Whilst waiting for 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 forests directly on the east of me.
Not a single bird alighted, for not a nut or acorn was that year to be seen in the neighborhood.
They consequently flew so high that different trials to reach them with a capital rifle proved ineffectual;
nor did the reports disturb them in the least.
I can not describe to you the extreme beauty of their aerial evolutions when a hawk chanced to press upon the rear of a flock.
At once, like a torrent, and with a noise like thunder, they rushed into a compact mass, pressing upon each other towards the center.
In these almost solid masses, they darted forward in undulating and angular lines,
descended and swept close over the earth with inconceivable velocity, mounted perpendicularly so as to resemble a vast column,
and, when high, were seen wheeling and twisting within their continued lines, which then resembled the coils of a gigantic serpent.
As soon as the pigeons discover a sufficiency of food to entice them to alight, they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below.