A Feathered River Across the Sky

by Joel Greenberg

  Chapter 6

  Profiles in Killing

  There is a peculiar charm about pigeon shooting; it captivates nearly everyone who participates in it. To-day we kill ten straight, and rejoice because of it; to-morrow we kill seven out of ten. Now we are dissatisfied and try again.

  —WILLIAM LEFFINGWELL, 1895

  The great fun that naturally flowed from killing passenger pigeons was evidently not enough for some. They wanted competition and sought ways to turn the slaughter into a game. One way to do this was to assign points to the various animals that might be encountered in an area and then divide into teams. Each team would go forth early one morning and return in the evening with their load of game. The team with the highest number of points would win. One such contest was held in Berrien County, Michigan, in October 1878. Black bears were the most valuable at 300 points, followed by deer at 200, and otter at 100. Ranking dead last was “blackbird,” worth but 1 point. Mud hens and small rails rated 3 points each. And passenger pigeons brought 10. The newspaper article did not report who won, but that team feasted on a “fine oyster dinner” paid for by the loser.1

  Far more significant to the passenger pigeon story was trapshooting. In places across pigeon range, gentlemen would gather to shoot birds and place bets on the results. (Gambling contributed greatly to the popularity of these contests.) The large urban venues tended to draw the more refined sorts, who could afford to play, as the cost of quality pigeons and the upkeep of facilities was high. Amateurs were warned to stay away from shooting matches “unless [they] can afford to lose.” Even if you wound up amassing more points than your opponents, the prize might still be less than what you would have paid for the privilege of shooting. People usually only entered the competition for the fun. This type of killing eliminated the rigors of traveling to remote hamlets and braving unseemly weather far from one’s favorite edibles and beverages. This also removed the pigeons from any ecological context, transforming them from productions of nature to mere toys, although many, if not most, of the shooters had started out as field hunters, so it did not matter to them where they bagged their birds.2

  Even supporters of pigeon shoots conceded that “field shooting is on a much higher plane than pigeon shooting could ever reach.” Pigeon shooting was merely an exercise of one set of skills, claiming nothing more, although the activity might improve the amateur’s use of the gun. If a field shooter relied on a dog to find his prey, he would lose the higher ground and become no different from any trapshooter. Although a good field shooter could always become a good trapshooter, the reverse was less likely to be the case. But in their own defense, the trapshooters claimed that their activity brought forth better than most anything else a man’s inner qualities of “character, coolness, and determination.” Merit, though, had nothing to do with the continued existence of these pigeon grinders. What kept them going until no birds were left was that those who pursued this avocation, at least in the cities, tended to be rich and powerful.3

  Trapshooting began in England, but before there could be such a game, there had to be guns that discharged soon after aiming. These did not exist before 1790 or so. The first shooting club in the United States was established in Cincinnati sometime between 1825 and 1835. But as guns improved, so did the popularity of trapshooting. By 1848 “the sport … was pursued in a first-class style of excellence” on both sides of the Atlantic.4

  In Europe the target of choice was the “blue rock,” a cultivar of the rock pigeon that was smaller than other strains and could fly fast even as it zigged and zagged. In the United States, opinion was mixed as to which pigeon made the better quarry. Passenger pigeons flew faster but usually in a straighter trajectory. Additionally, the domestic pigeons, being the product of husbandry, did not have to withstand the ordeal of lengthy travel and often squalid confinement experienced by the wild birds. Both pigeons were utilized, but the cheapness of the passenger pigeons during their period of abundance often trumped other considerations. There were, however, admonitions that only adult passenger pigeons in good physical condition could provide satisfactory sport. Still, on occasion birds were so caked in excrement from being tightly packed over long distances they could barely fly, if at all.5

  As important as the birds themselves were to the competitions, the devices or traps used to thrust them skyward often made all the difference in how they performed as targets. There were two basic types of traps. The first was the ground trap that consisted of a box with sides and a top that fell away to release what were mostly rock pigeons. A variant was a half-cylindrical container placed in a small hole on a horizontal pivot. When a rope was pulled, the pigeon was “scooped” into the air. But this enabled the bird to fly low without restraint in any direction, allowing many to escape the shooters, much to their dissatisfaction. Hence, these were not used much.6

  For a while the ground trap was largely supplanted by the second type, the plunge trap. Here the bird was placed in what looked like the standard ground trap or one shaped like a pyramid (the pyramid design was made by Parker Brothers), but the trap was on top of a spring-loaded plunger. When the plunger was released, it shot up, the sides and top would give way, and the bird was propelled into the air. This rendered the pigeon little more than an inanimate object during that brief period when its movement was dictated by the force of the plunger, so the hunters fired quickly. Indeed, John Brewer, one of the great shooters of all time, revealed the key: “The secret of pigeon shooting is to kill the birds quickly, they must not be permitted to become hard birds; the quicker the first barrel is fired the better, and second must follow before the bird is forty yards from the shooter.” Only birds that fell within a certain distance registered points for the shooter.7

  But these plunge traps could be manipulated by the trap operator in ways that favored one shooter or another. Often the plunge traps were used in what were called “find, trap, and handle matches,” where each shooter had an accomplice who handled the birds and operated the plungers. This allowed not only shenanigans in the way the trap was run, but also in the treatment of birds. Cutting off the tail tips or clipping the toes would ensure that the bird took off at the earliest moment. In these types of matches, the handler was often deemed as important to the outcome as the shooter, for the “betting was governed very often solely on the handler.”8

  Sometimes the passenger pigeons and other types did not want to fly when they were released. To scare any recalcitrant birds into action, a fellow named Rosenthal invented a mechanical cat that would suddenly leap to its feet with the tug of a cord. More often than not, though, the use of such fancy contrivances to foster the desired flight was rejected in favor of cheaper methods. Probably most common among these was the use of club-wielding men, but other approaches were tried as well: tearing away back feathers and applying cayenne oil to the exposed skin; puncturing the bodies and toes with pins; and blinding one eye with sticky plaster, tobacco juice, or turpentine so the bird would fly in circles.9

  During the Civil War pigeon-shooting meets went the way of peace, but returned with the cessation of hostilities. By this time, there was a national market in passenger pigeons, and the birds were being exploited as never before, leading to a ready and cheap supply. Shooting clubs and well-publicized matches spread across the country from Texas to the East Coast. These were popular in Ontario as well, but they were smaller in scope given a generally less affluent group of participants. By the end of the 1870s, pigeon shoots had become a mania across pigeon range. As one writer put it, there were shooting matches in every little town and a champion at every crossroads. Looking at shooting matches across the 1870s and 1880s, Edward Thomas stated that during the April-through-September passenger pigeon season, “probably half a million were used and twice, perhaps three times, as many of the common or domestic variety, particularly in the country towns and when the supply of wild was exhausted.” Based on the totals published for one year in just one hunting journal, Forest and Stream, it was
estimated that, in 1880, 62,868 passenger pigeons were shot at and 44,668 killed.10

  The largest contest ever held in the south occurred in Dallas in May 1880. Five thousand pigeons “are to be slaughtered during the tournament.” But the sponsors, the state sportsmen’s association, had to hustle to obtain the promised number. Twenty-five hundred arrived one day from Chicago, while seventeen hundred more came a week later. Presumably successful delivery of the remainder was made before the commencement of the shooting. The following year’s tourney, held at Denison, also featured five thousand passenger pigeons, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding with the supplier, and some of the expected birds never arrived. These were birds from the big nesting near Atoka, Oklahoma. The Sparta, Wisconsin, nesting generated the five thousand birds that were shot at the 1882 meeting of the Austin Gun Club.11

  A Texas match held at Hockley, near Houston, in 1884 offered two hundred freshly caught pigeons. But of greater interest, it featured an innovation: “Mr. Ellis [the organizer] has his dogs trained to retrieve from the traps, a novel feature in trap shooting, and one that, universally adopted, would spare the pain incident to many an average small boy being peppered with small shot.” Ellis, exercising his Texas flair for embroidery, commented that soon his dogs would also be able to place the live birds on the traps.12

  The St. Paul, Minnesota, Sportsmen’s Club was known for being one of the wealthiest clubs, so they did not scrimp at their shooting matches. They were close to the big nestings in Michigan and Wisconsin and often visited the sites to make arrangements directly with netters. In 1874 they announced plans to build a coop that would accommodate several thousand pigeons. Their 1878 shooting contest offered contestants ten thousand birds to shoot.13

  Chicago became a center for pigeon shoots because several large dealers had their headquarters there. Dexter Park, on the South Side, was a popular venue. The Kennicott Club met there in August 1872 for a match that drew forty-four contestants vying for prizes. Each shot at twenty birds, and after the first round three shooters had killed nineteen. A second round was called to settle the tie. Each man was to shoot ten pigeons. This eliminated but one, as two reached the identical scores of eight. These two then faced off, and each was given ten more pigeons to show off his prowess. But again they each bagged the identical number—seven. Yet another round of ten was ordered, and this time a clear winner emerged, as the score was eight to four. It was said to be the most exciting match at Dexter Park in years. Five years later, the same venue would host “a grand tournament” using five thousand wild pigeons. A few hours to the southwest, the Illinois State Sportsman Association held its annual meet in Peoria in 1879 and had fourteen thousand pigeons on hand for the festivities.14

  Like every other commercially motivated sport that seeks to expand its popularity, trapshooting began cultivating its stars. A special medal for “Champion of America” was offered to the best shooter. If that person could hold the trophy for two years, it was his to keep. The first competition for the medal was held at Mark Rock, Rhode Island, on April 7, 1870. Six shooters were presented with thirty-five birds each, and a point was earned for every bird shot. Thirty-two was the winning score. The championship changed hands several times over the first year and a half of the contests, but then there emerged “a champion of champions,” who was to reign as the best shooter of all until the ravages of age eventually robbed him of his superior gifts. His name was Adam Bogardus.15

  Bogardus was born and raised in Albany County, New York. Even as a teenager, he excelled at shooting snipe and bobwhite, limiting himself to a daily take of twenty-five brace. Most of his life, though, was spent in Elkhart, Illinois. To the south was Christian County, and there in one three-month stint he made it a personal crusade to reduce the avian life of that prairie district: he shot over three thousand birds, including prairie chickens, geese, ducks, whooping cranes, golden plover, and Eskimo curlews.16

  Adam Bogardus

  For eighteen years he stalked the fields and marshes of the Midwest killing birds before he participated in his first pigeon shoot in 1868 in St. Louis. (He had never even seen a pigeon trap before.) He was so successful that a sponsor arranged a match between him and a vaunted shooter from Detroit named Gough Stanton. Stanton agreed to come to Elkhart, but he brought a plunge trap of a kind that was new to Bogardus. Despite that, of the fifty birds each had to shoot, Bogardus won forty-six to forty.17

  He then engaged in a series of duels with the king of Chicago shooters, Abe Kleinman. Kleinman and his brothers ruled the Calumet area, the large complex of marshes on the city’s southeast side that was nationally famous for its waterfowl. The first battle royal between the two also involved fifty birds each, shooting for $200 a side. It was a trap and handle match, and Kleinman had the better handler, for Bogardus complained that he was saddled with an accomplice who did not appear to “know an old bird from a young one.” The betting grew more intense, with Bogardus placing additional money on the proposition that he could kill forty-six of his birds. This he accomplished with no birds to spare, but Kleinman missed only one. When they later vied for the championship of Illinois, Bogardus prevailed by a single bird.18

  Their next match was something of a novelty. Bogardus agreed to shoot from a moving wagon four yards closer to the trap than Kleinman, who was stationary. Bogardus attributed his victory to the years he had been shooting “from a buggy at plover, grouse, and geese.” This practice had made him “very quick and effective.” Kleinman and Bogardus competed against each other in another unusual match a few years later, with Kleinman and three other crack shots each having fifty birds to shoot. Their combined scores would be pitted against what Bogardus could do on his own shooting at two hundred birds. Again Bogardus had the better of it, winning 178 to 176.19

  In 1872 Kleinman and Bogardus competed against each other in yet another memorable match, held at Dexter Park in late September. It was $500 a side and each shot at a hundred birds. Bogardus again won, scoring 85 to Kleinman’s 81. The weather was awful, with a furious wind making it hard to shoot and unpleasant to watch. But over five hundred did show up, including Lieutenant General Philip Sheridan and Lieutenant Fred Grant (President Grant’s son). As proof that the audience and participants of these matches were hearty, another match at Dexter Park occurred on New Year’s Day.20

  Bogardus traveled to St. Louis in May of 1880 to compete against that city’s top shooter. He brought along his entourage, which included his usual rival Abe Kleinman. Three thousand people watched Bogardus prevail once again, defeating the local favorite 86 to 83. The passenger pigeons originated from Michigan “and were in all sorts of fix, some very lively and some very weak.”21

  Bogardus was open to new types of contests and showed his flexibility in another Chicago match. In this instance he was shooting for $1,000, plus numerous side bets. But he was not going against another person. His goal was to kill five hundred passenger pigeons in 645 minutes with one gun that he had to load himself. Here, too, he was victorious, having gone through all the pigeons with almost two hours to spare. He missed few birds and in one streak killed seventy-five consecutive pigeons. No doubt the five hundred birds he killed in practice kept him sharp for the actual contest.22

  As befitting New York’s standing in the late-nineteenth century as the country’s center of commerce and culture, the pigeon shoots staged there were the biggest anywhere. The New York State Sportsmen’s Association put on splashy and elaborate tournaments. Their 1874 extravaganza claimed forty thousand to forty-five thousand passenger pigeons. Another of their matches held in Syracuse in 1877 used twenty thousand. And then there was the contest put on as part of the Sportsmen’s Association annual meeting in June 1881. It took place on Coney Island and involved twenty thousand to twenty-five thousand birds.23

  The shoots in New York also provoked the first organized and effective attempts to stop the slaughter of passenger pigeons. It was not based on fear that the birds would become extinc
t, but rather on the cruelty of the game, which fostered revulsion. Some have argued that once consumption shifted to the urban areas far from where the pigeons lived, the birds ceased being living entities with specific requirements: “At a trap shoot, people who used pigeons intensively lost track of pigeon natural history. They also lost track of their own connections to pigeons—and of the consequences.”24 But no evidence suggests that rural people were any more disposed to protect pigeons than anyone else: they saw the birds as a resource that provided them with extra income during pigeon years.

  It was not someone who had experienced pigeon years, but rather a rarefied New Yorker named Henry Bergh, and his minions, who first launched a concerted attack on the wasteful slaughter of the trapshoots. Bergh was born in New York City in 1811. His father was a wealthy shipbuilder so Henry was allowed to wander through life with greater freedom than is usually granted. He attended what was then called Columbia College (now of course University), but stayed only a year before embarking on a five-year sojourn through Europe. He fancied himself a writer, authoring plays and poetry that were apparently never highly regarded by others. When his father retired, Henry and his brother shared the business, but Henry’s heart wasn’t in it. Upon his father’s death, Henry sold his share in the company and spent the rest of his days unburdened by the need to make a living. Sometimes this leads to a life of dissipation, but in other instances the luxury of being able to focus on issues beyond one’s self leads to important accomplishments. Clearly, Henry Bergh falls in the latter category. In the words of a biographer, “few public figures have labored with a greater zest for battle, or a more flamboyant sense of the dramatic, than single-hearted Henry Bergh.”25