturbed until about the time of the establishment of Fort Delaware. They did not relish this intrusion, and determined to desert the ancestral Pea-patch roost; being also influenced, no doubt, by a storm which flooded the island at night and drowned thousands of the unfortunate birds.
The Reedy Island roost continued in use until the establishment of the Quarantine Station, at a much later day; then it, too, was deserted, and the famous island roosts were no more.
I have long been interested in the winter gatherings of the Crows, and made inquiry of the light-keeper at Reedy Island to ascertain whether any Crows at all remained there at the present time. I was informed that they came across from Delaware as of old in long flights from the west, northwest and southwest, but all passed over the island into New Jersey, where he judged they had established new winter quarters.
The location of this new roost at once became a matter of interest. By further inquiry I learned that Crows at Salem, N. J., nearly opposite the Pea-patch, flew southwards at evening, and by plotting this flight line with those given by the light-house keeper, on a map, I found that they joined some four or five miles below Salem, and here I felt sure the roost was to be found.
I had little trouble in impressing an ornithological friend, who resided at Salem, with the importance of locating this roost, and one cold afternoon in January found us driving off in the direction taken by the Salem Crow flight.
When we neared the point at which we thought the roost ought to be, we noticed a scattered line of Crows coming up from the south, evidently from feeding grounds on the shores of the bay. They came along in twos and threes, and alighted in a corn-field on our left, from which the farmer had neglected to haul in all of the ears. Here was a rare feast, and about a thousand birds were already assembled, to whose numbers constant additions were being made. This, we thought, must be the beginning of the evening assemblage, but, strange to say, no Crows were coming in from the west; these were all southern Crows, and, furthermore, they showed no signs of settling for the night, but were simply intent on the grain.