“Whar you all come from to ast dis nigger such fool things! Of cou’se I knows.” “Well, I don’t,” I remarked; “but would like to very much.” “You never dun heard of de black fog and the ‘norther’ on dis beach ’bout twenty-five years ago?” “I never have; but what has that to do with it?” “Beg your pa’don, sah, I guess you-all ain’t jokin’?” I assured him I was not, and he began the story of the disappearance of the pigeons something like this: “When me and Tom Clay was out huntin’ ’coons and bob cats one day, de fog came so thick it was most pitch dark in dis woods, and we was ’fraid to go to the island where Mars Judge Tobin lived, and we was workin’, and jes had to stay right dar in dat timber fo’ days and fo’ nights—coze we shore would git lost if we rowed de boat in dat fog. Well, de second mo’nin’ along come de ‘norther’ an’ dun blowed dis timber most to pieces, but not de fog. By an’ bye I hear a sound, I dun heard befo’, pigeons was a-flyin’ over, and de sound kep’ up all dat day till mos’ dark. Den dey come fallin’ thro’ de trees around us with their wings busted, and heads busted, like they was plum crazy; an’ when dey seen our fire dey fluttered into it and put it clean out. Yas, sah, dat’s God’s truf, I dun tole you all. Next mo’nin’ all dat could fly started off to’d the ocean, an’ the noise of more a-comin’ kep’ up all day till mos’ night. Dat noise was shore mighty bad, an’ we dun been ’bout scared to death when de fog lifted, an’ we started fo’ home in de boat. Den we was scared agin, fo’ de bay was mos’ covered with dead pigeons an’ blood an’ feathers, an’ mos’ every kind of a fish was dar jes helpin’ hisself, an’ so thick we could jes row de boat. We dun busted right into a nest of sharks feedin’ on pigeons, an’ one throwed his tail so hard he knocked de oar out of de boat mos’ ten feet. Next mo’nin’ all the pigeons was dun gone, excep’ on de beach was some washed up, an’ a pow’ful lot of dead fish, little ones’ s’pose got killed in de rush for pigeons. I neber did see a big flock since, an’ ain’t seen nary one fo’ yeahs now.” “Then you think they perished in the Gulf?” I asked. “I dun seen um, I knows I know it!” he replied. Will some kind reader help me in this matter and interview some old sea dog who may have met the unfortunate birds further out to sea, and verify this negro’s story, and the characteristic statement that “pigeon heap fool, fly in big water, and no come back,” of the visionary Indian? INDIAN LEGENDS: III. THE LONE BUFFALO