This is part of an article that appeared in the Columbus Dispatch
4/9/1939, a recounting of the experience of "one of Columbus' most
thrilling hours of history" by Wm. M. Fisher, citizen of this city:

        "It was a lazy spring day in 1855, and the quiet little town of
Columbus, with its mud streets and clapboard houses still recalling the
pioneer years, drowsed under a hot, midday sun. Only a few people were
on the streets, and in front of a few downtown shops loungers sat and
soaked up the welcome spring sunshine.
        Suddenly heads were lifted. Horses, tied at hitchracks, fidgeted. Dogs
got up from the dust, their tails drooping. A shopkeeper walked out of
his store and looked up at the sky, searching its expanse, with a
puzzled frown on his forehead.
        A low-pitched hum was in the air. Everyone heard it. The noise--not
unlike the sound of rapids in a distant river--grew louder. Far off in
the southern horizon a cloud appeared, and even as the watchers stared,
the hum increased to a mighty throbbing.
        Now everyone was out of the houses and stores, looking apprehensively a
the growing cloud, which was blotting out the rays of the sun. Children
screamed and ran for home. Women gathered their long skirts and hurried
for the shelter of stores. Horses bolted. A few people mumbled
frightened words about the approach of the millennium, and several
dropped on their knees and prayed.
        Suddenly a great cry arose from the south end of High Street.
"It's the passenger pigeons! It's the pigeons! Get your guns!"
        And then the dark cloud was over the city, and the citizens were seeing
one of the wonders of that age--a flight of passenger pigeons.
Millions--incalculable millions--of the birds were flying overhead. Day
was turned to dark. The thunder of wings made shouting necessary for
human communication. The breadth of the flock was unknown; its height
was that of a two-story building; its speed approximated 60 miles an
hour--and for one hour and thirty minutes there was no end to the mighty
stream of feathered travelers.
        In that time Columbus citizens underwent a mild sort of madness.
Guns boomed continuously from all parts of the city; thousands of
pigeons hurtled to the ground with buckshot in their soft bodies. Boys
aimed their slingshots in the general direction of the flying horde and
every shot brought down a bird. Boys and grown men threw stones; men
stood on roofs with long poles and batted birds in frenzied abandon.
Where one pigeon fell, another took its place in the broad stream--there
was no ceasing of the flow of birds nor of the noise of their wings.
        Then, as suddenly as they came, they were gone. The hunters sat down,
blinded by the brightened sky and breathing heavily from their
exertions. The ground and buildings were white with the flock's
droppings; the town was littered with the bodies of tens of thousands of
birds.
        ...They are passing, and soon perhaps none will be left. If God could
have created a more beautiful bird or animal, he would done so--but of
them all the passenger pigeon was the most beautiful. The multitude
pouring across the heavens like blue meteors, their cooing sounding like
a mighty organ, the noise of their wings an awesome thunder, will never
again be seen by mortal eyes."

        When this flock appeared over the Columbus, its end was probably on the
other side of the Ohio in Kentucky. The article goes on to say, among
much else, that there were three important roosts in Ohio, one near
Kenton, one at Buckeye Lake, and the third not far from there in Bloody
Run Swamp a mile east of Kirkersville. In spring the birds would head to
these roosts and stay for several weeks before moving north or east.
Bill Whan
Columbus


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