THE
village of Mandeville in the parish of St. Tammany,
Louisiana, is about twenty miles from New
Orleans on the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Here,
on the plantation of the same name, owned by the Marquis
de Mandeville de Marigny, John James Laforest
Audubon[1] was born, the Marquis having lent his home,
in the generous southern fashion, to his friend Admiral
Jean Audubon, who, with his Spanish Creole wife, lived
here some months. In the same house, towards the close
of the last century, Louis Philippe found refuge for a
time with the ever hospitable Marigny family, and he
named the beautiful plantation home "Fontainebleau."
Since then changes innumerable have come, the estate has
other owners, the house has gone, those who once dwelt
there are long dead, their descendants scattered, the old
landmarks obliterated.
Audubon has given a sketch of his father in his own
words in "Myself," which appears in the pages following;
but of his mother little indeed is known. Only within the
year, have papers come into the hands of her great-grandchildren,
which prove her surname to have been Rabin.
Audubon himself tells of her tragic death, which was not,
however, in the St. Domingo insurrection of 1793, but in
one of the local uprisings of the slaves which were of
frequent occurrence in that beautiful island, whose history
is too dark to dwell upon. Beyond this nothing can be
found relating to the mother, whom Audubon lost before
he was old enough to remember her, except that in 1822
one of the family Marigny told my father, John Woodhouse
Audubon, then a boy of ten, who with his parents was living
in New Orleans, that she was "une dame d'une beauté
incomparable et avec beaucoup de fierté." It may seem
strange that nothing more can be found regarding this
lady, but it is to be remembered these were troublous
days, when stormy changes were the rule; and the roving
and adventurous sailor did not, I presume, encumber
himself with papers. To these circumstances also it is
probably due that the date of Audubon's birth is not
known, and must always remain an open question. In
his journals and letters various allusions are made to his
age, and many passages bearing on the matter are found,
but with one exception no two agree; he may have been
born anywhere between 1772 and 1783, and in the face of
this uncertainty the date usually given, May 5, 1780,
may be accepted, though the true one is no doubt
earlier.
The attachment between Audubon and his father was of
the strongest description, as the long and affectionate, if
somewhat infrequent letters, still in the possession of the
family, fully demonstrate. When the Admiral was retired
from active service, he lived at La Gerbétière in France
with his second wife, Anne Moynette, until his death, on
February 19, 1818, at the great age of ninety-five.
In this home near the Loire, Audubon spent his happy
boyhood and youth, dearly beloved and loving, and receiving
the best education time and place afforded. As the
boy grew older and more advantages were desired for
him, came absences when he was at school in La Rochelle
and Paris; but La Gerbétière was his home till in early
manhood he returned to America, the land he loved above
all others, as his journals show repeatedly. The impress
of the years in France was never lost; he always had a
strong French accent, he possessed in a marked degree
the adaptability to circumstances which is a trait of that
nation, and his disposition inherited from both parents
was elated or depressed by a trifle. He was quick-tempered,
enthusiastic, and romantic, yet affectionate, forgiving,
and with unlimited industry and perseverance; he was
generous to every one with time, money, and possessions;
nothing was too good for others, but his own personal
requirements were of the simplest character. His life
shows all this and more, better than words of mine can
tell; and as the only account of his years till he left
Henderson, Ky., in 1819, is in his own journal, it is given
here in full.[2]
Myself.[3]
The precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I
can only say what I have often heard my father repeat to me on
this subject, which is as follows: It seems that my father had
large properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting
frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and
known by the name of, Louisiana, then owned by the French
Government.
During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish
extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful
as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my
father three sons and a daughter, — I being the youngest of the
sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother,
soon after my birth, accompanied my father to the estate of Aux
Cayes, on the island of Santo Domingo, and she was one of the
victims during the ever-to-be-lamented period of the negro
insurrection of that island.
My father, through the intervention of some faithful servants,
escaped from Aux Cayes with a good portion of his plate and
money, and with me and these humble friends reached New
Orleans in safety. From this place he took me to France, where,
having married the only mother I have ever known, he left me
under her charge and returned to the United States in the employ
of the French Government, acting as an officer under Admiral
Rochambeau. Shortly afterward, however, he landed in the
United States and became attached to the army under La Fayette.
The first of my recollective powers placed me in the central
portion of the city of Nantes, on the Loire River, in France,
where I still recollect particularly that I was much cherished by
my dear stepmother, who had no children of her own, and that I
was constantly attended by one or two black servants, who had
followed my father from Santo Domingo to New Orleans and
afterward to Nantes.
One incident which is as perfect in my memory as if it had
occurred this very day, I have thought of thousands of times
since, and will now put on paper as one of the curious things
which perhaps did lead me in after times to love birds, and to
finally study them with pleasure infinite. My mother had several
beautiful parrots and some monkeys; one of the latter was a full-grown
male of a very large species. One morning, while the servants
were engaged in arranging the room I was in, "Pretty
Polly" asking for her breakfast as usual, "Du pain au lait pour le
perroquet Mignonne,"[3b] the man of the woods probably thought the
bird presuming upon his rights in the scale of nature; be this as
it may, he certainly showed his supremacy in strength over the
denizen of the air, for, walking deliberately and uprightly toward
the poor bird, he at once killed it, with unnatural composure.
The sensations of my infant heart at this cruel sight were agony to
me. I prayed the servant to beat the monkey, but he, who for
some reason preferred the monkey to the parrot, refused. I
uttered long and piercing cries, my mother rushed into the
room, I was tranquillized, the monkey was forever afterward
chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp of a cherished
lost one.
This made, as I have said, a very deep impression on my
youthful mind. But now, my dear children, I must tell you somewhat
of my father, and of his parentage.
John Audubon, my grandfather, was born and lived at the
small village of Sable d'Olhonne, and was by trade a very humble
fisherman. He appears to have made up for the want of wealth
by the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he actually
raised to man and womanhood. All were sons, with one exception;
my aunt, one uncle, and my father, who was the twentieth
son, being the only members of that extraordinary numerous
family who lived to old age. In subsequent years, when I visited
Sable d'Olhonne, the old residents assured me that they had seen
the whole family, including both parents, at church many times.
When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father
presented him with a shirt, a dress of coarse material, a stick, and
his blessing, and urged him to go and seek means for his future
support and sustenance.
Some kind whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a
"Boy." Of his life during his early voyages it would be useless
to trouble you; let it suffice for me to say that they were of the
usual most uncomfortable nature. How many trips he made I
cannot say, but he told me that by the time he was seventeen he
had become an able seaman before the mast; when twenty-one
he commanded a fishing-smack, and went to the great Newfoundland
Banks; at twenty-five he owned several small crafts, all
fishermen, and at twenty-eight sailed for Santo Domingo with his
little flotilla heavily loaded with the produce of the deep. "Fortune,"
said he to me one day, "now began to smile upon me. I
did well in this enterprise, and after a few more voyages of the
same sort gave up the sea, and purchased a small estate on the
Isle à Vaches;[4] the prosperity of Santo Domingo was at its zenith,
and in the course of ten years I had realized something very considerable.
The then Governor gave me an appointment which
called me to France, and having received some favors there, I
became once more a seafaring man, the government having
granted me the command of a small vessel of war."[5]
How long my father remained in the service, it is impossible
for me to say. The different changes occurring at the
time of the American Revolution, and afterward during that in
France, seem to have sent him from one place to another as if
a foot-ball; his property in Santo Domingo augmenting, however,
the while, and indeed till the liberation of the black slaves
there.
During a visit he paid to Pennsylvania when suffering from the
effects of a sunstroke, he purchased the beautiful farm of Mill
Grove, on the Schuylkill and Perkiomen streams. At this place,
and a few days only before the memorable battle (sic) of Valley
Forge, General Washington presented him with his portrait, now
in my possession; and highly do I value it as a memento of that
noble man and the glories of those days.[6] At the conclusion of
the war between England and her child of the West, my father
returned to France and continued in the employ of the naval department
of that country, being at one time sent to Plymouth,
England, in a seventy-five-gun ship to exchange prisoners. This
was, I think, in the short peace that took place between England
and France in 1801. He returned to Rochefort, where
he lived for several years, still in the employ of government.
He finally sent in his resignation and returned to Nantes and La
Gerbétière. He had many severe trials and afflictions before his
death, having lost my two older brothers early in the French
Revolution; both were officers in the army. His only sister was
killed by the Chouans of La Vendée,[7] and the only brother he
had was not on good terms with him. This brother resided at
Bayonne, and, I believe, had a large family, none of whom I have
ever seen or known.[8]
In personal appearance my father and I were of the same
height and stature, say about five feet ten inches, erect, and with
muscles of steel; his manners were those of a most polished
gentleman, for those and his natural understanding had been carefully
improved both by observation and by self-education. In temper
we much resembled each other also, being warm, irascible, and
at times violent; but it was like the blast of a hurricane, dreadful for
a time, when calm almost instantly returned. He greatly approved
of the change in France during the time of Napoleon, whom he
almost idolized. My father died in 1818, regretted most deservedly
on account of his simplicity, truth, and perfect sense of
honesty. Now I must return to myself.
My stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me, far too
much so for my good, was desirous that I should be brought up to
live and die "like a gentleman," thinking that fine clothes and
filled pockets were the only requisites needful to attain this end.
She therefore completely spoiled me, hid my faults, boasted to
every one of my youthful merits, and, worse than all, said frequently
in my presence that I was the handsomest boy in France.
All my wishes and idle notions were at once gratified; she went
so far as actually to grant me carte blanche[8b] at all the confectionery
shops in the town, and also of the village of Couéron, where
during the summer we lived, as it were, in the country.
My father was quite of another, and much more valuable
description of mind as regarded my future welfare; he believed
not in the power of gold coins as efficient means to render a man
happy. He spoke of the stores of the mind, and having suffered
much himself through the want of education, he ordered that I
should be put to school, and have teachers at home. "Revolutions,"
he was wont to say, "too often take place in the lives of
individuals, and they are apt to lose in one day the fortune they
before possessed; but talents and knowledge, added to sound
mental training, assisted by honest industry, can never fail, nor be
taken from any one once the possessor of such valuable means."
Therefore, notwithstanding all my mother's entreaties and her
tears, off to a school I was sent. Excepting only, perhaps, military
schools, none were good in France at this period; the thunders
of the Revolution still roared over the land, the Revolutionists
covered the earth with the blood of man, woman, and child. But
let me forever drop the curtain over the frightful aspect of this
dire picture. To think of these dreadful days is too terrible, and
would be too horrible and painful for me to relate to you, my
dear sons.
The school I went to was none of the best; my private teachers
were the only means through which I acquired the least benefit.
My father, who had been for so long a seaman, and who was then
in the French navy, wished me to follow in his steps, or else to
become an engineer. For this reason I studied drawing, geography,
mathematics, fencing, etc., as well as music, for which I
had considerable talent. I had a good fencing-master, and a
first-rate teacher of the violin; mathematics was hard, dull work,
I thought; geography pleased me more. For my other studies,
as well as for dancing, I was quite enthusiastic; and I well recollect
how anxious I was then to become the commander of a corps
of dragoons.
My father being mostly absent on duty, my mother suffered me
to do much as I pleased; it was therefore not to be wondered at
that, instead of applying closely to my studies, I preferred associating
with boys of my own age and disposition, who were more
fond of going in search of birds' nests, fishing, or shooting, than
of better studies. Thus almost every day, instead of going to
school when I ought to have gone, I usually made for the fields,
where I spent the day; my little basket went with me, filled with
good eatables, and when I returned home, during either winter or
summer, it was replenished with what I called curiosities, such as
birds' nests, birds' eggs, curious lichens, flowers of all sorts, and
even pebbles gathered along the shore of some rivulet.
The first time my father returned from sea after this my room
exhibited quite a show, and on entering it he was so pleased to
see my various collections that he complimented me on my taste
for such things: but when he inquired what else I had done, and
I, like a culprit, hung my head, he left me without saying another
word. Dinner over he asked my sister for some music, and, on
her playing for him, he was so pleased with her improvement that
he presented her with a beautiful book. I was next asked to play
on my violin, but alas! for nearly a month I had not touched it,
it was stringless; not a word was said on that subject. "Had I
any drawings to show?" Only a few, and those not good.
My good father looked at his wife, kissed my sister, and humming
a tune left the room. The next morning at dawn of day my
father and I were under way in a private carriage; my trunk, etc.,
were fastened to it, my violin-case was under my feet, the postilion
was ordered to proceed, my father took a book from his
pocket, and while he silently read I was left entirely to my own
thoughts.
After some days' travelling we entered the gates of Rochefort.
My father had scarcely spoken to me, yet there was no anger exhibited
in his countenance; nay, as we reached the house where
we alighted, and approached the door, near which a sentinel
stopped his walk and presented arms, I saw him smile as he raised
his hat and said a few words to the man, but so low that not a
syllable reached my ears.
The house was furnished with servants, and everything seemed
to go on as if the owner had not left it. My father bade me sit
by his side, and taking one of my hands calmly said to me: "My
beloved boy, thou art now safe. I have brought thee here that I
may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies; thou shalt
have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder must be employed
with industry and care. This day is entirely thine own,
and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the docks,
the fine ships-of-war, and walk round the wall, thou may'st accompany
me." I accepted, and off together we went; I was presented
to every officer we met, and they noticing me more or
less, I saw much that day, yet still I perceived that I was like a
prisoner-of-war on parole in the city of Rochefort.
My best and most amiable companion was the son of Admiral,
or Vice-Admiral (I do not precisely recollect his rank) Vivien,
who lived nearly opposite to the house where my father and I
then resided; his company I much enjoyed, and with him all
my leisure hours were spent. About this time my father was sent
to England in a corvette with a view to exchange prisoners, and
he sailed on board the man-of-war "L'Institution" for Plymouth.
Previous to his sailing he placed me under the charge of his
secretary, Gabriel Loyen Dupuy Gaudeau, the son of a fallen
nobleman. Now this gentleman was of no pleasing nature to me;
he was, in fact, more than too strict and severe in all his prescriptions
to me, and well do I recollect that one morning, after
having been set to a very arduous task in mathematical problems,
I gave him the slip, jumped from the window, and ran off through
the gardens attached to the Marine Secrétariat. The unfledged
bird may stand for a while on the border of its nest, and perhaps
open its winglets and attempt to soar away, but his youthful imprudence
may, and indeed often does, prove inimical to his
prowess, as some more wary and older bird, that has kept an eye
toward him, pounces relentlessly upon the young adventurer and
secures him within the grasp of his more powerful talons. This
was the case with me in this instance. I had leaped from the
door of my cage and thought myself quite safe, while I rambled
thoughtlessly beneath the shadow of the trees in the garden and
grounds in which I found myself; but the secretary, with a side
glance, had watched my escape, and, ere many minutes had elapsed,
I saw coming toward me a corporal with whom, in fact, I was
well acquainted. On nearing me, and I did not attempt to escape,
our past familiarity was, I found, quite evaporated; he bid me,
in a severe voice, to follow him, and on my being presented to
my father's secretary I was at once ordered on board the pontoon
in port. All remonstrances proved fruitless, and on board the
pontoon I was conducted, and there left amid such a medley of
culprits as I cannot describe, and of whom, indeed, I have but
little recollection, save that I felt vile myself in their vile company.
My father returned in due course, and released me from
these floating and most disagreeable lodgings, but not without a
rather severe reprimand.
Shortly after this we returned to Nantes, and later to La
Gerbétière. My stay here was short, and I went to Nantes to
study mathematics anew, and there spent about one year, the
remembrance of which has flown from my memory, with the exception
of one incident, of which, when I happen to pass my
hand over the left side of my head, I am ever and anon reminded.
'Tis this: one morning, while playing with boys of my own age, a
quarrel arose among us, a battle ensued, in the course of which I
was knocked down by a round stone, that brought the blood from
that part of my skull, and for a time I lay on the ground unconscious,
but soon rallying, experienced no lasting effects but the
scar.
During all these years there existed within me a tendency to
follow Nature in her walks. Perhaps not an hour of leisure was
spent elsewhere than in woods and fields, and to examine either
the eggs, nest, young, or parents of any species of birds constituted
my delight. It was about this period that I commenced a
series of drawings of the birds of France, which I continued until
I had upward of two hundred drawings, all bad enough, my dear
sons, yet they were representations of birds, and I felt pleased
with them. Hundreds of anecdotes respecting my life at this
time might prove interesting to you, but as they are not in my
mind at this moment I will leave them, though you may find some
of them in the course of the following pages.
I was within a few months of being seventeen years old, when
my stepmother, who was an earnest Catholic, took into her head
that I should be confirmed; my father agreed. I was surprised
and indifferent, but yet as I loved her as if she had been my own
mother, — and well did she merit my deepest affection, — I took to
the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the ceremony,
and all was performed to her liking. Not long after this,
my father, anxious as he was that I should be enrolled in
Napoleon's army as a Frenchman, found it necessary to send me
back to my own beloved country, the United States of America,
and I came with intense and indescribable pleasure.
On landing at New York I caught the yellow fever by walking
to the bank at Greenwich to get the money to which my father's
letter of credit entitled me. The kind man who commanded the
ship that brought me from France, whose name was a common
one, John Smith, took particular charge of me, removed me to
Morristown, N.J., and placed me under the care of two Quaker
ladies who kept a boarding-house. To their skilful and untiring
ministrations I may safely say I owe the prolongation of my life.
Letters were forwarded by them to my father's agent, Miers Fisher
of Philadelphia, of whom I have more to say hereafter. He came
for me in his carriage and removed me to his villa, at a short distance
from Philadelphia and on the road toward Trenton. There
I would have found myself quite comfortable had not incidents
taken place which are so connected with the change in my life as
to call immediate attention to them.
Miers Fisher had been my father's trusted agent for about
eighteen years, and the old gentlemen entertained great mutual
friendship; indeed it would seem that Mr. Fisher was actually
desirous that I should become a member of his family, and this
was evinced within a few days by the manner in which the good
Quaker presented me to a daughter of no mean appearance, but
toward whom I happened to take an unconquerable dislike. Then
he was opposed to music of all descriptions, as well as to dancing,
could not bear me to carry a gun, or fishing-rod, and, indeed,
condemned most of my amusements. All these things were difficulties
toward accomplishing a plan which, for aught I know to
the contrary, had been premeditated between him and my father,
and rankled the heart of the kindly, if somewhat strict Quaker.
They troubled me much also; at times I wished myself anywhere
but under the roof of Mr. Fisher, and at last I reminded him
that it was his duty to install me on the estate to which my father
had sent me.
One morning, therefore, I was told that the carriage was ready
to carry me there, and toward my future home he and I went.
You are too well acquainted with the position of Mill Grove for
me to allude to that now; suffice it to say that we reached the
former abode of my father about sunset. I was presented to
our tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took
possession under certain restrictions, which amounted to my
not receiving more than enough money per quarter than was
considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young gentleman.
|
MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.
|
Miers Fisher left me the next morning, and after him went
my blessings, for I thought his departure a true deliverance; yet
this was only because our tastes and educations were so different,
for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill Grove was
ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought I perceived
the traces left by my father as I looked on the even fences
round the fields, or on the regular manner with which avenues of
trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by his hand.
The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the cave, which
you too remember, where the Pewees were wont to build, I never
failed to find quietude and delight.
Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every
moment; cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I
purchased excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbors
as I found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy
could be. A few months after my arrival at Mill Grove, I was
informed one day that an English family had purchased the
plantation next to mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell,
and moreover that he had several very handsome and interesting
daughters, and beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but
cared not a jot about them at the time. The place was within
sight of Mill Grove, and Fatland Ford, as it was called,
was merely divided from my estate by a road leading to the
Schuylkill River. Mr. William Bakewell, the father of the family,
had called on me one day, but, finding I was rambling in
the woods in search of birds, left a card and an invitation to
go shooting with him. Now this gentleman was an Englishman,
and I such a foolish boy that, entertaining the greatest prejudices
against all of his nationality, I did not return his visit for many
weeks, which was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite.
Mrs. Thomas, good soul, more than once spoke to me on the
subject, as well as her worthy husband, but all to no import;
English was English with me, my poor childish mind was settled
on that, and as I wished to know none of the race the call remained
unacknowledged.
Frosty weather, however, came, and anon was the ground
covered with the deep snow. Grouse were abundant along the
fir-covered ground near the creek, and as I was in pursuit of
game one frosty morning I chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell in the
woods. I was struck with the kind politeness of his manner, and
found him an expert marksman. Entering into conversation, I
admired the beauty of his well-trained dogs, and, apologizing for
my discourtesy, finally promised to call upon him and his
family.
Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please God that I
may never forget it, when for the first time I entered Mr. Bakewell's
dwelling. It happened that he was absent from home,
and I was shown into a parlor where only one young lady was
snugly seated at her work by the fire. She rose on my entrance,
offered me a seat, and assured me of the gratification her father
would feel on his return, which, she added, would be in a few
moments, as she would despatch a servant for him. Other
ruddy cheeks and bright eyes made their transient appearance,
but, like spirits gay, soon vanished from my sight; and there I sat,
my gaze riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me, who,
half working, half talking, essayed to make the time pleasant to
me. Oh! may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons, who
afterward became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr. Bakewell
soon made his appearance, and received me with the
manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other
members of the family were soon introduced to me, and "Lucy"
was told to have luncheon produced. She now arose from her
seat a second time, and her form, to which I had previously paid
but partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my
heart followed every one of her steps. The repast over, guns
and dogs were made ready.
Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some
favor, and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I felt
that certain "je ne sais quoi"[8c] which intimated that, at least, she
was not indifferent to me.
To speak of the many shooting parties that took place with
Mr. Bakewell would be quite useless, and I shall merely say that
he was a most excellent man, a great shot, and possessed of extraordinary
learning — aye, far beyond my comprehension. A
few days after this first interview with the family the Perkiomen
chanced to be bound with ice, and many a one from the neighborhood
was playing pranks on the glassy surface of that lovely stream.
Being somewhat of a skater myself, I sent a note to the inhabitants
of Fatland Ford, inviting them to come and partake of the
simple hospitality of Mill Grove farm, and the invitation was
kindly received and accepted. My own landlady bestirred herself
to the utmost in the procuring of as many pheasants and
partridges as her group of sons could entrap, and now under my
own roof was seen the whole of the Bakewell family, seated round
the table which has never ceased to be one of simplicity and
hospitality.
After dinner we all repaired to the ice on the creek, and there
in comfortable sledges, each fair one was propelled by an ardent
skater. Tales of love may be extremely stupid to the majority,
so that I will not expatiate on these days, but to me, my dear
sons, and under such circumstances as then, and, thank God, now
exist, every moment was to me one of delight.
But let me interrupt my tale to tell you somewhat of other
companions whom I have heretofore neglected to mention.
These are two Frenchmen, by name Da Costa and Colmesnil.
A lead mine had been discovered by my tenant, William Thomas,
to which, besides the raising of fowls, I paid considerable attention;
but I knew nothing of mineralogy or mining, and my
father, to whom I communicated the discovery of the mine, sent
Mr. Da Costa as a partner and partial guardian from France.
This fellow was intended to teach me mineralogy and mining
engineering, but, in fact, knew nothing of either; besides which
he was a covetous wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father,
and indeed swindled both of us to a large amount. I had to go
to France and expose him to my father to get rid of him, which
I fortunately accomplished at first sight of my kind parent. A
greater scoundrel than Da Costa never probably existed, but
peace be with his soul.
The other, Colmesnil, was a very interesting young Frenchman
with whom I became acquainted. He was very poor, and I
invited him to come and reside under my roof. This he did,
remaining for many months, much to my delight. His appearance
was typical of what he was, a perfect gentleman; he was
handsome in form, and possessed of talents far above my own.
When introduced to your mother's family he was much thought
of, and at one time he thought himself welcome to my Lucy;
but it was only a dream, and when once undeceived by her whom
I too loved, he told me he must part with me. This we did with
mutual regret, and he returned to France, where, though I have
lost sight of him, I believe he is still living.
During the winter connected with this event your uncle
Thomas Bakewell, now residing in Cincinnati, was one morning
skating with me on the Perkiomen, when he challenged me to
shoot at his hat as he tossed it in the air, which challenge I accepted
with great pleasure. I was to pass by at full speed, within
about twenty-five feet of where he stood, and to shoot only when
he gave the word. Off I went like lightning, up and down, as if
anxious to boast of my own prowess while on the glittering surface
beneath my feet; coming, however, within the agreed
distance the signal was given, the trigger pulled, off went the
load, and down on the ice came the hat of my future brother-in-law,
as completely perforated as if a sieve. He repented, alas! too
late, and was afterward severely reprimanded by Mr. Bakewell.
Another anecdote I must relate to you on paper, which I have
probably too often repeated in words, concerning my skating in
those early days of happiness; but, as the world knows nothing
of it, I shall give it to you at some length. It was arranged one
morning between your young uncle, myself, and several other
friends of the same age, that we should proceed on a duck-shooting
excursion up the creek, and, accordingly, off we went
after an early breakfast. The ice was in capital order wherever
no air-holes existed, but of these a great number interrupted our
course, all of which were, however, avoided as we proceeded upward
along the glittering, frozen bosom of the stream. The day
was spent in much pleasure, and the game collected was not
inconsiderable.
|
FATLAND FORD MANSION,
LOOKING TOWARD VALLEY FORGE.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.
|
On our return, in the early dusk of the evening, I was bid to
lead the way; I fastened a white handkerchief to a stick, held it
up, and we all proceeded toward home as a flock of wild ducks
to their roosting-grounds. Many a mile had already been passed,
and, as gayly as ever, we were skating swiftly along when darkness
came on, and now our speed was increased. Unconsciously
I happened to draw so very near a large air-hole that
to check my headway became quite impossible, and down it I
went, and soon felt the power of a most chilling bath. My senses
must, for aught I know, have left me for a while; be this as it
may, I must have glided with the stream some thirty or forty
yards, when, as God would have it, up I popped at another air-hole,
and here I did, in some way or another, manage to crawl
out. My companions, who in the gloom had seen my form so
suddenly disappear, escaped the danger, and were around me
when I emerged from the greatest peril I have ever encountered,
not excepting my escape from being murdered on the prairie, or
by the hands of that wretch S — — B — — , of Henderson. I was
helped to a shirt from one, a pair of dry breeches from another,
and completely dressed anew in a few minutes, if in motley and
ill-fitting garments; our line of march was continued, with, however,
much more circumspection. Let the reader, whoever he
may be, think as he may like on this singular and, in truth, most
extraordinary escape from death; it is the truth, and as such I
have written it down as a wonderful act of Providence.
Mr. Da Costa, my tutor, took it into his head that my affection
for your mother was rash and inconsiderate. He spoke triflingly
of her and of her parents, and one day said to me that for a man
of my rank and expectations to marry Lucy Bakewell was out of
the question. If I laughed at him or not I cannot tell you, but
of this I am certain, that my answers to his talks on this subject
so exasperated him that he immediately afterward curtailed my
usual income, made some arrangements to send me to India, and
wrote to my father accordingly. Understanding from many of
my friends that his plans were fixed, and finally hearing from
Philadelphia, whither Da Costa had gone, that he had taken my
passage from Philadelphia to Canton, I walked to Philadelphia,
entered his room quite unexpectedly, and asked him for such an
amount of money as would enable me at once to sail for France
and there see my father.
The cunning wretch, for I cannot call him by any other name,
smiled, and said: "Certainly, my dear sir," and afterward gave
me a letter of credit on a Mr. Kauman, a half-agent, half-banker,
then residing at New York. I returned to Mill Grove, made all
preparatory plans for my departure, bid a sad adieu to my Lucy
and her family, and walked to New York. But never mind the
journey; it was winter, the country lay under a covering of snow,
but withal I reached New York on the third day, late in the
evening.
Once there, I made for the house of a Mrs. Palmer, a lady of
excellent qualities, who received me with the utmost kindness,
and later on the same evening I went to the house of your
grand-uncle, Benjamin Bakewell, then a rich merchant of New
York, managing the concerns of the house of Guelt, bankers, of
London. I was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Bakewell, of Fatland
Ford, to this brother of his, and there I was again most
kindly received and housed.
The next day I called on Mr. Kauman; he read Da Costa's
letter, smiled, and after a while told me he had nothing to give
me, and in plain terms said that instead of a letter of credit, Da
Costa — that rascal! — had written and advised him to have me
arrested and shipped to Canton. The blood rose to my temples,
and well it was that I had no weapon about me, for I feel even
now quite assured that his heart must have received the result of
my wrath. I left him half bewildered, half mad, and went to
Mrs. Palmer, and spoke to her of my purpose of returning at once
to Philadelphia and there certainly murdering Da Costa. Women
have great power over me at any time, and perhaps under all circumstances.
Mrs. Palmer quieted me, spoke religiously of the
cruel sin I thought of committing, and, at last, persuaded me to
relinquish the direful plan. I returned to Mr. Bakewell's low-spirited
and mournful, but said not a word about all that had
passed. The next morning my sad visage showed something was
wrong, and I at last gave vent to my outraged feelings.
Benjamin Bakewell was a friend of his brother (may you ever
be so toward each other). He comforted me much, went with
me to the docks to seek a vessel bound to France, and offered
me any sum of money I might require to convey me to my father's
house. My passage was taken on board the brig "Hope,"
of New Bedford, and I sailed in her, leaving Da Costa and
Kauman in a most exasperated state of mind. The fact is, these
rascals intended to cheat both me and my father. The brig
was bound direct for Nantes. We left the Hook under a very
fair breeze, and proceeded at a good rate till we reached the
latitude of New Bedford, in Massachusetts, when my captain
came to me as if in despair, and said he must run into port, as
the vessel was so leaky as to force him to have her unloaded and
repaired before he proceeded across the Atlantic. Now this was
only a trick; my captain was newly married, and was merely
anxious to land at New Bedford to spend a few days with his
bride, and had actually caused several holes to be bored below
water-mark, which leaked enough to keep the men at the pumps.
We came to anchor close to the town of New Bedford; the captain
went on shore, entered a protest, the vessel was unloaded,
the apertures bunged up, and after a week, which I spent in
being rowed about the beautiful harbor, we sailed for La Belle
France. A few days after having lost sight of land we were
overtaken by a violent gale, coming fairly on our quarter, and
before it we scudded at an extraordinary rate, and during the
dark night had the misfortune to lose a fine young sailor overboard.
At one part of the sea we passed through an immensity
of dead fish floating on the surface of the water, and, after nineteen
days from New Bedford, we had entered the Loire, and
anchored off Painbœuf, the lower harbor of Nantes.
On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs,
he came on board, and afterward sent me to my father's villa,
La Gerbétière, in his barge, and with his own men, and late that
evening I was in the arms of my beloved parents. Although I
had written to them previous to leaving America, the rapidity of
my voyage had prevented them hearing of my intentions, and to
them my appearance was sudden and unexpected. Most welcome,
however, I was; I found my father hale and hearty, and
chère maman as fair and good as ever. Adored maman, peace
be with thee!
I cannot trouble you with minute accounts of my life in France
for the following two years, but will merely tell you that my first
object being that of having Da Costa disposed of, this was
first effected; the next was my father's consent to my marriage,
and this was acceded to as soon as my good father had received
answers to letters written to your grandfather, William Bakewell.
In the very lap of comfort my time was happily spent; I went
out shooting and hunting, drew every bird I procured, as well as
many other objects of natural history and zoölogy, though these
were not the subjects I had studied under the instruction of the
celebrated David.
It was during this visit that my sister Rosa was married to
Gabriel Dupuy Gaudeau, and I now also became acquainted with
Ferdinand Rozier, whom you well know. Between Rozier and
myself my father formed a partnership to stand good for nine
years in America.
France was at that time in a great state of convulsion; the republic
had, as it were, dwindled into a half monarchical, half
democratic era. Bonaparte was at the height of success, overflowing
the country as the mountain torrent overflows the plains
in its course. Levies, or conscriptions, were the order of the
day, and my name being French my father felt uneasy lest I
should be forced to take part in the political strife of those
days.
I underwent a mockery of an examination, and was received as
midshipman in the navy, went to Rochefort, was placed on
board a man-of-war, and ran a short cruise. On my return, my
father had, in some way, obtained passports for Rozier and me,
and we sailed for New York. Never can I forget the day when,
at St. Nazaire, an officer came on board to examine the papers of
the many passengers. On looking at mine he said: "My dear
Mr. Audubon, I wish you joy; would to God that I had such
papers; how thankful I should be to leave unhappy France under
the same passport."
About a fortnight after leaving France a vessel gave us chase.
We were running before the wind under all sail, but the unknown
gained on us at a great rate, and after a while stood to the windward
of our ship, about half a mile off. She fired a gun, the ball
passed within a few yards of our bows; our captain heeded not,
but kept on his course, with the United States flag displayed and
floating in the breeze. Another and another shot was fired at us;
the enemy closed upon us; all the passengers expected to receive
her broadside. Our commander hove to: a boat was almost
instantaneously lowered and alongside our vessel;[9] two officers
leaped on board, with about a dozen mariners; the first asked
for the captain's papers, while the latter with his men kept guard
over the whole.
The vessel which had pursued us was the "Rattlesnake" and
was what I believe is generally called a privateer, which means
nothing but a pirate; every one of the papers proved to be in perfect
accordance with the laws existing between England and America,
therefore we were not touched nor molested, but the English
officers who had come on board robbed the ship of almost everything
that was nice in the way of provisions, took our pigs and
sheep, coffee and wines, and carried off our two best sailors
despite all the remonstrances made by one of our members of
Congress, I think from Virginia, who was accompanied by a
charming young daughter. The "Rattlesnake" kept us under her
lee, and almost within pistol-shot, for a whole day and night,
ransacking the ship for money, of which we had a good deal in
the run beneath a ballast of stone. Although this was partially
removed they did not find the treasure. I may here tell you
that I placed the gold belonging to Rozier and myself, wrapped
in some clothing, under a cable in the bow of the ship, and there
it remained snug till the "Rattlesnake" had given us leave to
depart, which you may be sure we did without thanks to her
commander or crew; we were afterward told the former had
his wife with him.
After this rencontre we sailed on till we came to within about
thirty miles of the entrance to the bay of New York,[10] when we
passed a fishing-boat, from which we were hailed and told that two
British frigates lay off the entrance of the Hook, had fired an American
ship, shot a man, and impressed so many of our seamen that
to attempt reaching New York might prove to be both unsafe and
unsuccessful. Our captain, on hearing this, put about immediately,
and sailed for the east end of Long Island Sound, which we
entered uninterrupted by any other enemy than a dreadful gale,
which drove us on a sand-bar in the Sound, but from which we
made off unhurt during the height of the tide and finally reached
New York.
I at once called on your uncle Benjamin Bakewell, stayed with
him a day, and proceeded at as swift a rate as possible to Fatland
Ford, accompanied by Ferdinand Rozier. Mr. Da Costa
was at once dismissed from his charge. I saw my dear Lucy,
and was again my own master.
Perhaps it would be well for me to give you some slight information
respecting my mode of life in those days of my youth,
and I shall do so without gloves. I was what in plain terms
may be called extremely extravagant. I had no vices, it is true,
neither had I any high aims. I was ever fond of shooting, fishing,
and riding on horseback; the raising of fowls of every sort
was one of my hobbies, and to reach the maximum of my desires
in those different things filled every one of my thoughts. I was
ridiculously fond of dress. To have seen me going shooting in
black satin smallclothes, or breeches, with silk stockings, and
the finest ruffled shirt Philadelphia could afford, was, as I now
realize, an absurd spectacle, but it was one of my many foibles, and
I shall not conceal it. I purchased the best horses in the country,
and rode well, and felt proud of it; my guns and fishing-tackle
were equally good, always expensive and richly ornamented,
often with silver. Indeed, though in America, I cut as many
foolish pranks as a young dandy in Bond Street or Piccadilly.
I was extremely fond of music, dancing, and drawing; in all I
had been well instructed, and not an opportunity was lost to confirm
my propensities in those accomplishments. I was, like most
young men, filled with the love of amusement, and not a ball, a
skating-match, a house or riding party took place without me.
Withal, and fortunately for me, I was not addicted to gambling;
cards I disliked, and I had no other evil practices. I was, besides,
temperate to an intemperate degree. I lived, until the day of
my union with your mother, on milk, fruits, and vegetables, with
the addition of game and fish at times, but never had I swallowed
a single glass of wine or spirits until the day of my wedding. The
result has been my uncommon, indeed iron, constitution. This
was my constant mode of life ever since my earliest recollection,
and while in France it was extremely annoying to all those round
me. Indeed, so much did it influence me that I never went to
dinners, merely because when so situated my peculiarities in my
choice of food occasioned comment, and also because often not a
single dish was to my taste or fancy, and I could eat nothing from
the sumptuous tables before me. Pies, puddings, eggs, milk, or
cream was all I cared for in the way of food, and many a time
have I robbed my tenant's wife, Mrs. Thomas, of the cream intended
to make butter for the Philadelphia market. All this
time I was as fair and as rosy as a girl, though as strong, indeed
stronger than most young men, and as active as a buck. And
why, have I thought a thousand times, should I not have kept to
that delicious mode of living? and why should not mankind in
general be more abstemious than mankind is?
Before I sailed for France I had begun a series of drawings of
the birds of America, and had also begun a study of their habits.
I at first drew my subjects dead, by which I mean to say that,
after procuring a specimen, I hung it up either by the head, wing,
or foot, and copied it as closely as I possibly could.
In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He
always commended my efforts, nay he even went farther, for one
morning, while I was drawing a figure of the Ardea herodias,[11] he
assured me the time might come when I should be a great American
naturalist. However curious it may seem to the scientific
world that these sayings from the lips of such a man should affect
me, I assure you they had great weight with me, and I felt a
certain degree of pride in these words even then.
Too young and too useless to be married, your grandfather
William Bakewell advised me to study the mercantile business;
my father approved, and to insure this training under the best
auspices I went to New York, where I entered as a clerk for your
great-uncle Benjamin Bakewell, while Rozier went to a French
house at Philadelphia.
The mercantile business did not suit me. The very first venture
which I undertook was in indigo; it cost me several hundred
pounds, the whole of which was lost. Rozier was no more fortunate
than I, for he shipped a cargo of hams to the West Indies,
and not more than one-fifth of the cost was returned. Yet I
suppose we both obtained a smattering of business.
Time passed, and at last, on April 8th, 1808, your mother and
I were married by the Rev. Dr. Latimer, of Philadelphia, and the
next morning left Fatland Ford and Mill Grove for Louisville, Ky.
For some two years previous to this, Rozier and I had visited the
country from time to time as merchants, had thought well of it,
and liked it exceedingly. Its fertility and abundance, the hospitality
and kindness of the people were sufficiently winning things
to entice any one to go there with a view to comfort and happiness.
We had marked Louisville as a spot designed by nature to become
a place of great importance, and, had we been as wise as we
now are, I might never have published the "Birds of America;"
for a few hundred dollars laid out at that period, in lands or town
lots near Louisville, would, if left to grow over with grass to a
date ten years past (this being 1835), have become an immense
fortune. But young heads are on young shoulders; it was not to
be, and who cares?
On our way to Pittsburg, we met with a sad accident, that
nearly cost the life of your mother. The coach upset on the
mountains, and she was severely, but fortunately not fatally hurt.
We floated down the Ohio in a flatboat, in company with several
other young families; we had many goods, and opened a large
store at Louisville, which went on prosperously when I attended to
it; but birds were birds then as now, and my thoughts were ever
and anon turning toward them as the objects of my greatest delight.
I shot, I drew, I looked on nature only; my days were happy
beyond human conception, and beyond this I really cared not.
Victor was born June 12, 1809, at Gwathway's Hotel of the
Indian Queen. We had by this time formed the acquaintance of
many persons in and about Louisville; the country was settled
by planters and farmers of the most benevolent and hospitable
nature; and my young wife, who possessed talents far above par,
was regarded as a gem, and received by them all with the greatest
pleasure. All the sportsmen and hunters were fond of me,
and I became their companion; my fondness for fine horses was
well kept up, and I had as good as the country — and the country
was Kentucky — could afford. Our most intimate friends
were the Tarascons and the Berthouds, at Louisville and Shippingport.
The simplicity and whole-heartedness of those days I
cannot describe; man was man, and each, one to another, a
brother.
I seldom passed a day without drawing a bird, or noting
something respecting its habits, Rozier meantime attending the
counter. I could relate many curious anecdotes about him, but
never mind them; he made out to grow rich, and what more
could he wish for?
In 1810 Alexander Wilson the naturalist — not the American
naturalist — called upon me.[12] About 1812 your uncle Thomas
W. Bakewell sailed from New York or Philadelphia, as a partner
of mine, and took with him all the disposable money which I had
at that time, and there [New Orleans] opened a mercantile
house under the name of "Audubon & Bakewell."
Merchants crowded to Louisville from all our Eastern cities.
None of them were, as I was, intent on the study of birds, but all
were deeply impressed with the value of dollars. Louisville did
not give us up, but we gave up Louisville. I could not bear to
give the attention required by my business, and which, indeed,
every business calls for, and, therefore, my business abandoned
me. Indeed, I never thought of it beyond the ever-engaging
journeys which I was in the habit of taking to Philadelphia or
New York to purchase goods; these journeys I greatly enjoyed,
as they afforded me ample means to study birds and their habits
as I travelled through the beautiful, the darling forests of Ohio,
Kentucky, and Pennsylvania.
Were I here to tell you that once, when travelling, and driving
several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost
sight of the pack-saddles, and the cash they bore, to watch the
motions of a warbler, I should only repeat occurrences that happened
a hundred times and more in those days. To an ordinary
reader this may appear very odd, but it is as true, my dear sons, as
it is that I am now scratching this poor book of mine with a
miserable iron pen. Rozier and myself still had some business
together, but we became discouraged at Louisville, and I longed
to have a wilder range; this made us remove to Henderson, one
hundred and twenty-five miles farther down the fair Ohio. We
took there the remainder of our stock on hand, but found the
country so very new, and so thinly populated that the commonest
goods only were called for. I may say our guns and fishing-lines
were the principal means of our support, as regards food.
John Pope, our clerk, who was a Kentuckian, was a good shot
and an excellent fisherman, and he and I attended to the procuring
of game and fish, while Rozier again stood behind the
counter.
Your beloved mother and I were as happy as possible, the
people round loved us, and we them in return; our profits were
enormous, but our sales small, and my partner, who spoke English
but badly, suggested that we remove to St. Geneviève, on
the Mississippi River. I acceded to his request to go there, but
determined to leave your mother and Victor at Henderson, not
being quite sure that our adventure would succeed as we hoped.
I therefore placed her and the children under the care of Dr.
Rankin and his wife, who had a fine farm about three miles from
Henderson, and having arranged our goods on board a large
flatboat, my partner and I left Henderson in the month of December,
1810, in a heavy snow-storm. This change in my plans
prevented me from going, as I had intended, on a long expedition.
In Louisville we had formed the acquaintance of Major
Croghan (an old friend of my father's), and of General Jonathan
Clark, the brother of General William Clark, the first white man
who ever crossed the Rocky Mountains. I had engaged to go
with him, but was, as I have said, unfortunately prevented. To
return to our journey. When we reached Cash Creek we were
bound by ice for a few weeks; we then attempted to ascend the
Mississippi, but were again stopped in the great bend called
Tawapatee Bottom, where we again planted our camp till a thaw
broke the ice.[13] In less than six weeks, however, we reached the
village of St. Geneviève. I found at once it was not the place
for me; its population was then composed of low French Canadians,
uneducated and uncouth, and the ever-longing wish to be
with my beloved wife and children drew my thoughts to Henderson,
to which I decided to return almost immediately. Scarcely
any communication existed between the two places, and I felt cut
off from all dearest to me. Rozier, on the contrary, liked it; he
found plenty of French with whom to converse. I proposed
selling out to him, a bargain was made, he paid me a certain
amount in cash, and gave me bills for the residue. This accomplished,
I purchased a beauty of a horse, for which I paid dear
enough, and bid Rozier farewell. On my return trip to Henderson
I was obliged to stop at a humble cabin, where I so nearly
ran the chance of losing my life, at the hands of a woman and
her two desperate sons, that I have thought fit since to introduce
this passage in a sketch called "The Prairie," which is to be
found in the first volume of my "Ornithological Biography."
Winter was just bursting into spring when I left the land of lead
mines. Nature leaped with joy, as it were, at her own new-born
marvels, the prairies began to be dotted with beauteous flowers,
abounded with deer, and my own heart was filled with happiness
at the sights before me. I must not forget to tell you that I
crossed those prairies on foot at another time, for the purpose of
collecting the money due to me from Rozier, and that I walked
one hundred and sixty-five miles in a little over three days, much
of the time nearly ankle deep in mud and water, from which I suffered
much afterward by swollen feet. I reached Henderson in
early March, and a few weeks later the lower portions of Kentucky
and the shores of the Mississippi suffered severely by earthquakes.
I felt their effects between Louisville and Henderson, and also at
Dr. Rankin's. I have omitted to say that my second son, John
Woodhouse, was born under Dr. Rankin's roof on November 30,
1812; he was an extremely delicate boy till about a twelvemonth
old, when he suddenly acquired strength and grew to be a lusty
child.
Your uncle, Thomas W. Bakewell, had been all this time in New
Orleans, and thither I had sent him almost all the money I could
raise; but notwithstanding this, the firm could not stand, and one
day, while I was making a drawing of an otter, he suddenly appeared.
He remained at Dr. Rankin's a few days, talked much
to me about our misfortunes in trade, and left us for Fatland
Ford.
My pecuniary means were now much reduced. I continued
to draw birds and quadrupeds, it is true, but only now and then
thought of making any money. I bought a wild horse, and on
its back travelled over Tennessee and a portion of Georgia, and
so round till I finally reached Philadelphia, and then to your
grandfather's at Fatland Ford. He had sold my plantation of
Mill Grove to Samuel Wetherell, of Philadelphia, for a good
round sum, and with this I returned through Kentucky and at
last reached Henderson once more. Your mother was well, both
of you were lovely darlings of our hearts, and the effects of poverty
troubled us not. Your uncle T. W. Bakewell was again in
New Orleans and doing rather better, but this was a mere transient
clearing of that sky which had been obscured for many a
long day.
Determined to do something for myself, I took to horse, rode
to Louisville with a few hundred dollars in my pockets, and there
purchased, half cash, half credit, a small stock, which I brought
to Henderson. Chemin faisant,[13b] I came in contact with, and
was accompanied by, General Toledo, then on his way as a revolutionist
to South America. As our flatboats were floating one
clear moonshiny night lashed together, this individual opened
his views to me, promising me wonders of wealth should I decide
to accompany him, and he went so far as to offer me a colonelcy
on what he was pleased to call "his Safe Guard." I listened, it
is true, but looked more at the heavens than on his face, and in
the former found so much more of peace than of war that I concluded
not to accompany him.
When our boats arrived at Henderson, he landed with me,
purchased many horses, hired some men, and coaxed others, to
accompany him, purchased a young negro from me, presented
me with a splendid Spanish dagger and my wife with a ring, and
went off overland toward Natchez, with a view of there gathering
recruits.
I now purchased a ground lot of four acres, and a meadow of
four more at the back of the first. On the latter stood several
buildings, an excellent orchard, etc., lately the property of an
English doctor, who had died on the premises, and left the
whole to a servant woman as a gift, from whom it came to me as
a freehold. The pleasures which I have felt at Henderson, and
under the roof of that log cabin, can never be effaced from my
heart until after death. The little stock of goods brought from
Louisville answered perfectly, and in less than twelve months I
had again risen in the world. I purchased adjoining land, and
was doing extremely well when Thomas Bakewell came once
more on the tapis, and joined me in commerce. We prospered
at a round rate for a while, but unfortunately for me, he took it
into his brain to persuade me to erect a steam-mill at Henderson,
and to join to our partnership an Englishman of the name of
Thomas Pears, now dead.
Well, up went the steam-mill at an enormous expense, in a
country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me
to attempt to settle in the moon. Thomas Pears came to Henderson
with his wife and family of children, the mill was raised, and
worked very badly. Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost
ours.
It was now our misfortune to add other partners and petty
agents to our concern; suffice it for me to tell you, nay, to assure
you, that I was gulled by all these men. The new-born Kentucky
banks nearly all broke in quick succession; and again we started
with a new set of partners; these were your present uncle N. Berthoud
and Benjamin Page of Pittsburg. Matters, however, grew
worse every day; the times were what men called "bad," but I
am fully persuaded the great fault was ours, and the building
of that accursed steam-mill was, of all the follies of man, one of
the greatest, and to your uncle and me the worst of all our pecuniary
misfortunes. How I labored at that infernal mill! from
dawn to dark, nay, at times all night. But it is over now; I am
old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the different trials of
those sad days. We also took it into our heads to have a steamboat,
in partnership with the engineer who had come from
Philadelphia to fix the engine of that mill. This also proved an
entire failure, and misfortune after misfortune came down upon
us like so many avalanches, both fearful and destructive.
About this time I went to New Orleans, at the suggestion of
your uncle, to arrest T — — B — — , who had purchased a steamer
from us, but whose bills were worthless, and who owed us for the
whole amount. I travelled down to New Orleans in an open
skiff, accompanied by two negroes of mine; I reached New
Orleans one day too late; Mr. B — — had been compelled to
surrender the steamer to a prior claimant. I returned to Henderson,
travelling part way on the steamer "Paragon," walked from
the mouth of the Ohio to Shawnee, and rode the rest of the
distance. On my arrival old Mr. Berthoud told me that Mr.
B — — had arrived before me, and had sworn to kill me. My
affrighted Lucy forced me to wear a dagger. Mr. B — — walked
about the streets and before my house as if watching for me, and
the continued reports of our neighbors prepared me for an encounter
with this man, whose violent and ungovernable temper
was only too well known. As I was walking toward the steam-mill
one morning, I heard myself hailed from behind; on turning,
I observed Mr. B — — marching toward me with a heavy club in
his hand. I stood still, and he soon reached me. He complained
of my conduct to him at New Orleans, and suddenly
raising his bludgeon laid it about me. Though white with
wrath, I spoke nor moved not till he had given me twelve severe
blows, then, drawing my dagger with my left hand (unfortunately
my right was disabled and in a sling, having been caught and
much injured in the wheels of the steam-engine), I stabbed him
and he instantly fell. Old Mr. Berthoud and others, who were
hastening to the spot, now came up, and carried him home on a
plank. Thank God, his wound was not mortal, but his friends
were all up in arms and as hot-headed as himself. Some walked
through my premises armed with guns; my dagger was once
more at my side, Mr. Berthoud had his gun, our servants were
variously armed, and our carpenter took my gun "Long Tom."
Thus protected, I walked into the Judiciary Court, that was then
sitting, and was blamed, only, — for not having killed the scoundrel
who attacked me.
|
AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KENTUCKY.
NOW OWNED BY MR. DAVID CLARK.
|
The "bad establishment," as I called the steam-mill, worked
worse and worse every day. Thomas Bakewell, who possessed
more brains than I, sold his town lots and removed to Cincinnati,
where he has made a large fortune, and glad I am of it.
From this date my pecuniary difficulties daily increased; I had
heavy bills to pay which I could not meet or take up. The
moment this became known to the world around me, that moment
I was assailed with thousands of invectives; the once wealthy
man was now nothing. I parted with every particle of property
I held to my creditors, keeping only the clothes I wore on that
day, my original drawings, and my gun.
Your mother held in her arms your baby sister Rosa, named
thus on account of her extreme loveliness, and after my own sister
Rosa. She felt the pangs of our misfortunes perhaps more
heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her brave
and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches from her
beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I not always
rich?
Finally I paid every bill, and at last left Henderson, probably
forever, without a dollar in my pocket, walked to Louisville alone,
by no means comfortable in mind, there went to Mr. Berthoud's,
where I was kindly received; they were indeed good friends.
My plantation in Pennsylvania had been sold, and, in a word,
nothing was left to me but my humble talents. Were those
talents to remain dormant under such exigencies? Was I to see
my beloved Lucy and children suffer and want bread, in the
abundant State of Kentucky? Was I to repine because I had
acted like an honest man? Was I inclined to cut my throat in
foolish despair? No!! I had talents, and to them I instantly
resorted.
To be a good draughtsman in those days was to me a blessing;
to any other man, be it a thousand years hence, it will be a blessing
also. I at once undertook to take portraits of the human
"head divine," in black chalk, and, thanks to my master, David,
succeeded admirably. I commenced at exceedingly low prices,
but raised these prices as I became more known in this capacity.
Your mother and yourselves were sent up from Henderson to our
friend Isham Talbot, then Senator for Kentucky; this was done
without a cent of expense to me, and I can never be grateful
enough for his kind generosity.
In the course of a few weeks I had as much work to do as I
could possibly wish, so much that I was able to rent a house in
a retired part of Louisville. I was sent for four miles in the
country, to take likenesses of persons on their death-beds, and so
high did my reputation suddenly rise, as the best delineator of
heads in that vicinity, that a clergyman residing at Louisville (I
would give much now to recall and write down his name) had
his dead child disinterred, to procure a fac-simile of his face,
which, by the way, I gave to the parents as if still alive, to their
intense satisfaction.
My drawings of birds were not neglected meantime; in this
particular there seemed to hover round me almost a mania, and I
would even give up doing a head, the profits of which would have
supplied our wants for a week or more, to represent a little citizen
of the feathered tribe. Nay, my dear sons, I thought that I now
drew birds far better than I had ever done before misfortune intensified,
or at least developed, my abilities. I received an invitation
to go to Cincinnati,[14] a flourishing place, and which you
now well know to be a thriving town in the State of Ohio. I was
presented to the president of the Cincinnati College, Dr. Drake,
and immediately formed an engagement to stuff birds for the
museum there, in concert with Mr. Robert Best, an Englishman
of great talent. My salary was large, and I at once sent for your
mother to come to me, and bring you. Your dearly beloved
sister Rosa died shortly afterward. I now established a large
drawing-school at Cincinnati, to which I attended thrice per week,
and at good prices.
The expedition of Major Long[15] passed through the city soon
after, and well do I recollect how he, Messrs. T. Peale,[16] Thomas
Say,[17] and others stared at my drawings of birds at that time.
So industrious were Mr. Best and I that in about six months we
had augmented, arranged, and finished all we could do for the
museum. I returned to my portraits, and made a great number
of them, without which we must have once more been on the
starving list, as Mr. Best and I found, sadly too late, that the
members of the College museum were splendid promisers and
very bad paymasters.
In October of 1820 I left your mother and yourselves at Cincinnati,
and went to New Orleans on board a flat-boat commanded
and owned by a Mr. Haromack. From this date my journals
are kept with fair regularity, and if you read them you will easily
find all that followed afterward.
In glancing over these pages, I see that in my hurried and
broken manner of laying before you this very imperfect (but perfectly
correct) account of my early life I have omitted to tell you
that, before the birth of your sister Rosa, a daughter was born at
Henderson, who was called, of course, Lucy. Alas! the poor,
dear little one was unkindly born, she was always ill and suffering;
two years did your kind and unwearied mother nurse her with all
imaginable care, but notwithstanding this loving devotion she
died, in the arms which had held her so long, and so tenderly.
This infant daughter we buried in our garden at Henderson,
but after removed her to the Holly burying-ground in the same
place.
Hundreds of anecdotes I could relate to you, my dear sons,
about those times, and it may happen that the pages that I am
now scribbling over may hereafter, through your own medium, or
that of some one else be published. I shall try, should God
Almighty grant me life, to return to these less important portions
of my history, and delineate them all with the same faithfulness
with which I have written the ornithological biographies of the
birds of my beloved country.
Only one event, however, which possesses in itself a lesson
to mankind, I will here relate. After our dismal removal from
Henderson to Louisville, one morning, while all of us were sadly
desponding, I took you both, Victor and John, from Shippingport
to Louisville. I had purchased a loaf of bread and some apples;
before we reached Louisville you were all hungry, and by the
river side we sat down and ate our scanty meal. On that day the
world was with me as a blank, and my heart was sorely heavy, for
scarcely had I enough to keep my dear ones alive; and yet through
these dark ways I was being led to the development of the talents
I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to us all,
for it is with deep thankfulness that I record that you, my sons,
have passed your lives almost continuously with your dear mother
and myself. But I will here stop with one remark.
One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse
circumstances was that I never for a day gave up listening to the
songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or delineating
them in the best way that I could; nay, during my deepest
troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons
around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests;
and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrush's melodies
have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God.
This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and
always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often
necessary for me to exert my will, and compel myself to return to
my fellow-beings.
To speak more fully on some of the incidents which
Audubon here relates, I turn to one of the two journals
which are all that fire has spared of the many volumes
which were filled with his fine, rather illegible handwriting
previous to 1826. In the earlier of these journals I read:
"I went to France not only to escape Da Costa, but even
more to obtain my father's consent to my marriage with
my Lucy, and this simply because I thought it my moral
and religious duty to do so. But although my request
was immediately granted, I remained in France nearly two
years. As I told you, Mr. Bakewell considered my Lucy
too young (she was then but seventeen), and me too unbusiness-like
to marry; so my father decided that I should
remain some months with him, and on returning to
America it was his plan to associate me with some one
whose commercial knowledge would be of value to me.
"My father's beautiful country seat, situated within
sight of the Loire, about mid-distance between Nantes
and the sea, I found quite delightful to my taste, notwithstanding
the frightful cruelties I had witnessed in that
vicinity, not many years previously. The gardens, greenhouses,
and all appertaining to it appeared to me then
as if of a superior cast; and my father's physician was
above all a young man precisely after my own heart; his
name was D'Orbigny, and with his young wife and infant
son he lived not far distant. The doctor was a good
fisherman, a good hunter, and fond of all objects in nature.
Together we searched the woods, the fields, and the banks
of the Loire, procuring every bird we could, and I made
drawings of every one of them — very bad, to be sure,
but still they were of assistance to me. The lessons which
I had received from the great David[18] now proved all-important
to me, but what I wanted, and what I had the
good fortune to stumble upon a few years later, was the
knowledge of putting up my models, in true and good
positions according to the ways and habits of my beautiful
feathered subjects. During these happy years I managed
to make drawings of about two hundred species of
birds, all of which I brought to America and gave to
my Lucy.[19]
"At last my father associated me with Ferdinand Rozier,
as you already know, and we were fairly smuggled
out of France; for he was actually an officer attached to
the navy of that country, and though I had a passport
stating I was born at New Orleans, my French name would
have swept that aside very speedily. Rozier's passport
was a Dutch one, though he did not understand a single
word in that language. Indeed, our passengers were a
medley crowd; two days out two monks appeared among
us from the hold, where our captain had concealed
them."
This same "medley crowd" appears to have comprised
many refugees from the rule of Napoleon, this being about
1806, and the amusements were varied, including both
gaming and dancing. To quote again: "Among the
passengers was a handsome Virginian girl, young and
graceful. She was constantly honored by the attentions
of two Frenchmen who belonged to the nobility; both
were fine young fellows, travelling, as was not uncommon
then, under assumed names. One lovely day the bonnet
of the fair lady was struck by a rope and knocked
overboard. One of the French chevaliers at once leaped
into the ocean, captured the bonnet, and had the good
fortune to be picked up himself by the yawl. On reaching
the deck he presented the bonnet with a graceful
obeisance and perfect sang froid, while the rival looked at
him as black as a raven. No more was heard of the
matter till dawn, when reports of firearms were heard;
the alarm was general, as we feared pirates. On gaining
the deck it was found that a challenge had been given
and accepted, a duel had positively taken place, ending,
alas! in the death of the rescuer of the bonnet. The
young lady felt this deeply, and indeed it rendered us all
very uncomfortable."
The voyage ended, Audubon returned to Mill Grove,
where he remained some little time before his marriage
to Lucy Bakewell. It was a home he always loved, and
never spoke of without deep feeling. His sensitive nature,
romantic if you will, was always more or less affected by
environment, and Mill Grove was a most congenial spot
to him.
This beautiful estate in Montgomery Co., Pa., lies in a
lovely part of the country. The house, on a gentle eminence,
almost a natural terrace, overlooks, towards the
west, the rapid waters of Perkiomen Creek, which just
below empties into the Schuylkill river, across which to
the south is the historic ground of Valley Forge. The
property has remained in the Wetherill family nearly ever
since Audubon sold it to Samuel Wetherill in 1813. The
present owner[20] delights to treasure every trace of the
bird lover, and not only makes no changes in anything
that he can in the least degree associate with him, but has
added many photographs and engravings of Audubon
which adorn his walls.
The house, of the usual type of those days, with a hall
passing through the centre and rooms on either side, was
built of rubble-stone by Roland Evans in 1762, and in
1774 was sold to Admiral Audubon, who in the year
following built an addition, also of rubble-stone. This
addition is lower than the main house, which consists of
two full stories and an attic with dormer windows, where,
it is said, Audubon kept his collections. The same Franklin
stove is in the parlor which stood there giving out its
warmth and cheer when the young man came in from the
hunting and skating expeditions on which he loved to dwell.
The dense woods which once covered the ground are
largely cut down, but sufficient forest growth remains to
give the needed shade and beauty; the hemlocks in particular
are noticeable, so large and of such perfect form.
Going down a foot-path to Perkiomen Creek, a few
steps lead to the old mill which gave the place its name.
Built of stone and shaded by cottonwood trees, the stream
rushing past as in days long gone, the mill-wheel still revolves,
though little work is done there now.
When I saw Mill Grove[21] the spring flowers were abundant;
the soft, pale blossom of the May-apple (Podophyllum
peltatum) held its head above the blue of many violets,
the fingers of the potentilla with their yellow stars crept
in and out among the tangled grass and early undergrowth;
the trilliums, both red and white, were in profusion;
in the shade the wood anemones, with their shell
pink cups grew everywhere, while in damp spots by the
brook yet remained a few adder's-tongues, and under the
hemlocks in the clefts of the rocks the delicate foliage of the
Dutchmen's breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) with a few late
blossoms; all these and many more which I do not now
recall, Audubon has pictured with the birds found in the
same regions, as his imperishable tribute to the home he
loved — Mill-Grove Farm on the Perkiomen Creek.
Fatland Ford, to the south of Mill Grove, is a far larger
and grander mansion than that of the modest Quaker
Evans; as one approaches, the white columns of the
imposing entrance are seen for some distance before entering
the avenue which leads to the front of the mansion.
Like Mill Grove it stands on a natural terrace, and has an
extensive outlook over the Schuylkill and Valley Forge.
This house was built by James Vaux in 1760. He was a
member of the Society of Friends and an Englishman, but
in sympathy with the colonists. One end of Sullivan's
Bridge was not far from the house; the spot where it once
stood is now marked by the remains of a red-sandstone
monument.[22] Washington spent a night in the mansion
house with Mr. Vaux, and left only twelve hours in
advance of the arrival of Howe, who lodged there the
following night.[23] The old walled garden still remains, and
the stable with accommodation for many horses. A little
withdrawn from all these and on the edge of a wood are
"the graves of a household," not neglected, as is so often
the case, but preserved and cared for by those who own
Fatland Farm[24] as well as Mill Grove.
Dear as Mill Grove was to Audubon, he left it with his
young bride the day following their wedding, which took
place at Fatland Ford on April 8, 1808, and departed
for Louisville, Ky., where he and Rozier, his partner, had
previously done some business. Though they had both lost
money they liked the place, which reason seemed quite sufficient
to decide them to return and lose more money, as
they promptly did. They remained at Louisville till 1810,
when they moved to Henderson, where Rozier did what
business was done, and Audubon drew, fished, hunted, and
rambled in the woods to his heart's content, but his purse's
depletion. He describes this life in the episode "Fishing
in the Ohio," and in these rushing times such an Arcadian
existence seems impossible. Small wonder that his wife's
relatives, with their English thrift, lost patience with him,
could not believe he was aught but idle, because he did
not work their way. I doubt not many would think, as
they did, that he wasted his days, when in truth he was
laying up stores of knowledge which later in life brought
him a rich harvest. Waiting times are always long, longest
to those who do not understand the silent inner growth
which goes on and on, yet makes no outward sign for
months and even years, as in the case of Audubon.
Henderson was then a tiny place, and gains being small
if any, Rozier and Audubon, in December, 1810, started
for St. Geneviève, spent their winter in camp, and reached
their destination when the ice broke up. On April 11,
1811, they dissolved partnership, and wrote each as they
felt, Audubon saying: "Rozier cared only for money and
liked St. Geneviève;" Rozier writing: "Audubon had no
taste for commerce, and was continually in the forest."
Once more, however, he went to St. Geneviève to try
to get money Rozier owed him, and returned to Henderson
on foot, still unpaid, in February or March of 1812.
He had gone with a party of Osage Indians, but his journey
back was made alone. He writes in his journal, simply
with date of April, 1812: —
"Bidding Rozier good-bye, I whistled to my dog,
crossed the Mississippi and went off alone and on foot,
bent on reaching Shawanee Town as soon as possible;
but little had I foreseen the task before me, for soon as I had
left the river lands and reached the prairies, I found them
covered with water, like large lakes; still nothing would
have made me retrace my steps, and the thoughts of my
Lucy and my boy made me care little what my journey
might be. Unfortunately I had no shoes, and my moccasins
constantly slipping made the wading extremely irksome;
notwithstanding, I walked forty-five miles and swam the
Muddy River. I only saw two cabins that day, but I had
great pleasure in viewing herds of Deer crossing the prairie,
like myself ankle deep in water. Their beautiful movements,
their tails spread to the breeze, were perceivable
for many miles. A mound covered with trees through
which a light shone, gave me an appetite, and I made for
it. I was welcomed kindly by the woman of the house,
and while the lads inspected my fine double-barrelled gun,
the daughters bustled about, ground coffee, fried venison,
boiled some eggs, and made me feel at once at home.
"Such hospitality is from the heart, and when the squatter
came in, his welcome was not less genuine than that of
his family. Night fell; I slept soundly on some bearskins,
but long before day was ready to march. My hostess
was on the alert; after some breakfast she gave me a
small loaf and some venison in a clean rag, and as no
money would be received, I gave the lads a flask of gunpowder,
a valuable article in those days to a squatter.
"My way lay through woods, and many small crossroads
now puzzled me, but I walked on, and must have
travelled another forty-five miles. I met a party of Osage
Indians encamped, and asked in French to stay with them.
They understood me, and before long I had my supper of
boiled bear's-fat and pecan-nuts, of which I ate heartily,
then lay down with my feet to the fire, and slept so soundly
that when I awoke my astonishment was great to find
all the Indians had gone hunting, and only left two dogs
to keep the camp free from wolves.
"I walked off gayly, my dog full of life, but met no one
till four o'clock when I passed the first salt well, and
thirty minutes more brought me to Shawanee Town. As
I entered the inn I was welcomed by several whom I
knew, who had come to purchase salt. I felt no fatigue,
ate heartily, slept soundly without being rocked, and
having come forty miles had only forty-seven more to
walk to reach my home. Early next morning I pursued
my way; the ferry boat took me from Illinois to Kentucky,
and as night came I found myself with my wife beside me,
my child on my knee."
The time from now till 1819 was the most disastrous
period of Audubon's life, as regarded his finances. With
his brother-in-law, Thomas W. Bakewell, he engaged in
various ventures in which, whatever others did, he lost
money at every turn. The financial affairs of Kentucky
were, it is true, not on a very sound basis, but Audubon
frankly acknowledges the fault in many cases was his own.
Thomas W. Bakewell was often in New Orleans, where they
had a mercantile establishment, and Audubon spent not
only days, but weeks and months, at his favorite pursuits.
On his journeys to Philadelphia to procure goods he wandered
miles in all directions from the main route; when
in Henderson he worked, at times, very hard in the mill,
for, indeed, he never did anything except intensely; but the
cry of the wild geese overhead, the sound of the chattering
squirrel, the song of the thrush, the flash of the humming-bird
with its jewelled throat, were each and all enough
to take him from work he hated as he never hated anything
else.
When first in Henderson he bought land, and evidently
had some idea of remaining there permanently; for, "on
March 16, 1816, he and Mr. Bakewell took a ninety-five
years' lease of a part of the river front between First
and Second Sts., intending to erect a grist and saw mill,
which mill was completed in 1817, and yet stands, though
now incorporated in the factory of Mr. David Clark. The
weather-boarding whip-sawed out of yellow poplar is still
intact on three sides, the joists are of unhewn logs, and
the foundation walls of pieces of flat broken rock are four
and a half feet thick. For those days it was built on a
large scale, and did the sawing for the entire country."[25]
It has been said that the inside walls had many drawings
of birds on them, but this, while quite likely, has
never been proved; what was proved conclusively is
that, from his woodcutters, whose labors were performed
on a tract of forest land of about 1200 acres, which Audubon
purchased from the government, to those who were
his partners, by far the greater number had the advantage
of him. The New Orleans venture has a similar record;
money left him by his father was lost by the failure of the
merchant who held it until Audubon could prove his
right to it, and finally he left Henderson absolutely penniless.
He writes: "Without a dollar in the world, bereft
of all revenues beyond my own personal talents and
acquirements, I left my dear log house, my delightful
garden and orchards with that heaviest of burdens, a heavy
heart, and turned my face toward Louisville. This was
the saddest of all my journeys, — the only time in my life
when the Wild Turkeys that so often crossed my path,
and the thousands of lesser birds that enlivened the woods
and the prairies, all looked like enemies, and I turned my
eyes from them, as if I could have wished that they had
never existed."
From Louisville Audubon went almost at once to
Shippingport, where he was kindly received by his friends
Nicholas Berthoud, who was also his brother-in-law, and
the Tarascon family. Here he was joined by his wife and
two sons, Victor Gifford and John Woodhouse, and again
I quote from Audubon's own words: "As we were
straitened to the very utmost, I undertook to draw
portraits at the low price of five dollars per head, in black
chalk. I drew a few gratis, and succeeded so well that
ere many days had elapsed I had an abundance of work;
and being industrious both by nature and habit I produced
a great number of those black-chalk sketches."[26]
This carried him on for some months, but the curse, or
blessing, of the "wandering foot" was his, and as soon
as money matters were a little ahead, off he went again
to the forests. It was during these years, that is from 1811
to 1819, that many months were passed hunting with the
Indians, the Osage tribe being the one whose language
Audubon spoke. Late in life he wrote: "Of all the
Indian tribes I know, the Osage are by far the superior."
With them he delighted to track the birds and quadrupeds
as only an Indian or one of like gifts, can; from them he
learned much woodcraft; with them he strengthened his
already iron constitution; and in fearlessness, endurance,
patience, and marvellously keen vision, no Indian surpassed
him.
He had a wonderful gift of making and retaining friends,
and even in these days of poverty and depression he
never seemed too poor to help others; and certainly from
others he received much kindness, which he never ceased
to remember and acknowledge. Through one of these
friends — I believe a member of the Tarascon family — he
was offered a position in the Museum at Cincinnati.
Without delay, or any written agreement, Audubon and
his family were again (1818) in new surroundings, and
the work being congenial, he entered heartily into it with
Mr. Robert Best. The promised salary was large, but
being never paid Audubon began drawing classes to support
his modest household. In Cincinnati he first met
Mr. Daniel Mallory (whose second daughter afterwards
married Victor G. Audubon) and Captain Samuel Cummings.
This latter gentleman had many tastes similar to
Audubon's, and later went with him to New Orleans.
|
FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, PUBLISHED BY ROBERT HAVELL,
January 12, 1835.
|
The life at Cincinnati was one of strict economy. Mrs.
Audubon was a woman of great ability and many resources,
and with one less gifted her unpractical husband
would have fared far worse than he did. To quote again:
"Our living here [Cincinnati] is extremely moderate;
the markets are well supplied and cheap, beef only two
and a half cents a pound, and I am able to provide a good
deal myself; Partridges are frequently in the streets, and
I can shoot Wild Turkeys within a mile or so; Squirrels
and Woodcock are very abundant in the season, and fish
always easily caught."
Even with these advantages, Audubon, receiving no
money[27] from Dr. Drake, president of the Museum, decided
on going to New Orleans. He had now a great
number of drawings and the idea of publishing these had
suggested itself both to him and his wife. To perfect
his collection he planned going through many of the
Southern States, then pushing farther west, and thence
returning to Cincinnati. On Oct. 12, 1820, he left Cincinnati
with Captain Samuel Cummings for New Orleans,
but with a long pause at Natchez, did not reach that city
before mid-winter, where he remained with varying success
until the summer of 1821, when he took a position
as tutor in the family of Mrs. Charles Percy of Bayou
Sara. Here, in the beloved Louisiana whose praises he
never wearied of singing, whose magnolia woods were
more to him than palaces, whose swamps were storehouses
of treasures, he stayed till autumn, when, all fear
of yellow fever being over, he sent for his wife and sons.
Many new drawings had been made in this year of separation
from them, and these were by far the greater part of
the furniture in the little house in Dauphine St., to which
he took his family on their arrival in December, 1821.
The former life of drawing portraits, giving lessons,
painting birds, and wandering through the country, began
again, though there was less of this last, Audubon realizing
that he must make money. He had had to use strong
persuasions to induce Mrs. Audubon to join him in New
Orleans. She had relatives in Cincinnati, as well as many
friends, and several pupils brought her a small income.
Who, recalling her early married life, can wonder that she
hesitated before leaving this home for the vicissitudes of
an unknown city? She and her husband were devotedly
attached to each other, but she thought more of the uncertainty
for her sons than for herself. They were now
boys of twelve and nine years old, and their mother, whose
own education was far beyond the average, realized how
unwise a thing for them the constant change was. Audubon
was most anxious also that his "Kentucky lads," as
he often called them, should be given every advantage,
but he had the rare quality of being able to work
equally well in any surroundings, in doors or out, and he
failed to understand why others could not, just as he failed
to see why his wife should ever doubt the desirability of
going anywhere, at any time, under any conditions. He
thus writes to her in a letter, dated New Orleans, May 3,
1821: "Thou art not, it seems, as daring as I am about
leaving one place to go to another, without the means. I
am sorry for that. I never will fear want as long as I am
well; and if God will grant me health with the little talents
I have received from Nature, I would dare go to England
or anywhere, without one cent, one single letter of introduction
to any one."
This, as we know, was no empty boast, but the principle
on which Audubon proceeded numberless times in his life.
His own courage, or persuasions, brought his wife, as has
been said, to join him in the Crescent City, and here as
elsewhere that noble woman proved her courage and endurance
fully equal to his, although perhaps in another
line.
Under the date of January 1, 1822, Audubon writes:
"Two months and five days have elapsed before I could
venture to dispose of one hundred and twenty-five cents
to pay for this book, that probably, like all other things in
the world, is ashamed to find me so poor." On March
5th of the same year: "During January my time was principally
spent in giving lessons in painting and drawing, to
supply my family and pay for the schooling of Victor and
Johnny at a Mr. Branards', where they received notions of
geography, arithmetic, grammar, and writing, for six dollars
per month each. Every moment I had to spare I drew
birds for my ornithology, in which my Lucy and myself
alone have faith. February was spent in drawing birds
strenuously, and I thought I had improved much by applying
coats of water-color under the pastels, thereby
preventing the appearance of the paper, that in some instances
marred my best productions. I discovered also
many imperfections in my earlier drawings, and formed
the resolution to redraw the whole of them; consequently
I hired two French hunters, who swept off every dollar
that I could raise for specimens. I have few acquaintances;
my wife and sons are more congenial to me than all
others in the world, and we have no desire to force ourselves
into a society where every day I receive fewer bows."
This winter (1821-1822) in New Orleans, proved to
Audubon that his wife's judgment was correct; it was not
the place for them to make either a permanent income or
home. True, they had been able to live with extreme
simplicity, and to send the boys to school; they had had
their own pleasures, as the worn, brown volume, the journal
of 1822-24, with its faded entries, bears witness. There
are accounts of walks and of musical evenings when they
were joined by one or two friends of like tastes and talents.
Both played well, she on the piano, and he on a variety of
instruments, principally the violin, flute, and flageolet.
For over two months a fifth inmate was added to the home
circle in Mr. Matabon, a former friend, whom Audubon
found one morning in the market, in a state of great
poverty. He at once took him to his house and kept him
as a guest, till, like Micawber, "something turned up" for
him to do. When this gentleman left, this entry is made:
"Mr. Matabon's departure is regretted by us all, and we
shall sorely miss his beautiful music on the flute."
Summer approaching, when those who purchased pictures
and took drawing-lessons were about to leave the
city, Audubon accepted a position as tutor in the household
of a Mr. Quaglas near Natchez. Mrs. Audubon, who
had for some time been teaching in the family of Mr.
Brand, removed to that gentleman's house with her sons;
they, however, were almost immediately sent to school at
Washington, nine miles from Natchez, Audubon's salary
enabling him to do this, and in September he was joined
by his wife.
While at Natchez, the long summer days permitted the
drawing of birds as well as the teaching, which was conscientiously
performed, and the hope of eventually publishing
grew stronger. In the autumn of this year (1822),
Audubon met a portrait painter named John Steen or
Stein, from Washington, Pa., and thus writes, December,
1822: "He gave me the first lesson in painting in oils
I ever took in my life; it was a copy of an Otter from
one of my water-colors. Together we painted a full length
portrait of Père Antonio, which was sent to Havana."
January, 1823, brought fresh changes. Mrs. Audubon,
with her son John, went to Mrs. Percy's plantation, Beechwoods,
to teach not only Marguerite Percy, but also the
daughters of the owners of the neighboring plantations,
and Audubon, with Victor and Mr. Steen, started on a tour
of the Southern States in a dearborn, intending to paint
for their support. The journal says, March, 1823; "I regretted
deeply leaving my Natchez friends, especially
Charles Carré and Dr. Provan. The many birds I had
collected to take to France I made free; some of the
doves had become so fond of me that I was obliged to
chase them to the woods, fearing the wickedness of the
boys, who would, no doubt, have with pleasure destroyed
them." So it would seem boys then were much the
same as now. Jackson and other places were visited, and
finally New Orleans, whence Audubon started for Louisville
with Victor, May 1. The whole of this summer
(1823) was one of enjoyment in many ways to the naturalist.
He felt his wife was in a delightful home (where she
remained many years), beloved by those around her;
Victor now was nearly fourteen, handsome, strong, and
very companionable, old for his years, and as his father was
always young for his, they were good comrades, and till
both were attacked by yellow fever, the days passed
smoothly on. Nursed through this malady by the ever
devoted wife and mother, who had come to them at once
on hearing they were ill, some time was spent at the Beechwoods
to recuperate, and on October 1, 1823, Audubon
with Victor departed for Kentucky by boat. The water
being low, their progress was greatly delayed; he became
impatient and at Trinity left the boat with his son and two
gentlemen, and walked to Louisville. This walk, of which
we have a full published account[28] began on October 15, and
on the 21st they reached Green River, when Victor becoming
weary, the remaining distance was performed in a
wagon. It was on this journey, which Audubon undertook
fearing, so he says, that he should not have enough
money to provide for himself and Victor in Louisville
beyond a few weeks, that he relates this incident: "The
squatter had a Black Wolf, perfectly gentle, and completely
under the control of his master; I put my hand in my
pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill, which I offered
for it, but it was refused. I respected the man for his
attachment to the wolf, for I doubted if he had ever seen
a hundred dollars before."
Louisville was speedily quitted for Shippingport, where
Audubon engaged a room for Victor and himself, and
painted all winter (1823-24) at birds, landscapes, portraits,
and even signs.
Shippingport was then a small village with mills, and
was largely owned by the Tarascons and Berthouds, the
latter living in the mansion of the place, and possessed of
a very beautiful garden. Steamers and boats for the river
traffic were built here, and it was a stirring place for its
size, situated on the Falls of the Ohio, about two miles
from Louisville then, but now part of that city. With
forests and river to solace his anxieties, another season was
passed by the man whose whole energies were now bent
on placing his work before the best judges in Europe.
This winter too, he lost one of his best and dearest friends,
Madame Berthoud; how he felt this parting his own words
best tell: "January 20, 1824. I arose this morning by
that transparent light which is the effect of the moon before
dawn, and saw Dr. Middleton passing at full gallop
towards the white house; I followed — alas! my old friend
was dead! What a void in the world for me! I was
silent; many tears fell from my eyes, accustomed to sorrow.
It was impossible for me to work; my heart, restless,
moved from point to point all round the compass of my
life. Ah, Lucy! what have I felt to-day! how can I bear
the loss of our truest friend? This has been a sad day,
most truly; I have spent it thinking, thinking, learning,
weighing my thoughts, and quite sick of life. I wished I
had been as quiet as my venerable friend, as she lay for
the last time in her room."
As I turn over the pages of this volume[29] from which
only a few extracts have been taken, well do I understand
the mental suffering of which it tells so constantly. Poverty
for himself, Audubon did not mind, but for those he
loved it was a great and bitter trial to him. His keenly
sensitive nature was wounded on every hand; no one but
his wife, from whom he was now absent, had any faith in
him or his genius. He never became indifferent, as most
of us do, to the coldness of those who had in earlier days
sought him, not for what he was, but for what he had.
Chivalrous, generous, and courteous to his heart's core, he
could not believe others less so, till painful experiences
taught him; then he was grieved, hurt, but never imbittered;
and more marvellous yet, with his faith in his
fellows as strong as ever, again and again he subjected
himself to the same treatment. This was not stupidity,
nor dulness of perception; it was that always, even to the
end, Audubon kept the freshness of childhood; he was one
of those who had "the secret of youth;" he was "old in
years only, his heart was young. The earth was fair;
plants still bloomed, and birds still sang for him."[30] It has
been hard for me to keep from copying much from this
journal, but I have felt it too sacred. Some would see in
it the very heart of the man who wrote it, but to others — and
the greater number — it would be, as I have decided
to leave it, a sealed book.
Early in March, 1824, Audubon left Shippingport for
Philadelphia, Victor remaining in the counting-house of
Mr. Berthoud. He had some money, with which he decided
to take lessons in painting either from Rembrandt
Peale or Thomas Sully. He much preferred the latter
both as artist and friend, and he remained in Philadelphia
from April until August of the same year. This visit was
marked by his introduction to Charles Lucien Bonaparte[31]
and Edward Harris, both of whom became life-long friends,
especially Mr. Harris, with whom he corresponded frequently
when they were separated, and with whom he
made many journeys, the most prolonged and important
being that to the Yellowstone in 1843. To copy again:
"April 10, 1824. I was introduced to the son of Lucien
Bonaparte, nephew of Napoleon, a great ornithologist, I
was told. He remained two hours, went out, and returned
with two Italian gentlemen, and their comments made me
very contented." That evening he was taken to the Philosophical
Academy[32] where the drawings were greatly
admired, and their author says: "I do not think much of
them except when in the very act of drawing them." At
this meeting Mr. George Ord met Audubon and objected
strongly to the birds and plants being drawn together,
"but spoke well of them otherwise." Mr. Ord was one of
those (of the very few, I might say) who disliked the
naturalist from first to last,[33] who was perhaps, his bitterest
enemy. In later years Dr. John Bachman resented his
conduct, and wrote a very trenchant reply[34] to one of Mr.
Ord's published articles about Audubon; but there is no
word of anger anywhere in the letters or journals, only of
regret or pain.[35]
Of Mr. Harris we find this: "July 12, 1824. I drew for
Mr. Fairman a small grouse to be put on a bank-note belonging
to the State of New-Jersey; this procured me the
acquaintance of a young man named Edward Harris of
Moorestown, an ornithologist, who told me he had seen
some English Snipes[36] within a few days, and that they bred
in the marshes about him." And also: "July 19th.
Young Harris, God bless him, looked at the drawings I
had for sale, and said he would take them all, at my prices.
I would have kissed him, but that it is not the custom in
this icy city."
Other friends were made here, almost as valuable as Mr.
Harris, though not as well loved, for these two were truly
congenial souls, who never wearied of each other, and
between whom there was never a shadow of difference.
Thomas Sully, the artist, Dr. Richard Harlan,[37] Reuben
Haines, Le Sueur,[38] Dr. Mease, and many another honored
name might be given.
In August Philadelphia was quitted, and another period
of travel in search of birds was begun. Of this next year,
1825, no record whatever can be found besides the episodes
of "Niagara" and "Meadville," and two detached pages
of journal. Audubon went to New York, up the Hudson,
along the Great Lakes, then to Pittsburg, and finally to
Bayou Sara, where, having decided to go to England, he
made up his mind to resume at once his classes in drawing,
music, and dancing, to make money for the European journey,
for which he never ceased to accumulate pictures of his
beloved birds. Reaching Bayou Sara in December, 1825,
this work at once began by giving lessons in dancing to
the young ladies under my grandmother's care; and Judge
Randolph, a near neighbor, had his sons take lessons in
fencing. In these branches Audubon was so successful
that the residents of the village of Woodville, fifteen miles
distant, engaged him for Friday and Saturday of each
week, and here he had over sixty pupils. From the account
of this class I take the following: "I marched to
the hall with my violin under my arm, bowed to the company
assembled, tuned my violin; played a cotillon, and
began my lesson by placing the gentlemen in a line. Oh!
patience support me! how I labored before I could promote
the first appearance of elegance or ease of motion;
in doing this I first broke my bow, and then my violin; I
then took the ladies and made them take steps, as I sang
in time to accompany their movements."
These lessons continued three months, and were in
every sense a success, Audubon realizing about $2000
from his winter's work. With this, and the greater part
of the savings of his wife, which she had hoarded to forward
this journey, so long the goal of their hopes, another
farewell was taken, the many valued drawings
packed up, and on April 26, 1826, the vessel with the
naturalist and his precious freight left New Orleans for
England.
The journals from this date, until May 1, 1829, are kept
with the usual regularity, and fortunately have escaped the
destruction which has befallen earlier volumes. They tell
of one of the most interesting periods of Audubon's life,
and are given beyond, — not entire, yet so fully that I
pass on at once to the last date they contain, which marks
Audubon's return to America, May 5, 1829.
His time abroad had seen the publication of the "Birds
of America"[39] successfully begun, had procured him subscribers
enough to warrant his continuing the vast undertaking,
and had given him many friends. His object now
was to make drawings of birds which he had not yet figured
for the completion of his work, and then to take his wife,
and possibly his sons with him to England. During these
years Mrs. Audubon was latterly alone, as John had taken
a position with Victor and was in Louisville. Victor,
meantime, had worked steadily and faithfully, and had
earned for himself a position and a salary far beyond that
of most young men of his age. Both parents relied on
him to an extent that is proof in itself of his unusual
ability; these words in a letter from his father, dated
London, Dec. 23, 1828, "Victor's letters to me are highly
interesting, full of candor, sentiment, and sound judgment,
and I am very proud of him," are certainly testimony
worth having. As the years went on both sons assisted
their father in every way, and to an extent that the
world has never recognized.
Great as was Audubon's wish to proceed without delay
to Louisiana, he felt it due to his subscribers to get to
work at once, and wrote to his wife under date of New
York, May 10, 1829: "I have landed here from on board
the packet ship Columbia after an agreeable passage of
thirty-five days from Portsmouth. I have come to America
to remain as long as consistent with the safety of the
continuation of my publication in London without my
personal presence. According to future circumstances
I shall return to England on the 1st of October next, or,
if possible, not until April, 1830. I wish to employ and
devote every moment of my sojourn in America to drawing
such birds and plants as I think necessary to enable
me to give my publication throughout the degree of perfection
that I am told exists in that portion already published.
I have left my business going on quite well; my
engraver[40] has in his hands all the drawings wanted to
complete this present year, and those necessary to form
the first number of next year. I have finished the two
first years of publication, the two most difficult years to
be encountered." To Victor he writes from Camden,
N.J., July 10, 1829: "I shall this year have issued ten
numbers, each containing five plates, making in all fifty.[41]
I cannot publish more than five numbers annually, because
it would make too heavy an expense to my subscribers,
and indeed require more workmen than I could
find in London. The work when finished will contain
eighty numbers,[42] therefore I have seventy to issue, which
will take fourteen years more. It is a long time to look
forward to, but it cannot be helped. I think I am
doing well; I have now one hundred and forty-four
subscribers."
All this summer and early fall, until October 10th,
Audubon spent in the neighborhood of New Jersey and
Pennsylvania, working as few can work, four hours continuing
to be his allowance for sleep. Six weeks in
September and October were spent in the Great Pine
Swamp, or Forest,[43] as he called it, his permanent lodgings
being at Camden, N.J. Here he writes, October 11, 1829:
"I am at work and have done much, but I wish I had
eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot the specimens;
still I am delighted at what I have accumulated
in drawings this season. Forty-two drawings in four
months, eleven large, eleven middle size, and twenty-two
small, comprising ninety-five birds, from Eagles downwards,
with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty different kinds
of eggs. I live alone, see scarcely any one, besides those
belonging to the house where I lodge. I rise long before
day and work till nightfall, when I take a walk, and to bed.
"I returned yesterday from Mauch Chunk; after all, there
is nothing perfect but primitiveness, and my efforts at copying
nature, like all other things attempted by us poor mortals,
fall far short of the originals. Few better than myself
can appreciate this with more despondency than I do."
Very shortly after this date Audubon left for Louisiana,
crossed the Alleghanies to Pittsburg, down the Ohio by
boat to Louisville, where he saw Victor and John. "Dear
boys!" he says; "I had not seen Victor for nearly five
years, and so much had he changed I hardly knew him, but
he recognized me at once. Johnny too had much grown
and improved." Remaining with his sons a few days, he
again took the boat for Bayou Sara, where he landed in
the middle of the night. The journal says: "It was dark,
sultry, and I was quite alone. I was aware yellow fever
was still raging at St. Francisville, but walked thither
to procure a horse. Being only a mile distant, I soon
reached it, and entered the open door of a house I knew
to be an inn; all was dark and silent. I called and
knocked in vain, it was the abode of Death alone! The
air was putrid; I went to another house, another, and
another; everywhere the same state of things existed;
doors and windows were all open, but the living had
fled. Finally I reached the home of Mr. N�bling, whom
I knew. He welcomed me, and lent me his horse, and
I went off at a gallop. It was so dark that I soon lost
my way, but I cared not, I was about to rejoin my wife,
I was in the woods, the woods of Louisiana, my heart was
bursting with joy! The first glimpse of dawn set me on
my road, at six o'clock I was at Mr. Johnson's house;[44]
a servant took the horse, I went at once to my wife's
apartment; her door was ajar, already she was dressed
and sitting by her piano, on which a young lady was
playing. I pronounced her name gently, she saw me,
and the next moment I held her in my arms. Her emotion
was so great I feared I had acted rashly, but tears relieved
our hearts, once more we were together."
Audubon remained in Louisiana with his wife till January,
1830, when together they went to Louisville, Washington,
Philadelphia, and New York, whence they sailed
for England in April. All his former friends welcomed
them on their arrival, and the kindness the naturalist had
received on his first visit was continued to his wife as well
as himself. Finding many subscribers had not paid, and
others had lapsed, he again painted numerous pictures for
sale, and journeyed hither and yon for new subscribers
as well as to make collections.
Mrs. Audubon, meanwhile, had taken lodgings in London,
but that city being no more to her taste than to her
husband's, she joined him, and they travelled together
till October, when to Audubon's joy he found himself
at his old lodgings at 26 George St., Edinburgh, where
he felt truly at home with Mrs. Dickie; and here he began
the "Ornithological Biography," with many misgivings,
as the journal bears witness: "Oct. 16, 1830. I know
that I am a poor writer, that I scarcely can manage to
scribble a tolerable English letter, and not a much better
one in French, though that is easier to me. I know I am
not a scholar, but meantime I am aware that no man
living knows better than I do the habits of our birds; no
man living has studied them as much as I have done, and
with the assistance of my old journals and memorandum-books
which were written on the spot, I can at least put
down plain truths, which may be useful and perhaps
interesting, so I shall set to at once. I cannot, however,
give scientific descriptions, and here must have
assistance."
His choice of an assistant would have been his friend
Mr. William Swainson, but this could not be arranged,
and Mr. James Wilson recommended Mr. William MacGillivray.[45]
Of this gentleman Mr. D. G. Elliot says:[46]
"No better or more fortunate choice could have been
made. Audubon worked incessantly, MacGillivray keeping
abreast of him, and Mrs. Audubon re-wrote the entire
manuscript to send to America, and secure the copyright
there." The happy result of this association of two great
men, so different in most respects as Audubon and MacGillivray,
is characterized by Dr. Coues in the following
terms ("Key to North American Birds," 2d ed., 1884,
p. xxii): "Vivid and ardent was his genius, matchless he
was both with pen and pencil in giving life and spirit to
the beautiful objects he delineated with passionate love;
but there was a strong and patient worker by his side, — William
MacGillivray, the countryman of Wilson, destined
to lend the sturdy Scotch fibre to an Audubonian epoch.[47]
The brilliant French-American Naturalist was little of a
'scientist'. Of his work the magical beauties of form and
color and movement are all his; his page is redolent of
Nature's fragrance; but MacGillivray's are the bone and
sinew, the hidden anatomical parts beneath the lovely
face, the nomenclature, the classification, — in a word, the
technicalities of the science."
|
MRS. AUDUBON FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1835.
|
Though somewhat discouraged at finding that no less
than three editions of Alexander Wilson's "American
Ornithology" were about to be published, Audubon went
bravely on. My grandmother wrote to her sons: "Nothing
is heard, but the steady movement of the pen; your
father is up and at work before dawn, and writes without
ceasing all day. Mr. MacGillivray breakfasts at nine each
morning, attends the Museum four days in the week, has
several works on hand besides ours, and is moreover
engaged as a lecturer in a new seminary on botany and
natural history. His own work[48] progresses slowly, but
surely, for he writes until far into the night."
The first volume of "Ornithological Biography" was finished,
but no publisher could be found to take it, so
Audubon published it himself in March, 1831.[49] During
this winter an agreement had been made with Mr. J. B.
Kidd to copy some of the birds, put in backgrounds, sell
them, and divide the proceeds. Eight were finished and
sold immediately, and the agreement continued till May,
1, 1831, when Audubon was so annoyed by Mr. Kidd's
lack of industry that the copying was discontinued. Personally,
I have no doubt that many of the paintings which
are said to be by Audubon are these copies. They are
all on mill-board, — a material, however, which grandfather
used himself, so that, as he rarely signed an oil painting,[50]
the mill-board is no proof of identity one way or the
other.
On April 15, 1831, Mr. and Mrs. Audubon left Edinburgh
for London, then went on to Paris, where there
were fourteen subscribers. They were in France from
May until the end of July, when London again received
them. On August 2d they sailed for America, and
landed on September 4th. They went to Louisville at
once, where Mrs. Audubon remained with her sons, and
the naturalist went south, his wish being to visit Florida
and the adjacent islands. It was on this trip that, stopping
at Charleston, S.C., he made the acquaintance of the
Rev. John Bachman[51] in October, 1831. The two soon
became the closest friends, and this friendship was only
severed by death. Never were men more dissimilar
in character, but both were enthusiastic and devoted
naturalists; and herein was the bond, which later was
strengthened by the marriages of Victor and John to Dr.
Bachman's two eldest daughters.[52]
The return from Florida in the spring of 1832 was
followed by a journey to New Brunswick and Maine, when,
for the first time in many years, the whole family travelled
together. They journeyed in the most leisurely manner,
stopping where there were birds, going on when they
found none, everywhere welcomed, everywhere finding
those willing to render assistance to the "American backwoodsman"
in his researches. Audubon had the simplicity
and charm of manner which interested others at once,
and his old friend Dr. Bachman understood this when he
wrote: "Audubon has given to him what nobody else can
buy." On this Maine journey, the friendship between the
Lincolns at Dennysville, begun in the wanderer's earlier
years, was renewed, and with this hospitable family Mrs.
Audubon remained while her husband and sons made
their woodland researches.
In October of 1832, Victor sailed for England, to superintend
the publishing of the work; his father remained
in America drawing and re-drawing, much of the time
in Boston, where, as everywhere, many friends were made,
and where he had a short, but severe illness — an unusual
experience with him. In the spring of 1833, the long
proposed trip to Labrador was planned and undertaken.
The schooner "Ripley," Captain Emery commanding,
was chartered. Audubon was accompanied by five young
men, all under twenty-four years of age, namely: Joseph
Coolidge, George C. Shattuck, William Ingalls, Thomas Lincoln
and John Woodhouse, the naturalist's younger son.
On June 6 they sailed for the rocky coasts and storm-beaten
islands, which are so fully described in the Labrador Journal,
now first published entire in the present work.
Victor was still in England, and to him his father wrote,
on May 16, 1833, a long letter filled with careful directions
as to the completion of the work now so far accomplished,
and which was so dear — as it is to-day — to all
the family. The entire letter is too long and too personal
to give beyond a few extracts: "Should the Author of all
things deprive us of our lives, work for and comfort the
dear being who gave you birth. Work for her, my son,
as long as it may be the pleasure of God to grant her life;
never neglect her a moment; in a word, prove to her that
you are truly a son! Continue the publication of our
work to the last; you have in my journals all necessary
facts, and in yourself sufficient ability to finish the letter-press,
with the assistance of our worthy friend John Bachman,
as well as MacGillivray. If you should deem it wise
to remove the publication of the work to this country, I
advise you to settle in Boston; I have faith in the Bostonians.
I entreat you to be careful, industrious, and persevering;
pay every one most punctually, and never permit
your means to be over-reached. May the blessings of
those who love you be always with you, supported by
those of Almighty God."
During the Labrador voyage, which was both arduous
and expensive, many bird-skins (seventy-three) were prepared
and brought back, besides the drawings made, a large
collection of plants, and other curiosities. Rough as the
experience was, it was greatly enjoyed, especially by the
young men. Only one of these[53] is now living (1897),
and he bears this testimony to the character of the
naturalist, with whom he spent three months in the closest
companionship. In a letter to me dated Oct. 9, 1896, he
says: "You had only to meet him to love him; and when
you had conversed with him for a moment, you looked
upon him as an old friend, rather than a stranger.... To
this day I can see him, a magnificent gray-haired man,
childlike in his simplicity, kind-hearted, noble-souled, lover
of nature and lover of youth, friend of humanity, and one
whose religion was the golden rule."
The Labrador expedition ended with summer, and Mr.
and Mrs. Audubon went southward by land, John going
by water to meet them at Charleston, S.C., — Victor
meanwhile remaining in London. In the ever hospitable
home of the Bachmans part of the winter of 1833-34 was
spent, and many a tale is told of hunting parties, of camping
in the Southern forests, while the drawings steadily
increased in number. Leaving Charleston, the travels
were continued through North and South Carolina and
northward to New York, when the three sailed for Liverpool
April 16, and joined Victor in London, in May,
1834.
It has been erroneously stated that Audubon kept no
journals during this second visit to England and Scotland,
for the reasons that his family — for whom he wrote — was
with him, and also that he worked so continuously for
the "Ornithological Biography;" but this is a mistake.
Many allusions to the diaries of these two years from
April, 1834, until August, 1836, are found, and conclusive
proof is that Victor writes: "On the 19th of July last,
1845, the copper-plates from which the "Birds of America"
had been printed were ruined by fire,[54] though not entirely
destroyed, as were many of my fathers journals, — most
unfortunately those which he had written during his
residence in London and Edinburgh while writing and
publishing the letter-press."
It was at this time that Victor and John went to the
Continent for five months, being with their parents the
remainder of the time, both studying painting in their
respective branches, Victor working at landscapes, John
at portraits and birds.
In July, 1836, Audubon and John returned to America,
to find that nearly everything in the way of books, papers,
the valuable and curious things collected both at home
and abroad, had been destroyed in New York in the fire
of 1835, Mr. Berthoud's warehouse being one of those
blown up with gunpowder to stay the spread of the fire.
Mrs. Audubon and Victor remained in London, in the
house where they had lived some time, 4 Wimpole St.,
Cavendish Square. After a few weeks in New York,
father and son went by land to Charleston, pausing at
Washington and other cities; and being joined by Mr.
Edward Harris in the spring of 1837, they left Dr. Bachman's
where they had spent the winter, for the purpose
of exploring part of the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
This expedition they were assisted in making by Col. John
Abert,[55] who procured them the Revenue cutter "Campbell."
Fire having afterward (in 1845) destroyed the journals
of this period, only a few letters remain to tell us of
the coasting voyage to Galveston Bay, Texas, though the
ornithological results of this journey are all in the "Birds
of America." It was during this visit to Charleston that
the plans were begun which led to the "Quadrupeds of
North America," under the joint authorship of Audubon
and Bachman.[56]
In the late summer of 1837, Audubon, with John and
his wife, — for he had married Maria, Dr. Bachman's
eldest daughter, — returned to England, his last voyage
there, and remained abroad until the autumn of 1839,
when the family, with the addition of the first grandchild,[57]
once more landed in America, and settled, if such wanderers
can ever be said to settle, in New York, in the then
uptown region of 86 White St.
The great ornithological work had been finished, absolutely
completed,[58] in the face of incredible delays and difficulties,
and representing an amount of work which in these
days of easy travel it is hard to comprehend. The "Synopsis"
also was published in this year, and the indefatigable
worker began at once the octavo edition of the "Birds," and
the drawings of the quadrupeds. For this edition of the
"Birds" Victor attended almost wholly to the printing and
publishing, and John reduced every drawing to the required
size with the aid of the camera lucida, Audubon devoting
his time to the coloring and obtaining of subscribers.
Having fully decided to settle in New York City, and
advised their friends to that effect, Audubon found he
could not live in any city, except, as he writes, "perhaps
fair Edinburgh;" so in the spring of 1842, the town
house was sold, and the family moved to "Minniesland,"
now known as Audubon Park, in the present limits of New
York City. The name came from the fact that my father
and uncle always used the Scotch name "Minnie" for
mother. The land when bought was deeded to her, and
always spoken of as Minnie's land, and this became the
name which the Audubons gave it, by which to day those
of us who are left recall the lovely home where their
happy childhood was spent; for here were born all but
three of the fourteen grandchildren.
No railroad then separated the lawn from the beach
where Audubon so often hauled the seine; the dense
woods all around resounded to the songs of the birds he
so loved; many animals (deer, elk, moose, bears, wolves,
foxes, and smaller quadrupeds) were kept in enclosures — never
in cages — mostly about a quarter of a mile
distant from the river, near the little building known
as the "painting house." What joyous memories are
those of the rush out of doors, lessons being over, to the
little brook, following which one gathered the early blossoms
in their season, or in the autumn cleared out leaves,
that its waters might flow unimpeded, and in winter found
icicles of wondrous shape and beauty; and just beyond its
source stood the painting house, where every child was
always welcome,[59] where the wild flowers from hot little
hands were painted in the pictures of what we called "the
animals," to the everlasting pride and glory of their
finder.
It was hoped that only shorter trips would now be
taken, and a visit to Canada as far as Quebec was made
in August and September of 1842.
But even in this home after his own tastes, where hospitality
and simplicity ruled, Audubon could not stay, for
his heart had always been set on going farther west, and
though both family and friends thought him growing too
old for such a journey, he started in March, 1843, for St.
Louis, and thence up the Missouri on the steamboat
"Omega" of the American Fur Company, which left on its
annual trip April 25, 1843, taking up supplies of all
sorts, and returning with thousands of skins and furs.
Here again Audubon speaks for himself, and I shall not
now anticipate his account with words of mine, as the
Missouri journal follows in full. He was accompanied
on this trip by Mr. Edward Harris, his faithful friend of
many years, John G. Bell as taxidermist, Isaac Sprague
as artist, and Lewis Squires as secretary and general
assistant. With the exception of Mr. Harris, all were
engaged by Audubon, who felt his time was short, his
duties many, while the man of seventy (?) had no longer
the strength of youth.
November of 1843 saw him once more at Minniesland,
and the long journeys were forever over; but work
on the "Quadrupeds" was continued with the usual
energy. The next few years were those of great happiness.
His valued friend Dr. Thomas M. Brewer, of
Boston, visited him in 1846. Writing of him Dr. Brewer
says:[60] "The patriarch had greatly changed since I had
last seen him. He wore his hair longer, and it now hung
down in locks of snowy whiteness on his shoulders. His
once piercing gray eyes, though still bright, had already
begun to fail him. He could no longer paint with his
wonted accuracy, and had at last, most reluctantly, been
forced to surrender to his sons the task of completing the
illustrations to the "Quadrupeds of North America."
Surrounded by his large family, including his devoted wife,
his two sons with their wives,[61] and quite a troop of grandchildren,
his enjoyments of life seemed to leave him little
to desire.... A pleasanter scene, or a more interesting
household it has never been the writer's good fortune to
witness."
Of this period one of his daughters-in-law[62] speaks
in her journal as follows: "Mr. Audubon was of a most
kindly nature; he never passed a workman or a stranger
of either sex without a salutation, such as, 'Good-day,
friend,' 'Well, my good man, how do you do?' If a
boy, it was, 'Well, my little man,' or a little girl, 'Good
morning, lassie, how are you to-day?' All were noticed,
and his pleasant smile was so cordial that all the villagers
and work-people far and near, knew and liked him. He
painted a little after his return from the Yellowstone
River, but as he looked at his son John's animals, he said:
'Ah, Johnny, no need for the old man to paint any more
when you can do work like that.' He was most affectionate
in his disposition, very fond of his grandchildren, and
it was a pleasant sight to see him sit with one on his
knee, and others about him, singing French songs in his
lively way. It was sweet too, to see him with his wife;
he was always her lover, and invariably used the pronouns
'thee' and 'thou' in his speech to her. Often have
I heard him say, 'Well, sweetheart! always busy; come
sit thee down a few minutes and rest.'"
My mother has told me that when the picture of the
Cougars came from Texas, where my father had painted it,
my grandfather's delight knew no bounds. He was beside
himself with joy that "his boy Johnny" could paint
a picture he considered so fine; he looked at it from every
point, and could not keep quiet, but walked up and down
filled with delight.
Of these years much might be said, but much has
already been written of them, so I will not repeat.[63] Many
characteristics Audubon kept to the last; his enthusiasm,
freshness, and keenness of enjoyment and pain were never
blunted. His ease and grace of speech and movement
were as noticeable in the aged man as they had been in
the happy youth of Mill Grove. His courteous manners
to all, high and low, were always the same; his chivalry,
generosity, and honor were never dimmed, and his great
personal beauty never failed to attract attention; always
he was handsome. His stepmother writes from Nantes
to her husband in Virginia: "He is the handsomest boy
in Nantes, but perhaps not the most studious." At Mill
Grove Mr. David Pawling wrote in January, 1805: "To-day
I saw the swiftest skater I ever beheld; backwards
and forwards he went like the wind, even leaping over
large air-holes fifteen or more feet across, and continuing
to skate without an instant's delay. I was told he was
a young Frenchman, and this evening I met him at a
ball, where I found his dancing exceeded his skating;
all the ladies wished him as partner; moreover, a handsomer
man I never saw, his eyes alone command attention;
his name, Audubon, is strange to me."
|
AUDUBON DATE UNKNOWN. FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE OWNED BY M. ELIZA AUDUBON.
|
Abroad it was the same; Mr. Rathbone speaks of "his
beautiful expressive face," as did Christopher North, and
so on until the beauty of youth and manhood passed into
the "magnificent gray-haired man."
But "the gay young Frenchman who danced with all
the girls," was an old man now, not so much as the years
go, but in the intensity of his life. He had never done
anything by halves; he had played and worked, enjoyed
and sorrowed, been depressed and elated, each and all
with his highly strung nature at fever heat, and the end
was not far. He had seen the accomplishment of his
hopes in the "Birds," and the "Quadrupeds" he was
content to leave largely to other hands; and surely no man
ever had better helpers. From first to last his wife had
worked, in more ways than one, to further the aim of his
life; Victor had done the weary mechanical business
work; John had hunted, and preserved specimens, taken
long journeys — notably to Texas and California — and
been his father's travelling companion on more than one
occasion. Now the time had come when he no longer
led; Victor had full charge of the publication of the
"Quadrupeds," besides putting in many of the backgrounds,
and John painted a large proportion of the
animals. But I think that none of them regarded their
work as individual, — it was always ours, for father and
sons were comrades and friends; and with Dr. Bachman's
invaluable aid this last work was finished, but not during
Audubon's life. He travelled more or less in the interests
of his publications during these years, largely in New
England and in the Middle States.
In 1847 the brilliant intellect began to be dimmed; at
first it was only the difficulty of finding the right word to
express an idea, the gradual lessening of interest, and this
increased till in May, 1848, Dr. Bachman tells the pathetic
close of the enthusiastic and active life: "Alas,
my poor friend Audubon! The outlines of his beautiful
face and form are there, but his noble mind is all in ruins.
It is indescribably sad."
Through these last years the devotion of the entire
household was his. He still loved to wander in the
woods, he liked to hear his wife read to him, and music
was ever a delight. To the very last his daughter-in-law,
Mrs. Victor G. Audubon, sang a little Spanish song to
him every evening, rarely permitting anything to interfere
with what gave him so much pleasure, and evening by
evening he listened to the Buenas Noches, which was so
soon to be his in reality.
His grandchildren, also, were a constant source of enjoyment
to him, and he to them, for children always found
a friend in him; and thus quietly did he pass through that
valley which had no shadows for him.
I wish to wholly correct the statement that Audubon
became blind. His sight became impaired by old age,
as is usually the case; he abhorred spectacles or glasses
of any kind, would not wear them except occasionally,
and therefore did not get the right focus for objects near
by; but his far-sight was hardly impaired. That wonderful
vision which surprised even the keen-eyed Indian
never failed him.
|
AUDUBON MONUMENT IN TRINITY CHURCH CEMETERY, NEW YORK.
|
The reverse of the base bears the inscription —
Erected to the Memory of
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
In the year 1893, by subscriptions raised by the
New York Academy of Science.
Well do I remember the tall figure with snow-white
hair, wandering peacefully along the banks of the beautiful
Hudson. Already he was resting in that border land
which none can fathom, and it could not have been far to
go, no long and weary journey, when, after a few days of
increasing feebleness, for there was no illness, just as sunset
was flooding the pure, snow-covered landscape with
golden light, at five o'clock on Monday, January 27, 1851,
the "pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift, ... outsoared
the shadow of our night."
In a quiet spot in Trinity Church Cemetery, not far from
the home where Audubon spent his last years, the remains
of the naturalist were laid with all honor and respect, on
the Thursday following his death. Time brought changes
which demanded the removal of the first burial-place, and
a second one was chosen in the same cemetery, which is
now marked by the beautiful monument erected by the
New York Academy of Sciences.[64]
Now wife and sons have joined him; together they rest
undisturbed by winter storms or summer heat; the river
they loved so well flows past their silent home as in
days long gone when its beauties won their hearts.
Truly the place where they dwelt shall know them no
more, but "while the melody of the mocking-bird is heard
in the cypress forests of Louisiana, and the squirrel leaps
from its leafy curtain like a thing of beauty, the name of
Audubon will live in the hearts of coming generations."
THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS
1826-1829
ON
the 26th April, 1826, I left my beloved wife Lucy
Audubon, and my son John Woodhouse with our
friends the Percys at Bayou Sara. I remained at Doctor
Pope's at St. Francisville till Wednesday at four o'clock
p. m., when I took the steamboat "Red River," Captain
Kemble, for New Orleans, which city I reached at noon
on Wednesday, 27th. Visited many vessels for my passage
to England, and concluded to go in the ship "Delos"
of Kennebunk, Captain Joseph Hatch, bound to Liverpool,
and loaded entirely with cotton. During my stay in New
Orleans, I lived at G. L. Sapinot's, and saw many of my
old friends and acquaintances, but the whole time of waiting
was dull and heavy. I generally walked from morning
till dusk. New Orleans, to a man who does not trade in
dollars or other such stuff, is a miserable spot. Finally,
discovering that the ship would not be ready for sea for
several days longer, I ascended the Mississippi again in
the "Red River," and arrived at Mrs. Percy's at three
o'clock in the morning, having had a dark ride through
the Magnolia woods. I remained two days, left at sunrise,
and breakfasted with my good friend Augustin Bourgeat.
Arrived at New Orleans, I called on the governor, who
gave me a letter bearing the seal of the State, obviating
the necessity of a passport. I received many letters of
introduction from different persons which will be of use to
me. Also I wrote to Charles Bonaparte, apprising him of
the box of bird skins forwarded to him.
On the 17th of May, my baggage was put on board, I
following, and the steamboat "Hercules" came alongside
at seven p. m., and in ten hours
put the "Delos" to sea. I
was immediately affected with sea-sickness, which, however,
lasted but a short time; I remained on deck constantly,
forcing myself to exercise. We calculated our day of
departure to be May 18, 1826, at noon, when we first
made an observation. It is now the 28th; the weather
has been generally fair with light winds. The first objects
which diverted my thoughts from the dear ones left behind
me, were the beautiful Dolphins that glided by the vessel
like burnished gold by day, and bright meteors by night.
Our captain and mate proved experts at alluring them with
baited hooks, and dexterous at piercing them with a five-pronged
instrument, generally called by seamen "grain."
If hooked, the Dolphin flounces desperately, glides off
with all its natural swiftness, rises perpendicularly out of
the water several feet, and often shakes off the hook and
escapes; if, however, he is well hooked, he is played about
for a while, soon exhausted, and hauled into the ship.
Their flesh is firm, dry, yet quite acceptable at sea.
They differ much in their sizes, being, according to age,
smaller or larger; I saw some four and a half feet long,
but a fair average is three feet. The paunch of all we
caught contained more or less small fishes of different
varieties, amongst which the flying-fish is most prevalent.
Dolphins move in companies of from four or five to
twenty or more. They chase the flying-fish, that with
astonishing rapidity, after having escaped their sharp
pursuer a while in the water, emerge, and go through
the air with the swiftness of an arrow, sometimes in a
straight course, sometimes forming part of a circle; yet
frequently the whole is unavailing, for the Dolphin bounds
from the sea in leaps of fifteen or twenty feet, and so
moves rapidly towards his prey, and the little fish falls, to
be swallowed by his antagonist. You must not suppose,
however, that the Dolphin moves through the seas without
risk or danger; he, as well as others has vigilant and
powerful enemies. One is the Barracouta, in shape much
like a Pike, growing sometimes to a large size; one of
these cut off upwards of a foot of a Dolphin's tail, as if done
with an axe, as the Dolphin made for a baited hook; and I
may say we about divided the bounty. There is a degree
of sympathy existing between Dolphins quite remarkable;
the moment one of them is hooked or grained, all those in
company immediately make towards him, and remain close
to him till the unfortunate is hauled on board, then they
move off and will rarely bite. The skin of the fish is a tissue
of small scales, softer in their substance than is generally
the case in scaley fishes of such size; the skin is tough.
We also caught a Porpoise about seven feet in length.
This was accomplished during the night, when the moon
gave me a full view of all that happened. The fish, contrary
to custom, was grained instead of harpooned, but
grained in such a way and so effectually, through the forehead,
that it was then held and suffered to flounce and
beat about the bow of the ship, until the man who had first
speared it gave the line holding the grain to our captain,
slid along the bobstay with a rope, then, after some little
time and perhaps some difficulty, the fish was secured immediately
about its tail, and hoisted with that part upwards.
Arrived at the deck it gave a deep groan, much
like the last from a dying hog, flapped heavily once or
twice, and died. I had never before examined one of
these closely, and the duck-bill-like snout, and the curious
disposition of the tail, with the body, were new and interesting
matters of observation to me. The large, sleek, black
body, the quantity of warm, black blood issuing from
the wound, the blowing apertures placed over the forehead, — all
attracted my attention. I requested it might
be untouched till the next morning, and my wish was
granted. On opening it the intestines were still warm
(say eight hours after death), and resembled very much
those of a hog. The paunch contained several cuttle-fish
partly decayed. The flesh was removed from the skeleton
and left the central bone supported on its sides by two
horizontal, and one perpendicular bone, giving it the appearance
of a four-edged cutting instrument; the lower
jaw, or as I would prefer writing it, mandible, exceeds the
upper about three-fourths of an inch. Both were furnished
with single rows of divided conical teeth, about one-half
an inch in length, so parted as to admit those of the upper
jaw between each of those of the lower. The fish might
weigh about two hundred pounds. The eyes were small
in proportion to the size of the animal, and having a breathing
aperture above, of course it had no gills. Porpoises
move in large companies, and generally during spring and
early summer go in pairs. I have seen a parcel of them
leap perpendicularly about twenty feet, and fall with a
heavy dash in the sea. Our captain told us that there
were instances when small boats had been sunk by one of
these heavy fish falling into them. Whilst I am engaged
with the finny tribe (of which, however, I know little or
nothing), I may as well tell you that one morning when
moving gently, two miles per hour, the captain called me
to show me some pretty little fishes just caught from the
cabin window. These measured about three inches, were
broad, and moved very quickly through the water. We
had pin-hooks, and with these, in about two hours,
three hundred and seventy were caught; they were sweet
and good as food. They are known ordinarily as Rudder-fish,
and always keep on the lee side of the rudder, as it
affords them a strong eddy to support them, and enable
them to follow the vessel in that situation; when calm they
disperse about the bow and sides, and then will not bite.
The least breeze brings them all astern again in a compact
body, when they seize the baited hook the moment it
reaches the water.
We have also caught two Sharks, one a female about
seven feet long, that had ten young, alive, and able to
swim well; one of them was thrown overboard and made
off as if well accustomed to take care of himself. Another
was cut in two, and the head half swam off out of our
sight. The remainder, as well as the parent, were cut in
pieces for bait for Dolphins, which are extremely partial to
that meat. The weather being calm and pleasant, I felt
desirous to have a view of the ship from a distance and
Captain Hatch politely took me in the yawl and had it
rowed all round the "Delos." This was a sight I had not
enjoyed for twenty years, and I was much pleased with it;
afterwards having occasion to go out to try the bearings of
the current, I again accompanied him, and bathed in the
sea, not however without some fears as to Sharks. To try
the bearings of the current we took an iron pot fastened
to a line of one hundred and twenty fathoms, and made a
log-board out of a barrel's head leaded on one side to make
it sink perpendicularly on its edge, and tried the velocity
of the current with it fixed to a line by the help of a second
glass,[65] whilst our iron pot acted as an anchor.
Let me change my theme, and speak of birds awhile.
Mother Carey's Chickens (Procellaria) came about us,
and I longed to have at least one in my possession. I had
watched their evolutions, their gentle patting of the sea
when on the wing, with the legs hanging and the web
extended, seen them take large and long ranges in search
of food, and return for bits of fat thrown overboard for
them, I had often looked at different figures given by
scientific men; but all this could not diminish for a moment
the long-wished for pleasure of possessing one in the flesh.
I fired, and dropped the first one that came alongside, and
the captain most courteously sent for it with the yawl.
I made two drawings of it; it proved to be a female with
eggs, numerous, but not larger than grains of fine powder,
inducing me to think that these birds must either breed
earlier, or much later, than any in our southern latitude.
I should be inclined to think that the specimen I inspected
had not laid this season, though I am well satisfied that it
was an old bird. During many succeeding weeks I discovered
that numbers flew mated side by side, and occasionally,
particularly on calm, pleasant days caressed each
other as Ducks are known to do.
May 27, 1826. Five days ago we saw a small vessel
with all sails set coming toward us; we were becalmed and
the unknown had a light breeze. It approached gradually;
suspicions were entertained that it might be a pirate, as
we had heard that same day reports, which came undoubtedly
from cannon, and from the very direction from which
this vessel was coming. We were well manned, tolerably
armed, and were all bent on resistance, knowing
well that these gentry gave no quarter, to purses at least,
and more or less uneasiness was perceptible on every face.
Night arrived, a squally breeze struck us, and off we
moved, and lost sight of the pursuing vessel in a short
time. The next day a brig that had been in our wake
came near us, was hailed, and found to be the "Gleaner,"
of Portland, commanded by an acquaintance of our commander,
and bound also to Liverpool. This vessel had
left New Orleans five days before us. We kept close
together, and the next day Captain Hatch and myself
boarded her, and were kindly received; after a short stay
her captain, named Jefferson, came with us and remained
the day. I opened my drawings and showed a few of
them. Mr. Swift was anxious to see some, and I wanted
to examine in what state they kept, and the weather being
dry and clear I feared nothing. It was agreed the vessels
should keep company until through the Gulf Stream, for
security against pirates. So fine has the weather been
so far, that all belonging to the cabin have constantly
slept on deck; an awning has been extended to protect
from the sun by day and the dampness by night. When
full a hundred leagues at sea, a female Rice Bunting came
on board, and remained with us one night, and part of a
day. A Warbler also came, but remained only a few
minutes, and then made for the land we had left. It
moved while on board with great activity and sprightliness;
the Bunting, on the contrary, was exhausted, panted,
and I have no doubt died of inanition.
Many Sooty Terns were in sight during several days.
I saw one Frigate Pelican high in air, and could only judge
it to be such through the help of a telescope. Flocks of
unknown birds were also about the ship during a whole
day. They swam well, and preferred the water to the
air. They resembled large Phalaropes, but I could not
be certain. A small Alligator, that I had purchased for
a dollar in New Orleans, died at the end of nine days,
through my want of knowledge, or thought, that salt
matter was poisonous to him. In two days he swelled to
nearly double his natural size, breathed hard, and, as I
have said, died.
In latitude 24°, 27�, a Green Heron came on board, and
remained until, becoming frightened, it flew towards the
brig "Gleaner;" it did not appear in the least fatigued.
The captain of the brig told me that on a former voyage
from Europe to New Orleans, when about fifty leagues
from the Balize, a fully grown Whooping Crane came on
board his vessel during the night, passing over the length
of his deck, close over his head, over the helmsman, and
fell in the yawl; the next morning the bird was found
there completely exhausted, when every one on board
supposed it had passed on. A cage was made for it, but
it refused food, lingered a few days, and then died. It
was plucked and found free from any wound, and in good
condition; a very singular case in birds of the kind, that
are inured to extensive journeys, and, of course liable to
spend much time without the assistance of food.
June 4. We are a few miles south of the Line, for
the second time in my life. Since I wrote last we have
parted from our companion the "Gleaner," and are yet
in the Gulf of Mexico. I have been at sea three Sundays,
and yet we have not made the shores of Cuba. Since
my last date I have seen a large Sword-fish, but only saw
it, two Gannets, caught a live Warbler, and killed a
Great-footed Hawk. This bird, after having alighted several
times on our yards, made a dash at a Warbler which
was feeding on the flies about the vessel, seized it, and
ate it in our sight, on the wing, much like a Mississippi
Kite devouring the Red-throated Lizards. The warbler
we caught was a nondescript, which I named "The Cape
Florida Songster." We also saw two Frigate Pelicans at a
great height, and a large species of Petrel, entirely unknown
to me. I have read Byron's "Corsair" with much
enjoyment.
June 17. A brig bound to Boston, called the "Andromache,"
came alongside, and my heart rejoiced at
the idea that letters could be carried by her to America.
I set to, and wrote to my wife and to Nicholas Berthoud.
A sudden squall separated us till quite late, but we boarded
her, I going with the captain; the sea ran high, and the
tossing of our light yawl was extremely disagreeable to
my feelings. The brig was loaded with cotton, extremely
filthy, and I was glad to discover that with all our disagreeables
we were comparatively comfortable on the
"Delos." We have been in sight of Cuba four days; the
heat excessive. I saw three beautiful White-headed
Pigeons, or Doves, flying about our ship, but after several
rounds they shaped their course towards the Floridas
and disappeared. The Dolphins we catch here are said
to be poisonous; to ascertain whether they are or not, a
piece of fish is boiled with a silver dollar till quite cooked,
when if the coin is not tarnished or green, the fish is safe
eating. I find bathing in the sea water extremely refreshing,
and enjoy this luxury every night and morning.
Several vessels are in sight.
June 26. We have been becalmed many days, and
I should be dull indeed were it not for the fishes and
birds, and my pen and pencil. I have been much interested
in the Dusky Petrels; the mate killed four at
one shot, so plentiful were they about our vessel, and
I have made several drawings from these, which were
brought on board for that purpose. They skim over the
sea in search of what is here called Gulf Weed, of which
there are large patches, perhaps half an acre in extent.
They flap the wings six or seven times, then soar for
three or four seconds, the tail spread, the wings extended.
Four or five of these birds, indeed sometimes as many as
fifteen or twenty, will alight on this weed, dive, flutter, and
swim with all the gayety of ducks on a pond, which they
have reached after a weary journey. I heard no note
from any of them. No sooner have the Petrels eaten or
dispersed the fish than they rise and extend their wings
for flight, in search of more. At times, probably to rest
themselves, they alighted, swam lightly, dipping their bills
frequently in the water as Mergansers and fishy Ducks do
when trying, by tasting, if the water contains much fish.
On inspection of the body, I found the wings powerfully
muscular and strong for the size of the bird, a natural
requisite for individuals that have such an extent of water
to traverse, and frequently heavy squalls to encounter
and fight against. The stomach, or pouch, resembled a
leather purse of four inches in length and was much distended
by the contents, which were a compound of fishes
of different kinds, some almost entire, others more or less
digested. The gullet was capable of great extension.
Fishes two and a half inches by one inch were found
nearly fresh. The flesh of these Petrels smelt strong, and
was tough and not fit to eat. I tasted some, and found
it to resemble the flesh of the Porpoise. There was no
difference in the sexes, either in size or color; they are
sooty black above, and snowy white below. The exact
measurements are in my memorandum-book.
June 29. This morning we came up with the ship
"Thalia," of Philadelphia, Captain John R. Butler, from
Havana to Minorca up the Mediterranean, with many
passengers, Spaniards, on board. The captain very
politely offered us some fruit, which was gladly accepted,
and in return we sent them a large Dolphin, they having
caught none. I sent a Petrel, stuffed some days previously,
as the captain asked for it for the Philadelphia
Society of Sciences.
June 30. Whilst sailing under a gentle breeze last
night, the bird commonly called by seamen "Noddy"
alighted on the boom of the vessel, and was very soon
caught by the mate. It then uttered a rough cry, not
unlike that of a young crow when taken from the nest.
It bit severely and with quickly renewed movement of
the bill, which, when it missed the object in view, snapped
like that of our larger Flycatchers. I found it one of the
same species that hovered over the seaweeds in company
with the large Petrel. Having kept it alive during the
night, when I took it in hand to draw it it was dull looking
and silent. I know nothing of this bird more than
what our sailors say, that it is a Noddy, and that they
often alight on vessels in this latitude, particularly in the
neighborhood of the Florida Keys. The bird was in
beautiful plumage, but poor. The gullet was capable of
great extension, the paunch was empty, the heart large for
the bird, and the liver uncommonly so.
A short time before the capture of the above bird, a
vessel of war, a ship that we all supposed to be a South
American Republican, or Columbian, came between us
and the "Thalia," then distant from us about one and a
half miles astern, fired a gun, and detained her for some
time, the reason probably being that the passengers were
Spaniards, and the cargo Spanish property; however, this
morning both vessels were in view making different routes.
The man-of-war deigned not to come to us, and none of
us were much vexed at this mark of inattention. This
day has been calm; my drawing finished, I caught four
Dolphins; how much I have gazed at these beautiful creatures,
watching their last moments of life, as they changed
their hue in twenty varieties of richest arrangement of tints,
from burnished gold to silver bright, mixed with touches
of ultramarine, rose, green, bronze, royal purple, quivering
to death on our hard, broiling deck. As I stood and
watched them, I longed to restore them to their native
element in all their original strength and vitality, and yet
I felt but a few moments before a peculiar sense of pleasure
in catching them with a hook to which they were
allured by false pretences.
We have at last entered the Atlantic Ocean this morning
and with a propitious breeze; the land birds have left
us, and I — I leave my beloved America, my wife, my
children, my friends. The purpose of this voyage is to
visit not only England, but the continent of Europe, with
the intention of publishing my work on the "Birds of
America." If not sadly disappointed my return to these
shores, these happy shores, will be the brightest day I
have ever enjoyed. Oh! wife, children, friends, America,
farewell! farewell!
July 9. At sea. My leaving America had for some
time the feelings of a dream; I could scarce make up
my mind fixedly on the subject. I thought continually
I still saw my beloved friends, and my dear wife and children.
I still felt every morning when I awoke that the land
of America was beneath me, and that I would in a short
time throw myself on the ground in her shady woods,
and watch for, and listen to the many lovely warblers.
But now that I have positively been at sea since fifty-one
days, tossing to and fro, without the sight or the touch of
those dear to me, I feel fully convinced, and look forward
with an anxiety such as I never felt before, when I
calculate that not less than four months, the third of a
year, must elapse before my wife and children can receive
any tidings of my arrival on the distant shores to which I
am bound. When I think that many more months must
run from the Life's sand-glass allotted to my existence
before I can think of returning, and that my re-union with
my friends and country is yet an unfolded and unknown
event, I am filled with sudden apprehensions which I cannot
describe nor dispel.
Our fourth of July was passed near the Grand Banks,
and how differently from any that I can recollect. The
weather was thick, foggy, and as dull as myself; not a
sound of rejoicing reached my ears, not once did I hear
"Hail Columbia! Happy land." My companion passengers
lay about the deck and on the cotton-bales, basking
like Crocodiles, while the sun occasionally peeped
out of the smoky haze that surrounded us; yet the breeze
was strong, the waves moved majestically, and thousands
of large Petrels displayed their elegant, aerial movements.
How much I envied their power of flight to enable me to
be here, there, and all over the globe comparatively speaking,
in a few moments, throwing themselves edgeways
against the breeze, as if a well sharpened arrow shot with
the strength and grace of one sprung from the bow of an
Apollo. I had remarked a regular increase in the number
of these Petrels ever since the capes of Florida were
passed; but here they were so numerous, and for part of
a day flew in such succession towards the west and
southwest, that I concluded they were migrating to some
well known shore to deposit their eggs, or perhaps leading
their young. These very seldom alighted; they were full
the size of a common gull, and as they flew they showed
in quick alternations the whole upper and under part of
their bodies, sometimes skimming low, sometimes taking
immense curves, then dashing along the deep trough of
the sea, going round our vessel (always out of gun-reach)
as if she had been at anchor. Their lower parts are
white, the head all white, and the upper part of the body
and wings above sooty brown. I would imagine that one
of these Petrels flies over as much distance in one hour, as
one of the little black Petrels in our wake does in twelve.
Since we have left the neighborhood of the Banks, these
birds have gradually disappeared, and now in latitude 44°,
53� I see none. Our captain and sailors speak of them
as companions in storms, as much as their little relations
Mother Carey's chickens.
As suddenly as if we had just turned the summit of a
mountain dividing a country south of the equator from
Iceland, the weather altered in the present latitude and
longitude. My light summer clothing was not sufficient,
and the dews that fell at night rendered the deck, where I
always slept, too damp to be comfortable. This, however,
of two evils I preferred, for I could not endure the more
disagreeable odors of the cabin, where now the captain,
officers, and Mr. Swift, eat their meals daily. The length
of the days has increased astonishingly; at nine o'clock
I can easily read large print. Dawn comes shortly after
2 a. m., and a long day is before us.
At Sea — July, 1826. We had several days a stiff
breeze that wafted us over the deep fully nine miles an
hour. This was congenial to my wishes, but not to my
feelings. The motion of the vessel caused violent headaches,
far more distressing than any seasickness I had ever
experienced. Now, for the third or fourth time, I read
Thomson's "Seasons," and I believe enjoyed them better
than ever.
Among our live stock on board, we had a large hen.
This bird was very tame and quite familiar with the ins
and outs of the vessel, and was allowed all the privileges
of the deck. She had been hatched on board, and our
cook, who claimed her as his property, was much attached
to her, as was also the mate. One morning she imprudently
flew overboard, while we were running three
miles an hour. The yawl was immediately lowered, four
men rowed her swiftly towards the floating bird that
anxiously looked at her place of abode gliding from her;
she was picked up, and her return on board seemed to
please every one, and I was gratified to see such kind
treatment to a bird; it assured me, had I needed that
assurance, that the love of animals develops the better
side of all natures. Our hen, however, ended her life most
distressingly not long after this narrow escape; she again
flew over the side, and the ship moving at nine knots,
the sea very high and rough, the weather rainy and
squally, the captain thought it imprudent to risk the men
for the fowl; so, notwithstanding the pleadings of the cook,
we lost sight of the adventurous bird in a few moments.
We have our long boat as usual lashed to the deck; but
instead of being filled with lumber as is usually the case, it
now contained three passengers, all bound to Europe to
visit friends, with the intention of returning to America in
the autumn. One has a number of books which he
politely offered me; he plays most sweetly on the flute,
and is a man superior to his apparent situation. We have
a tailor also; this personage is called a deck hand, but
the fact is, that two thirds of his time is spent sleeping on
the windlass. This man, however, like all others in the
world, is useful in his way. He works whenever called
on, and will most cheerfully put a button or a patch on
any one's clothing; his name is Crow, and during the entire
voyage, thus far, he has lived solely on biscuit and raw
bacon. We now see no fish except now and then a shoal
of porpoises. I frequently long for the beautiful Dolphins
in the Gulf of Mexico; Whales have been seen by the
sailors, but not by me. During this tedious voyage I
frequently sit and watch our captain at his work; I do
not remember ever to have seen a man more industrious
or more apt at doing nearly everything he needs himself.
He is a skilful carpenter and turner, cooper, tin and black
smith, and an excellent tailor; I saw him making a pair
of pantaloons of fine cloth with all the neatness that a city
brother of the cross-legged faculty could have used. He
made a handsome patent swift for his wife, and a beautiful
plane for his own use, manufactured out of a piece of beechwood
that probably grew on the banks of the Ohio, as I
perceived it had been part of a flat-boat, and brought on
board to be used for fuel. He can plait straw in all
sorts of ways, and make excellent bearded fishhooks out of
common needles. He is an excellent sailor, and the more
stormy it becomes, the gayer he is, even when drenched to
the skin. I was desirous of understanding the means of
ascertaining the latitude on land, and also to find the
true rising of the sun whilst travelling in the uninhabited
parts of America; this he showed me with pleasure, and I
calculated our latitude and longitude from this time,
though not usually fond of mathematics. To keep busy
I go often about the deck pencil in hand, sketching the
different attitudes of the sailors, and many a laugh is
caused by these rough drawings. Both the mates have
shown a kindness towards me that I cannot forget. The
first mate is S. L. Bragdon from Wells, the second Wm.
Hobart from Kennebunk.
To-day we came in with a new set and species of Petrels,
resembling those in the Gulf of Mexico, but considerably
larger; between fifty and sixty were at one time close to
the vessel, catching small fish that we guessed to be herrings;
the birds swam swiftly over the water, their wings
raised, and now and then diving and dipping after the
small fry; they flew heavily, and with apparent reluctance,
and alighted as soon as we passed them. I was satisfied
that several in our wake had followed us from the Gulf of
Mexico; the sudden change in the weather must have
been seriously felt by them.
July 12. I had a beautiful view of a Whale about five
hundred yards from the vessel when we first perceived it;
the water thrown from his spiracles had the appearance of
a small, thick cloud, twelve or fourteen feet wide. Never
have I felt the weather so cold in July. We are well
wrapped up, and yet feel chilly in the drizzling rain.
July 15. Yesterday-night ended the ninth Sunday
passed at sea; the weather continues cold, but the wind is
propitious. We are approaching land, and indeed I
thought I smelt the "land smell." We have had many
Whales near us during the day, and an immense number of
Porpoises; our captain, who prefers their flesh to the best
of veal, beef, or mutton, said he would give five dollars for
one; but our harpoon is broken, and although several
handles were fastened for a while to the grain, the weapon
proved too light, and the fish invariably made their escape
after a few bounces, probably to go and die in misery.
European Hawks were seen, and two Curlews; these
gave me hope that we might see the long desired land
shortly.
July 18, 1826. The sun is shining clear over Ireland;
that land was seen at three o'clock this morning by the
man at the helm, and the mate, with a stentorian voice,
announced the news. As we approached the coast a
small boat neared us, and came close under our lee; the
boat looked somewhat like those employed in bringing in
heavy loads to New Orleans, but her sails were more
tattered, her men more fair in complexion. They hailed
us and offered for sale fresh fish, new potatoes, fresh eggs.
All were acceptable, I assure thee. They threw a light
line to us most dexterously. Fish, potatoes, and eggs were
passed to us, in exchange for whiskey, salt pork, and tobacco,
which were, I trust, as acceptable to them as their
wares were to us. I thought the exchange a fair one, but
no! — they called for rum, brandy, whiskey, more of everything.
Their expressions struck me with wonder; it was
"Here's to your Honor," — "Long life to your Honor," — "God
bless your Honor," — Honors followed with
such rapidity that I turned away in disgust. The breeze
freshened and we proceeded fast on our way. Perhaps
to-morrow may see me safe on land again — perhaps to-morrow
may see us all stranded, perishing where the
beautiful "Albion" went ashore.
St. George's Channel, Thursday, July 20. I am approaching
very fast the shores of England, indeed Wales is
abreast of our ship, and we can plainly distinguish the
hedges that divide the fields of grain; but what nakedness
the country exhibits, scarce a patch of timber to be seen;
our fine forests of pine, of oak, of heavy walnut-trees, of
magnificent magnolias, of hickories or ash or maple, are
represented here by a diminutive growth called "furze."
But I must not criticise so soon! I have not seen the
country, I have not visited any of the historic castles, or
the renowned parks, for never have I been in England nor
Scotland, that land made famous by the entrancing works
of Walter Scott. We passed yesterday morning the
Tuskar, a handsome light on a bare rock. This morning
we saw Holyhead, and we are now not more than twenty-five
miles from Liverpool; but I feel no pleasure, and
were it not for the sake of my Lucy and my children, I
would readily embark to-morrow to return to America's
shores and all they hold for me.... The pilot boat that
came to us this morning contained several men all dressed
in blue, with overcoats of oiled linen, — all good, hearty,
healthy-looking men.... I have been on deck, and from
the bow the land of England is plainly distinguishable;
the sight around us is a beautiful one, I have counted
fifty-six vessels with spreading sails, and on our right are
mountains fading into the horizon; my dull thoughts
have all abandoned me, I am elated, my heart is filled
with hope. To-morrow we shall land at the city of Liverpool,
but when I think of Custom House officials, acceptancy
of Bills, hunting up lodgings, — again my heart fails
me; I must on deck.
Mersey River opposite Liverpool, 9.30 p. m. The night
is cloudy, and we are at anchor! The lights of the city
show brightly, for we are not more than two hundred
yards distant from them.
Liverpool, July 21. This morning when I landed it
was raining, yet the appearance of the city was agreeable;
but no sooner had I entered it than the smoke
became so oppressive to my lungs that I could hardly
breathe; it affected my eyes also. All was new to me.
After a breakfast at an inn with Mr. Swift for 2/6, we went
to the Exchange Buildings, to the counting-house of Gordon
and Forstall, as I was anxious to deliver my letters
to Mr. Gordon from Mr. Briggs. I also presented during
the morning my bill of exchange. The rest of the day
was spent in going to the Museum, gazing about, and
clearing my brains as much as possible; but how lonely I
feel, — not a soul to speak to freely when Mr. Swift leaves
me for Ireland. We took lodgings at the Commercial Inn
not far from the Exchange Buildings; we are well fed, and
well attended to, although, to my surprise, altogether by
women, neatly dressed and modest. I found the persons
of whom I enquired for different directions, remarkably
kind and polite; I had been told this would not be the
case, but I have met with only real politeness from all.
Liverpool, July 22. The Lark that sings so sweetly,
and that now awakened me from happy dreams, is nearly
opposite my table, prisoner in a cage hanging by a window
where from time to time a young person comes to
look on the world below; I think of the world of the
West and — but the Lark, delightful creature, sings sweetly,
yet in a cage!
The Custom House suddenly entered my head, and
after considerable delay there, my drawings went through
a regular, strict, and complete examination. The officers
were all of opinion that they were free of duty, but the
law was looked at and I was obliged to pay two pence on
each drawing, as they were water-colored. My books
being American, I paid four pence per pound, and when all
was settled, I took my baggage and drawings, and went
to my lodgings. The noise of pattens on the sidewalk
startles me very frequently; if the sound is behind me I
often turn my head expecting to see a horse, but instead
I observe a neat, plump-looking maid, tripping as briskly
as a Killdeer. I received a polite note from Mr. Rathbone[66]
this morning, inviting me to dine next Wednesday
with him and Mr. Roscoe.[67] I shall not forget the appointment.
Sunday, July 23. Being Sunday I must expect a
long and lonely day; I woke at dawn and lay for a few
moments only, listening to the sweet-voiced Lark; the day
was beautiful; thermometer in the sun 65°, in the shade
41°; I might say 40°, but I love odd numbers, — it is a foolish
superstition with me. I spent my forenoon with Mr.
Swift and a friend of his, Mr. R. Lyons, who was afterwards
kind enough to introduce us to the Commercial
Reading Room at the Exchange Buildings. In the afternoon
we went across the Mersey. The country is somewhat
dull; we returned to supper, sat chatting in the coffee
room, and the day ended.
July 24, Monday. As early as I thought proper I
turned my steps to No. 87 Duke Street, where the polite
English gentleman, Mr. Richard Rathbone,[68] resides. My
locks blew freely from under my hat in the breeze, and
nearly every lady I met looked at them with curiosity.
Mr. Rathbone was not in, but was at his counting-house,
where I soon found myself. A full dozen of clerks were
at their separate desks, work was going on apace, letters
were being thrown into an immense bag belonging to a
packet that sailed this day for the shores where I hope my
Lucy is happy — dearest friend! My name was taken
to the special room of Mr. Rathbone, and in a moment I
was met by one who acted towards me as a brother. He
did not give his card to poor Audubon, he gave his hand,
and a most cordial invitation to be at his house at two
o'clock, which hour found me there. I was ushered into a
handsome dining-room, and Mr. Rathbone almost immediately
entered the same, with a most hearty greeting.
I dined with this hospitable man, his charming wife and
children. Mrs. Rathbone is not only an amiable woman,
but a most intelligent and highly educated one. Mr.
Rathbone took me to the Exchange Buildings in order to
see the American consul, Mr. Maury, and others. Introduction
followed introduction; then I was taken through
the entire building, the mayor's public dining-hall, etc.
I gazed on pictures of royalty by Sir Thomas Lawrence
and others, mounted to the dome and looked over Liverpool
and the harbor that Nature formed for her. It was
past five when I went to keep my appointment with Mr.
Swift.
July 25. The day has passed quickly. In the morning
I made a crayon portrait of Mr. Swift — or rather
began it — for his father, then took a walk, and on my
return found a note from Mr. Richard Rathbone awaiting
me. He desired me to come at once with one of my
portfolios to Duke Street. I immediately took a hackney
coach and found Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone with Mr. James
Pyke awaiting me, to take me to the home of Mr. Rathbone,
Sr., who lives some miles out of Liverpool.[69] Their
youngest boy, Basil, a sweet child, took a fancy to me and
I to him, and we made friends during our drive. The
country opened gradually to our view, and presently passing
up an avenue of trees we entered the abode of the
venerable pair, and I was heartily made welcome. I felt
painfully awkward, as I always do in new company, but
so much kindness and simplicity soon made me more at
ease. I saw as I entered the house a full and beautiful
collection of the birds of England, well prepared and
arranged. What sensations I had whilst I helped to untie
the fastenings of my portfolio! I knew by all around me
that these good friends were possessed of both taste and
judgment, and I did not know that I should please. I
was panting like the winged Pheasant, but ah! these kind
people praised my Birds, and I felt the praise to be honest;
once more I breathed freely. My portfolio thoroughly
examined, we returned to Liverpool, and later the Rev.
Wm. Goddard, rector of Liverpool, and several ladies
called on me, and saw some drawings; all praised them.
Oh! what can I hope, my Lucy, for thee and for us all?
July 26. It is very late, and I am tired, but I will not
omit writing on that account. The morning was beautiful,
but for some reason I was greatly depressed, and it
appeared to me as if I could not go on with the work
before me. However, I recollected that the venerable Mr.
Maury must not be forgotten. I saw him; Mr. Swift left
for Dublin with his crayon portrait; I called at the post-office
for news from America, but in vain. I wrote for
some time, and then received a call from Mr. Rathbone
with his brother William; the latter invited me to dine on
Friday at his house, which I promised to do, and this
evening I dined with Mr. Rd. Rathbone. I went at half-past
six, my heart rather failing me, entered the corridor,
my hat was taken, and going upstairs I entered Mr. Rathbone's
drawing-room. I have frequently thought it strange
that my observatory nerves never give way, no matter how
much I am overcome by mauvaise honte,[69b] nor did they now.
Many pictures embellished the walls, and helped, with Mr.
Rathbone's lively mien, to remove the misery of the moment.
Mr. Edward Roscoe came in immediately, — tall,
with a good eye under a well marked brow. Dinner
announced, we descended to the room I had entered on my
first acquaintance with this charming home, and I was
conducted to the place of honor. Mr. Roscoe sat next,
Mr. Barclay of London, and Mr. Melly opposite with Consul
Maury; the dinner was enlivened with mirth and bon mots[69c],
and I found in such good company infinite pleasure.
After we left the table Mrs. Rathbone joined us in the
parlor, and I had now again to show my drawings. Mr.
Roscoe, who had been talking to me about them at dinner,
would not give me any hopes, and I felt unusually gloomy
as one by one I slipped them from their case; but after
looking at a few only, the great man said heartily: "Mr.
Audubon, I am filled with surprise and admiration." On
bidding me adieu he invited me to dine with him to-morrow,
and to visit the Botanical Gardens. Later Mrs. Rathbone
showed me some of her drawings, where talent has
put an undeniable stamp on each touch.
July 27. I reached Mr. Roscoe's place, about one and
a half miles distant from Liverpool, about three o'clock,
and was at once shown into a little drawing-room where all
was nature. Mr. Roscoe was drawing a very handsome
plant most beautifully. The room was ornamented with
many flowers, receiving from his hands the care and treatment
they required; they were principally exotics from
many distant and different climes. His three daughters
were introduced to me, and we then started for the Gardens.
Mr. Roscoe and I rode there in what he called his
little car, drawn by a pony so small that I was amazed to
see it pull us both with apparent ease. Mr. Roscoe is a
come-at-able person, who makes me feel at home immediately,
and we have much in common. I was shown the
whole of the Gardens, which with the hot-house were in
fine order. The ground is level, well laid out, and beautifully
kept; but the season was, so Mr. Roscoe said, a little
advanced for me to see the place to the best advantage.
On our return to the charming laboratoire[69d] of Mr. Roscoe
the large portfolio is again in sight. I will not weary you
with the details of this. One of the daughters draws well,
and I saw her look closely at me very often, and she finally
made known her wish to take a sketch of my head, to
which I gave reluctant consent for some future time. Mr.
Roscoe is very anxious I should do well, and says he will
try to introduce me to Lord Stanley, and assured me nothing
should be left undone to meet my wishes; he told me
that the honorable gentleman "is rather shy." It was nine
o'clock when I said good-night, leaving my drawings with
him at his request. On my return to Dale Street I found
the following note: "Mr. Martin, of the Royal Institution
of Liverpool, will do himself the pleasure to wait upon Mr.
Ambro to-morrow at eleven o'clock." Why do people
make such errors with my simple name?
July 28. A full grown man with a scarlet vest and
breeches, black stockings and shoes for the coloring of his
front, and a long blue coat covering his shoulders and back
reminds me somewhat of our summer red bird (Tanagra
rubra). Both man and bird attract the eye, but the scientific
appellation of the man is unknown to me. At eleven
Mr. Martin (who I expect is secretary to the Royal Institution)
called, and arranged with me a notice to the members
of the Institution, announcing that I would exhibit
my drawings for two hours on the mornings of Monday,
Tuesday, and Wednesday following, at the Institution.
Later, feeling lonely and sad, I called on Mrs. R. Rathbone,
whom I found putting away in a little box, a dissected
map, with which, Edgeworth-like, she had been transmitting
knowledge with pleasure. She is so truly delightful a
companion that had it been possible I should have made
my call long instead of short, but I walked home by a
roundabout way, and found a note from Mr. Wm. Rathbone
reminding me of my promise to dine with him, and
adding that he wished me to meet a brother-in-law of his
from London who may be of use to me, so will I bring a
few drawings? At the hour named I found myself in
Abercrombie Street and in the parlor with two little
daughters of my host, the elder about thirteen, extremely
handsome. Mrs. Rathbone soon entered and greeted me
as if she had known me all my life; her husband followed,
and the guests, all gentlemen, collected. Mr. Hodgson,
to whom I had a letter from Mr. Nolté[70] was particularly
kind to me, but every one seemed desirous I should succeed
in England. A Swiss gentleman urged me not to
waste time here, but proceed at once to Paris, but he was
not allowed to continue his argument, and at ten I left
with Mr. Pyke for my lodgings.
July 29. To-day I visited Mr. Hunt,[71] the best landscape
painter of this city. I examined much of his work and
found some beautiful representations of the scenery of
Wales. I went to the Royal Institution to judge of the
light, for naturally I wish my work to have every possible
advantage. I have not found the population of Liverpool
as dense as I expected, and except during the evenings
(that do not at this season commence before eight o'clock)
I have not been at all annoyed by the elbowings of the
crowd, as I remember to have been in my youth, in the
large cities of France. Some shops here are beautifully
supplied, and have many customers. The new market is
in my opinion an object worth the attention of all travelers.
It is the finest I have ever seen — it is a large, high
and long building, divided into five spacious avenues, each
containing its specific commodities. I saw here viands of
all descriptions, fish, vegetables, game, fruits, — both indigenous
and imported from all quarters of the globe, — bird
sellers, with even little collections of stuffed specimens,
cheeses of enormous size, butter in great abundance,
immense crates of hen's-eggs packed in layers of
oats imported from Ireland, twenty-five for one shilling.
This market is so well lighted with gas that this evening
at ten o'clock I could plainly see the colors of the irids of
living pigeons in cages. The whole city is lighted with
gas; each shop has many of these illuminating fires, and
fine cambric can be looked at by good judges. Mr. A.
Hodgson called on me, and I am to dine with him on
Monday; he has written to Lord Stanley about me. He
very kindly asked if my time passed heavily, gave me a
note of admittance for the Athenæum, and told me he
would do all in his power for me. I dined at the inn to-day
for the second time only since my arrival.
July 30. It is Sunday again, but not a dull one; I have
become better acquainted, and do not feel such an utter
stranger. I went to the church of the Asylum for the Blind.
A few steps of cut stone lead to an iron gate, and under a
colonnade; at the inner gate you pay whatever you please
over sixpence. Near the entrance is a large picture of
Christ healing the blind. The general structure is a well
proportioned oblong; ten light columns support the flat
ceiling. A fine organ is placed over the entrance in a
kind of upper lobby, which contains also the musicians,
who are blind. All is silent, and the mind is filled with
heavenly thoughts, when suddenly the sublime music glides
into one's whole being, and the service has begun. Nowhere
have I ever seen such devotion in a church. In the
afternoon the Rev. Wm. Goddard took me to some institutions
for children on the Lancastrian system; all appeared
well dressed, clean, and contented. I dined with Mr. and
Mrs. Gordon;[72] Anne advised me to have my hair cut, and
to buy a fashionable coat.
July 31. This day has been one of trial to me. At
nine of the morning I was quite busy, arranging and disposing
in sets my drawings, that they might be inspected
by the public. The doors were thrown open at noon, and
the ladies flocked in. I knew but one, Mrs. Richard
Rathbone, but I had many glances to meet and questions
to answer. The time passed, however, and at two the
doors were closed. At half-past four I drove with Mr.
Adam Hodgson to his cottage, where I was introduced to
Mrs. Hodgson, a tall young woman with the freshness of
spring, who greeted me most kindly; there were three
other guests, and we passed a quiet evening after the usual
excellent dinner. Soon after ten we retired to our rooms.
August 1. I arose to listen to the voice of an English
Blackbird just as the day broke. It was a little after
three, I dressed; and as silently as in my power moved
downstairs carrying my boots in my hand, gently opened
the door, and was off to the fields and meadows. I
walked a good deal, went to the seashore, saw a Hare,
and returned to breakfast, after which and many invitations
to make my kind hosts frequent visits, I was
driven back to town, and went immediately to the Institution,
where I met Dr. Traill[73] and many other persons
of distinction. Several gentlemen attached to the
Institution, wished me to be remunerated for exhibiting
my pictures, but though I am poor enough, God knows,
I do not think I should do that, as the room has been
given to me gratis. Four hundred and thirteen persons
were admitted to see my drawings.
August 2. I put up this day two hundred and twenty-five
of my drawings; the coup d'œil[73b] was not bad, and the
room was crowded. Old Mr. Roscoe did me the honor
to present me to Mr. Jean Sismondi,[74] of Geneva. Mr.
and Mrs. Rathbone had gone to their country home,
"Green Bank," but I sent a note telling them how many
pictures I had added to the first day's exhibition. I have
decided to collect what letters I can for London, and go
there as soon as possible. I was introduced to Mr. Booth
of Manchester, who promised me whatever aid he could
in that city. After a call at Mr. Roscoe's, I went, with a
gentleman from Charleston, S.C., to the theatre, as I was
anxious to see the renowned Miss Foote. Miss Foote has
been pretty, nay, handsome, nay, beautiful, but — she has
been. The play was good, the playhouse bad, and the
audience numerous and fashionable.
August 4. I had no time to write yesterday; my morning
was spent at the Institution, the room was again
crowded, I was wearied with bowing to the many to
whom I was introduced. Some one was found copying
one of the pictures, but the doorkeeper, an alert Scotchman,
saw his attempt, turned him out, and tore his sketch.
Mr. A. Hodgson invited me to dine with Lord Stanley
to-morrow in company with Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Sr. Mr.
Sismondi gave me a letter to Baron von Humboldt, and
showed me a valuable collection of insects from Thibet,
and after this I took tea with Mr. Roscoe.
This morning I breakfasted with Mr. Hodgson, and met
Mrs. Wm. Rathbone somewhat later at the Institution;
never was a woman better able to please, and more disposed
to do so; a woman possessed of beauty, good sense,
great intelligence, and rare manners, with a candor and
sweetness not to be surpassed. Mr. William Roscoe sent
his carriage for me, and I again went to his house, where
quite a large company had assembled, among others two
botanists who knew every plant and flower, and were most
obliging in giving me much delightful information. Having
to walk to "Green Bank," the home of Mr. William
Rathbone, Sr., I left Mr. Roscoe's at sunset (which by the
way was beautiful). The evening was calm and lovely,
and I soon reached the avenue of trees leading to the
house I sought. Almost immediately I found myself on
the lawn with a group of archers, and was interested in
the sport; some of the ladies shot very well. Mr. Rathbone,
Sr., asked me much about Indians, and American
trees, the latter quite unknown here, and as yet I have
seen none larger than the saplings of Louisiana. When
the other guests had left, I was shown the new work on
the Birds of England; I did not like it as well as I had
hoped; I much prefer Thomas Bewick. Bewick is the
Wilson of England.
August 5. Miss Hannah Rathbone[75] drove me into
Liverpool with great speed. Two little Welsh ponies,
well matched, drew us beautifully in a carriage which is
the young lady's special property. After she left me my
head was full of Lord Stanley. I am a very poor fool, to
be sure, to be troubled at the idea of meeting an English
gentleman, when those I have met have been in kindness,
manners, talents, all I could desire, far more than I expected.
The Misses Roscoe were at the Institution, where
they have been every day since my pictures were exhibited.
Mrs. Wm. Rathbone, with her daughter — her
younger self — at her side, was also there, and gave me
a packet of letters from her husband. On opening this
packet later I found the letters were contained in a handsome
case, suitable for my pocket, and a card from Mr.
Rathbone asking me to use it as a token of his affectionate
regard. In the afternoon I drove with Mr. Hodgson to
his cottage, and while chatting with his amiable wife the
door opened to admit Lord Stanley.[76] I have not the least
doubt that if my head had been looked at, it would have
been thought to be the body, globularly closed, of one of
our largest porcupines; all my hair — and I have enough — stood
straight on end, I am sure. He is tall, well
formed, made for activity, simply but well dressed; he
came to me at once, bowing to Mrs. Hodgson as he did
so, and taking my hand in his, said: "Sir, I am glad to
see you." Not the words only, but his manner put me at
once at my ease. My drawings were soon brought out.
Lord Stanley is a great naturalist, and in an instant he was
exclaiming over my work, "Fine!" "Beautiful!" and
when I saw him on his knees, having spread my drawings
on the floor, the better to compare them, I forgot he was
Lord Stanley, I knew only he too loved Nature. At
dinner I looked at him closely; his manner reminded me
of Thomas Sully, his forehead would have suited Dr.
Harlan, his brow would have assured that same old friend
of his great mental powers. He cordially invited me to
call on him in Grosvenor Street in town (thus he called
London), shook hands with me again, and mounting a
splendid hunter rode off. I called to thank Mr. Rathbone
for his letters and gift, but did so, I know, most awkwardly.
Oh! that I had been flogged out of this miserable
shyness and mauvaise honte when I was a youth.
August 6, Sunday. When I arrived in this city I felt
dejected, miserably so; the uncertainty as to my reception,
my doubts as to how my work would be received, all
conspired to depress me. Now, how different are my sensations!
I am well received everywhere, my works praised
and admired, and my poor heart is at last relieved from
the great anxiety that has for so many years agitated it,
for I know now that I have not worked in vain. This
morning I went to church; the sermon was not to my
mind, but the young preacher may improve. This afternoon
I packed up Harlan's "Fauna" for Mr. E. Roscoe,
and went to the Institution, where Mr. Munro was to meet
me and escort me to Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Jr., where I was to
take tea. Mr. Munro was not on hand, so, after a weary
waiting, I went alone to Mr. Roscoe's habitation. It was
full of ladies and gentlemen, all his own family, and I
knew almost every one. I was asked to imitate the calls
of some of the wild birds, and though I did not wish to
do so, consented to satisfy the curiosity of the company.
I sat between Mr. Wm. Roscoe and his son Edward, and
answered question after question. Finally, the good old
gentleman and I retired to talk about my plans. He
strongly advises me not to exhibit my works without remuneration.
Later more guests came in, and more questions
were asked; they appeared surprised that I have no
wonderful tales to tell, that, for instance, I have not been
devoured at least six times by tigers, bears, wolves, foxes;
no, I never was troubled by any larger animals than ticks
and mosquitoes, and that is quite enough. At last one
after another took leave. The well bred society of England
is the perfection of manners; such tone of voice I never
heard in America. Indeed, thus far, I have great reason
to like England. My plans now are to go to Manchester,
to Derbyshire to visit Lord Stanley (Earl of Derby),
Birmingham, London for three weeks, Edinburgh, back to
London, and then to France, Paris, Nantes, to see my venerable
stepmother, Brussels, and return to England. I am
advised to do this by men of learning and excellent judgment,
who say this will enable me to find where my work
may be published with greatest advantage. I have letters
given me to Baron Humboldt, General La Fayette, Sir
Walter Scott, Sir Humphry Davy, Miss Hannah More,
Miss Edgeworth, Sir Thomas Lawrence, etc., etc. How I
wish Victor could be with me; what an opportunity to see
the best of this island; few ordinary individuals ever enjoyed
the same reception. Many persons of distinction
have begged drawing lessons of me at a guinea an hour.
I am astonished at the plainness of the ladies' dress; in
the best society there are no furbelows and fandangoes.
August 7. I am just now from the society of the learned
Dr. Traill, and have greatly enjoyed two hours of his interesting
company; to what perfection men like him can
rise in this island of instruction. I dined at Mr. Edward
Roscoe's, whose wife wished me to draw something for her
while she watched me. I drew a flower for her, and one
for Miss Dale, a fine artist. I am grieved I could not
reach "Green Bank" this evening to enjoy the company
of my good friends, the Rathbones; they with the Roscoes
and Hodgsons have done more for me in every way than I
can express. I must have walked twenty miles to-day on
these pavements; that is equal to forty-five in the woods,
where there is so much to see.
August 8. Although I am extremely fatigued and it is
past midnight, I will write. Mr. Roscoe spoke much of
my exhibiting my drawings for an admission fee, and he,
as well as Dr. Traill and others, have advised me so
strongly to do so that I finally consented, though not quite
agreeable to me, and Mr. Roscoe drew a draft of a notice
to be inserted in the papers, after which we passed some
charming hours together.
August 9. The Committee of the Royal Institution met
to-day and requested me to exhibit my drawings by ticket
of admission. This request must and will, I am sure, take
off any discredit attached to the tormenting feeling of
showing my work for money.
August 10. The morning was beautiful, and I was out
very early; the watchmen have, however, ceased to look
upon me with suspicion, and think, perhaps, I am a harmless
lunatic. I walked to the "Mound" and saw the city
and the country beyond the Mersey plainly; then I sat on
the grass and watched four truant boys rolling marbles
with great spirit; how much they brought before me my
younger days. I would have liked them still better had
they been clean; but they were not so, and as I gave
them some money to buy marbles, I recommended that
some of it be spent in soap. I begin to feel most powerfully
the want of occupation at drawing and studying the
habits of the birds that I see about me; and the little Sparrows
that hop in the streets, although very sooty with coal
smoke, attract my attention greatly; indeed, I watched
one of them to-day in the dust of the street, with as much
pleasure as in far different places I have watched the play
of finer birds. All this induced me to begin. I bought
water colors and brushes, for which I paid dearer than in
New Orleans. I dined with Mr. Edward Roscoe. As you
go to Park Place the view is extensive up and down the
Mersey; it gives no extraordinary effects, but is a calming
vision of repose to the eyes wearied with the bustle of the
streets. There are plenty of steam vessels, but not to be
compared to those on the Ohio; these look like smoky,
dirty dungeons. Immediately opposite Mr. Roscoe's dwelling
is a pond where I have not yet seen a living thing, not
even a frog. No moccasin nor copper-headed snake is near
its margin; no snowy Heron, no Rose-colored Ibis ever
is seen here, wild and charming; no sprightly trout, nor
waiting gar-fish, while above hovers no Vulture watching
for the spoils of the hunt, nor Eagle perched on dreary
cypress in a gloomy silence. No! I am in England, and I
cannot but long with unutterable longing for America,
charming as England is, and there is nothing in England
more charming than the Roscoe family. Our dinner is
simple, therefore healthful. Two ladies and a gentleman
came in while we were at dessert, and almost as soon as we
left the table tea was announced. It is a singular thing
that in England dinner, dessert, wines, and tea drinking
follow each other so quickly that if we did not remove to
another room to partake of the last, it would be a constant
repast. I walked back to Liverpool, and more than once
my eyes were shocked whilst crossing the fields, to see
signs with these words: "Any person trespassing on these
grounds will be prosecuted with the rigor of the law."
This must be a mistake, certainly; this cannot be English
freedom and liberty, surely. Of this I intend to know
more hereafter; but that I saw these words painted on
boards there is really no doubt.
Sunday, August 13. I am greatly disappointed that not
yet have I had letters from home, though several vessels
have arrived; perhaps to-morrow may bring me what I
long for inexpressibly. This morning I went again to the
church for the blind, and spent the remainder of the day
at my kind friend's, Mr. Wm. Roscoe.
August 14. This day I have passed with the delightful
Rathbone family at Green Bank; I have been drawing for
Mrs. Rathbone,[77] and after dinner we went through the
greenhouse and jardin potager[77b]. How charming is Green
Bank and the true hospitality of these English friends. It
is a cold night, the wind blowing like November; it has
been the first day of my exhibition of pictures per card,
and one hundred and sixty-four persons were admitted.
August 15. Green Bank, three miles from Liverpool. I
am now at this quiet country home; the morning passed in
drawing, and this afternoon I took a long walk with Miss
Rathbone and her nephew; we were accompanied by a
rare dog from Kamschatka. How I did wish I could have
conducted them towards the beech woods where we could
move wherever fancy led us; but no, it could not be, and
we walked between dreary walls, without the privilege of
advancing towards any particular object that might attract
the eye. Is it not shocking that while in England all is
hospitality within, all is so different without? No one dare
trespass, as it is called. Signs of large dogs are put up;
steel traps and spring guns are set up, and even eyes are
kept out by high walls. Everywhere we meet beggars, for
England though rich, has poverty gaping every way you
look, and the beggars ask for bread, — yes, absolutely for
food. I can only pray, May our Heavenly Father have
mercy on them.
August 17. Green Bank. This morning I lay on the
grass a long time listening to the rough voice of a Magpie;
it is not the same bird that we have in America. I drove
to the Institution with the Queen Bee of Green Bank, and
this afternoon began a painting of the Otter in a trap, with
the intention to present it (if it is good) to my friend Mr.
Roscoe's wife. This evening dined at Mr. Wm. Rathbone's,
and there met a Quaker lady, Mrs. Abigail — — , who
talked much and well about the present condition of England,
her poor, her institutions, etc. It is dreadful to know
of the want of bread here; will it not lead to the horrors of
another revolution? The children of the very poor are
often forced by their parents to collect daily a certain
amount by begging, or perhaps even stealing; failing to
obtain this they are cruelly punished on their return home,
and the tricks they resort to, to gain their ends, are numberless
and curious. The newspapers abound with such
accounts, and are besides filled with histories of murders,
thefts, hangings, and other abominable acts; I can scarce
look at them.
|
FLYCATCHERS.
(Heretofore unpublished.) From a drawing made by Audubon in 1826, and presented to Mrs. Rathbone of Green Bank, Liverpool.
|
August 19. Dined with Mr. A. Melly in Grenville St.
The dinner was quite à la française,[77c] all gayety, witticism,
and good cheer. The game, however, was what I call
highly tainted, the true flavor for the lords of England.
August 21. I painted many hours this day, finished my
Otter; it was viewed by many and admired. I was again
invited to remove to Green Bank, but declined until I have
painted the Wild Turkey cock for the Royal Institution,
say three days more.
September 4. Having been too busy to write for many
days, I can only relate the principal facts that have taken
place. I have been to two very notable suppers, one at Dr.
Traill's in company with the French consul and two other
French gentlemen; I was much encouraged, and urged to
visit France at once. The other at the house of Mr. Molineux;
there indeed my ears were feasted; such entertaining
conversation, such delightful music; Mr. Clementi[78] and
Mr. Tomlinson from London were present. Many persons
came to my painting room, they wonder at the rapidity of
my work and that I can paint fourteen hours without
fatigue. My Turkeys are now framed, and hung at the
Institution which is open daily, and paying well. I have
made many small drawings for different friends. All my
Sundays are alike, — breakfast with Mr. Melly, church with
the blind, dinner with Mr. Roscoe. Every one is surprised
at my habits of early rising, and at my rarely touching
meat, except game.
Green Bank, September 6. When I reached this place
I was told that Lady Isabella Douglass, the sister of Lord
Selkirk, former governor of Canada, was here; she is unable
to walk, and moves about in a rolling chair. At
dinner I sat between her and Mrs. Rathbone, and I enjoyed
the conversation of Lady Douglass much, her broad Scotch
accent is agreeable to me; and I amused her by eating
some tomatoes raw; neither she, nor any of the company
had ever seen them on the table without being cooked.
September 9. Dr. Traill has ordered all my drawings to
be packed by the curator of the Institution, so that has
given me no trouble whatever. It is hard to say farewell
to all those in town and country who have been so kind,
so hospitable to me, but to-morrow I leave for Manchester,
where Mr. Roscoe advises me to go next.
Manchester, County of Lancashire, September 10, 1826.
I must write something of my coming here. After
bidding adieu to many friends, I went to Dr. Traill, who
most kindly insisted on my taking Mr. Munro with me for
two days to assist me, and we left by coach with my
portfolios, my trunk to follow by a slower conveyance. I
paid one pound for our inside seats. I felt depressed at
leaving all my good friends, yet Mr. Munro did all in his
power to interest me. He made me remark Lord Stanley's
domains, and I looked on the Hares, Partridges, and other
game with a thought of apprehension that the apparent
freedom and security they enjoyed was very transient. I
thought it more cruel to permit them to grow tame and
gentle, and then suddenly to turn and murder them by
thousands, than to give them the fair show that our game
has in our forests, to let them be free and as wild as nature
made them, and to let the hunter pay for them by the
pleasure and work of pursuing them. We stopped, I
thought frequently, to renew the horses, and wherever we
stopped a neatly dressed maid offered cakes, ale, or other
refreshments for sale. I remarked little shrubs in many
parts of the meadows that concealed traps for moles and
served as beacons for the persons who caught them. The
road was good, but narrow, the country in a high degree
of cultivation. We crossed a canal conducting from Liverpool
here; the sails moving through the meadows reminded
me of Rochester, N.Y. I am, then, now at Manchester,
thirty-eight miles from Liverpool, and nearly six thousand
from Louisiana.
Manchester, September 12. Yesterday was spent in delivering
my letters to the different persons to whom I was
recommended. The American consul, Mr. J. S. Brookes,
with whom I shall dine to-morrow, received me as an American
gentleman receives another, most cordially. The principal
banker here, Arthur Heywood, Esq., was equally
kind; indeed everywhere I meet a most amiable reception.
I procured, through these gentlemen, a good room to
exhibit my pictures, in the Exchange buildings, had it
cleared, cleaned, and made ready by night. At five this
morning Mr. Munro (the curator of the Institution at
Liverpool and a most competent help) with several assistants
and myself began putting up, and by eleven all was
ready. Manchester, as I have seen it in my walks, seems
a miserably laid out place, and the smokiest I ever was
in. I think I ought not to use the words "laid out" at
all. It is composed of an astonishing number of small,
dirty, narrow, crooked lanes, where one cart can scarce
pass another. It is full of noise and tumult; I thought
last night not one person could have enjoyed repose.
The postilion's horns, joined to the cry of the watchmen,
kept my eyelids asunder till daylight again gave me
leave to issue from the King's Arms. The population
appears denser and worse off than in Liverpool. The vast
number of youth of both sexes, with sallow complexions,
ragged apparel, and downcast looks, made me feel they
were not as happy as the slaves of Louisiana. Trade is
slowly improving, but the times are dull. I have heard
the times abused ever since my earliest recollections. I
saw to-day several members of the Gregg family.
September 13, Wednesday. I have visited the Academy of
Sciences; my time here was largely spoiled by one of those
busybodies who from time to time rise to the surface, — a
dealer in stuffed specimens, and there ends his history.
I wished him in Hanover, or Congo, or New Zealand, or
Bombay, or in a bomb-shell en route to eternity. Mr. Munro
left me to-day, and I removed from the hotel to the house
of a Mrs. Edge, in King Street, who keeps a circulating
library; here I have more quietness and a comfortable
parlor and bedroom. I engaged a man named Crookes,
well recommended, to attend as money receiver at the door
of my exhibition room. I pay him fifteen shillings per
week; he finds himself, and copies letters for me. Two
men came to the exhibition room and inquired if I wished
a band of music to entertain the visitors. I thanked them,
but do not consider it necessary in the company of so
many songsters. My pictures here must depend on their
real value; in Liverpool I knew I was supported by my
particular friends.... It is eleven o'clock, and I have
just returned from Consul Brookes' dinner. The company
were all gentlemen, among whom were Mr. Lloyd, the
wealthy banker, and Mr. Garnet. Our host is from Boston,
a most intelligent and polite man. Judge of my surprise
when, during the third course, I saw on the table a dish of
Indian corn, purposely for me. To see me eat it buttered
and salted, held as if I intended gagging myself, was a
matter of much wonder to the English gentlemen, who
did not like the vegetable. We had an English dinner
Americanized, and the profusion of wines, and the quantity
drank was uncomfortable to me; I was constantly
obliged to say, "No." The gentleman next me was a good
naturalist; much, of course, was said about my work and
that of Charles Bonaparte. The conversation turned on
politics, and Mr. Brookes and myself, the only Americans
present, ranged ourselves and toasted "Our enemies in
war, but our friends in peace." I am particularly fond of
a man who speaks well of his country, and the peculiar
warmth of Englishmen on this subject is admirable. I
have had a note from Lord de Tabelay, who is anxious to
see my drawings and me, and begs me to go to his domain
fourteen miles distant, on my way to Birmingham. I observed
that many persons who visited the exhibition
room investigated my style more closely than at Liverpool.
A Dr. Hulme spent several hours both yesterday
and to-day looking at them, and I have been asked many
times if they were for sale. I walked some four miles out
of the town; the country is not so verdant, nor the country
seats so clean-looking, as Green Bank for instance. The
funnels raised from the manufactories to carry off the
smoke appear in hundreds in every direction, and as you
walk the street, the whirring sound of machinery is constantly
in your ears. The changes in the weather are
remarkable; at daylight it rained hard, at noon it was
fair, this afternoon it rained again, at sunset was warm,
and now looks like a severe frost.
September 14, Thursday. I have dined to-day at the
home of Mr. George W. Wood, about two miles from the
town. He drove me thither in company with four gentlemen,
all from foreign countries, Mexico, Sumatra, Constantinople,
and La Guayra; all were English and had been travelling
for business or pleasure, not for scientific or literary purposes.
Mrs. Wood was much interested in her gardens,
which are very fine, and showed me one hundred bags of
black gauze, which she had made to protect as many
bunches of grapes from the wasps.
September 15. Frost. This morning the houses were
covered with frost, and I felt uncommonly cold and shivery.
My exhibition was poorly attended, but those who
came seemed interested. Mr. Hoyle, the eminent chemist,
came with four very pretty little daughters, in little gray
satin bonnets, gray silk spencers, and white petticoats, as
befitted them, being Quakers; also Mr. Heywood, the
banker, who invited me to dine next Sunday. I spent the
evening at the Rev. James I. Taylor's, in company with
himself, his wife, and two gentlemen, one a Parisian. I
cannot help expressing my surprise that the people of
England, generally speaking, are so unacquainted with the
customs and localities of our country. The principal conversation
about it always turns to Indians and their ways,
as if the land produced nothing else. Almost every lady
in England draws in water-colors, many of them extremely
well, very much better than I ever will do, yet few of them
dare to show their productions. Somehow I do not like
Manchester.
September 17, Sunday. I have been thinking over my
stay in Liverpool; surely I can never express, much less
hope to repay, my indebtedness to my many friends there,
especially the Roscoes, the three families of Rathbone, and
Dr. Thomas S. Traill. My drawings were exhibited for
four weeks without a cent of expense to me, and brought
me £100. I gave to the Institution a large piece, the
wild Turkey Cock; to Mrs. Rathbone, Sr., the Otter in a
trap, to Mr. Roscoe a Robin, and to many of my other
friends some small drawing, as mementos of one who will
always cherish their memories. I wrote a long letter to
my son John Woodhouse urging him to spend much of
his time at drawing from nature only, and to keep every
drawing with the date, that he may trace improvement, if
any, also to speak French constantly, that he may not forget
a language in which he is now perfect. I have also
written to the Governor of New York, his Excellency De
Witt Clinton, to whose letters I am indebted for much of
my cordial reception here. At two I started for Clermont,
Mr. Heywood's residence, where I was to dine.
The grounds are fine, and on a much larger scale than
Green Bank, but the style is wholly different. The
house is immense, but I was kindly received and felt at
ease at once. After dinner the ladies left us early. We
soon retired to the library to drink tea, and Miss Heywood
showed me her portfolio of drawings, and not long
after I took my leave.
September 18, Monday. Mr. Sergeant came for me at
half-past three and escorted me to his house. I am delighted
with him — his house — his pictures — his books — his
guns — and his dogs, and very much so with a
friend of his from London, who dined with us. The
weather has been beautiful, and more persons than usual
at my rooms.
September 19, Tuesday. I saw Mr. Melly this morning
at the Exchange; he had not long arrived from Liverpool.
He had been to my door-keeper, examined the Book of
Income, and told me he was sorry and annoyed at my want
of success, and advised me to go at once to London or
Paris. He depressed me terribly, so that I felt really ill.
He invited me to dine with him, but I told him I had already
engaged to go to Mr. Samuel Gregg[79] at Quarry Bank, fourteen
miles distant, to pass the night. Mr. Gregg, who is the
father of a large family, met me as if he had known me
fifty years; with him came his brother William and his
daughter, the carriage was ready, and off we drove. We
crossed a river in the course of our journey nearly fifty
feet wide. I was told it was a stream of great importance:
the name I have forgotten,[80] but I know it is seven miles
from Manchester en route to Derbyshire. The land is
highly improved, and grows wheat principally; the country
is pretty, and many of the buildings are really beautiful.
We turn down a declivity to Quarry Bank, a most
enchanting spot, situated on the edge of the same river
we had crossed, — the grounds truly picturesque, and cultivated
to the greatest possible extent. In the drawing-room
I met three ladies, the daughters of Mr. Gregg, and
the second daughter of Mr. Wm. Rathbone. After tea I
drew a dog in charcoal, and rubbed it with a cork to give
an idea of the improvement over the common stumps ordinarily
used. Afterwards I accompanied the two brothers
to a debating club, instituted on their premises for the advancement
of their workmen; on the way we passed a
chapel and a long row of cottages for the work-people, and
finally reached the schoolroom, where about thirty men had
assembled. The question presented was "Which was the
more advantageous, the discovery of the compass, or that
of the art of printing?" I listened with interest, and later
talked with the men on some of the wonders of my own
country, in which they seemed to be much interested.
Quarry Bank, September 20. Though the weather was
cloudy and somewhat rainy, I rose early, took an immense
walk, up and down the river, through the gardens, along
the road, and about the woods, fields, and meadows; saw
a flock of Partridges, and at half-past eight had done this
and daubed in a sketch of an Esquimau in a sledge,
drawn by four dogs. The offer was made me to join a
shooting party in the afternoon; all was arranged, and the
pleasure augmented by the presence of Mr. Shaw, the
principal game-keeper of Lord Stanford, who obligingly
promised to show us many birds (so are Partridges called).
Our guns are no longer than my arm, and we had two
good dogs. Pheasants are not to be touched till the first of
October, but an exception was made for me and one was
shot, and I picked it up while his eye was yet all life, his
feathers all brilliancy. We had a fine walk and saw the
Derbyshire hills. Mr. Shaw pocketed five shillings, and
we the game. This was my first hunting on English soil,
on Lord Stanford's domain, where every tree — such as
we should call saplings — was marked and numbered, and
for all that I know pays either a tax to the government or
a tithe to the parish. I am told that a Partridge which
crosses the river, or a road, or a boundary, and alights on
ground other than Lord Stanford's, is as safe from his gun
as if in Guinea.
September 21. I returned to town this morning with
my Pheasant. Reached my exhibition room and received
miserable accounts. I see plainly that my expenses in
Manchester will not be repaid, in which case I must move
shortly. I called on Dr. Hulme and represented the
situation, and he went to the Academy of Natural History
and ordered a committee to meet on Saturday, to see if the
Academy could give me a room. Later I mounted my
pheasant, and all is ready for work to-morrow.
September 22. I have drawn all day and am fatigued.
Only twenty people to see my birds; sad work this. The
consul, Mr. Brookes, came to see me, and advised me to
have a subscription book for my work. I am to dine with
him at Mr. Lloyd's at one next Sunday.
September 23. My drawing this morning moved rapidly,
and at eleven I walked to the Exchange and met Dr.
Hulme and several other friends, who told me the Committee
had voted unanimously to grant me a room gratis
to exhibit my drawings. I thanked them most heartily,
as this greatly lessens my expenses. More people than
usual came to my rooms, and I dined with Mr. Samuel
Gregg, Senior, in Fountain Street. I purchased some chalk,
for which I paid more than four times as much as in
Philadelphia, England is so overdone with duty. I visited
the cotton mills of George Murray, Esq., where fifteen
hundred souls are employed. These mills consist of a
square area of about eight acres, built round with houses
five, six, and seven stories high, having in the centre of the
square a large basin of water from the canal. Two engines
of forty and forty-five horse-power are kept going from
6 a. m. to 8 p. m.
daily. Mr. Murray himself conducted
me everywhere. This is the largest establishment owned
by a single individual in Manchester. Some others, belonging
to companies, have as many as twenty-five hundred
hands, as poor, miserable, abject-looking wretches as ever
worked in the mines of Golconda. I was asked to spend
Monday night at Mr. Robert Hyde Gregg's place, Higher
Ardwick, but I have a ticket for a fine concert, and I so
love music that it is doubtful if I go. I took tea at Mr.
Bartley's, and promised to write on his behalf for the
bones of an alligator of a good size. Now we shall see if
he gets one as quickly as did Dr. Harlan. I have concluded
to have a "Book of Subscriptions" open to receive
the names of all persons inclined to have the best illustrations
of American birds yet published; but alas! I am
but a beginner in depicting the beautiful works of God.
Sunday, September 24. I drew at my Pheasant till near
eleven o'clock, the weather warm and cloudy. Then I
went to church and then walked to Mr. Lloyd's. I left
the city and proceeded two miles along the turnpike,
having only an imperfect view of the country; I remarked,
however, that the foliage was deeply colored with autumnal
tints. I reached the home of Mr. Brookes, and together
we proceeded to Mr. Lloyd's. This gentleman met us
most kindly at the entrance, and we went with him through
his garden and hot-houses. The grounds are on a declivity
affording a far view of agreeable landscape, the gardens
most beautifully provided with all this wonderful island
affords, and the hot-houses contain abundant supplies of
exotics, flower, fruit, and shrub. The coffee-tree was bearing,
the banana ripening; here were juicy grapes from
Spain and Italy, the sensitive plant shrunk at my touch,
and all was growth, blossom, and perfume. Art here helps
Nature to produce her richest treasures at will, and man in
England, if rich, may be called the God of the present
day. Flower after flower was plucked for me, and again
I felt how perfectly an English gentleman makes a
stranger feel at home. We were joined by Mr. Thomas
Lloyd and Mr. Hindley as we moved towards the house,
where we met Mrs. Lloyd, two daughters, and a lady
whose name escapes me. We were, of course, surrounded
by all that is rich, comfortable, pleasing to the eye. Three
men servants in livery trimmed with red on a white ground
moved quietly as Killdeers; everything was choice and
abundant; the conversation was general and lively; but
we sat at the table five hours, two after the ladies left us,
and I grew restless; unless drawing or out of doors I like
not these long periods of repose. After joining the ladies
in the library, tea and coffee were served, and in another
hour we were in a coach en route for Manchester.
September 25. Who should come to my room this
morning about seven whilst I was busily finishing the
ground of my Pheasant but a handsome Quaker, about
thirty years of age and very neatly dressed, and thus he
spoke: "My friends are going out of Manchester before
thee opens thy exhibition rooms; can we see thy collection
at nine o'clock?" I answer, "Yes," and show him my
drawing. Now were all the people here Quakers, I might
perhaps have some encouragement, but really, my Lucy,
my times are dull, heavy, long, painful, and my mind much
harassed. Five minutes before nine I was standing waiting
for the Quaker and his friends in the lobby of the
Exchange, when two persons came in and held the following
discourse. "Pray, have you seen Mr. Audubon's collections
of birds? I am told it is well worth a shilling;
suppose we go now." "Pah! it is all a hoax; save your
shilling for better use. I have seen them; the fellow ought
to be drummed out of town." I dared not raise my head
lest I might be known, but depend upon it I wished myself
in America. The Quakers, however, restored my
equilibrium, for they all praised my drawings so much that
I blushed in spite of my old age. I took my drawing of
the Pheasant to Mr. Fanetti's (?) shop and had it put in
a good light. I have made arrangements to have my
pictures in my new place in King Street, and hope to do
better next week. At four I took down two hundred and
forty drawings and packed them ready for removal. Now
for the concert. It was six o'clock and raining when I left
for Fountain Street, where already carriages had accumulated
to a great number. I presented my ticket, and was
asked to write my name and residence, for this is not
exactly a public affair, but most select; so I am told.
The room is full of red, white, blue, and green turbans well
fitted to the handsome heads of the ladies. I went to one
side where my ear and my intellect might be well satisfied,
and where I should not be noticed; but it would not do,
my long hair and unfashionable garments were observed
far more than was agreeable to me. But the music soon
began, and I forgot all else for the time; still between the
various performances I felt myself gazed at through lorgnettes,
and was most ill at ease. I have passed many uncomfortable
evenings in company, and this one may be
added.
Quarry Bank, September 26. Whilst putting up my
pictures in my newly granted "apartment" I received a
note from Mrs. Gregg inviting me here for the night to
meet Professor Smyth.[81] He is a tall, fine-looking gentleman
from Cambridge, full of knowledge, good taste, and
kindness. At dinner the Professor sat opposite the
Woodsman, and America was largely the topic of conversation.
One evening spent with people such as these
is worth a hundred fashionable ones.
Wednesday, September 27. It is a strange atmosphere,
warm, damp, rainy, then fair again, all in less than two
hours, which was the time consumed by my early walk.
On my return soon after eight I found four of the ladies
all drawing in the library; that in this country is generally
the sitting-room. At about ten we had breakfast, when
we talked much of duels, and of my friend Clay[82] and
crazy Randolph.[83] Much is unknown about our country,
and yet all are deeply interested in it. To-morrow I am
off to Liverpool again; how much I shall enjoy being once
again with the charming Rathbones.
Green Bank, near Liverpool, September 28. At five this
morning I left Manchester and its smoke behind me; but
I left there the labors of about ten years of my life, fully
one half of my collection. The ride was a wet one, heavy
rain falling continuously. I was warmly welcomed by my
good Liverpool friends, and though completely drenched
I felt it not, so glad was I to be in Liverpool again. My
being here is soon explained. I felt it best to see Dr.
Traill and Mr. Roscoe, and I dined with the latter; we
talked of Manchester and our friends there, and Mr.
Roscoe thought well of the subscription book. From
here to Green Bank, where I am literally at home. Mr.
Rathbone and Mr. Roscoe will both aid me in the drawing
up of a prospectus for my work.
Green Bank, September 29. It rained during the night
and all the early portion of the day. I breakfasted early,
and at half-past nine Mr. Rathbone and I drove in the
gig to Mrs. Wm. S. Roscoe.[84] After a little conversation
we decided nothing could be done about the prospectus
without more definite knowledge of what the cost of publication
would be, and I was again referred to Dr. Traill.
It happened that here I met a Mr. Bohn, from London,
not a publisher, but a bookseller with an immense establishment,
two hundred thousand volumes as a regular
stock. He advised me to proceed at once to London,
meet the principal naturalists of the day, and through
them to see the best engravers, colorists, printers, paper-merchants,
etc., and thus form some idea of the cost;
then to proceed to Paris, Brussels, and possibly Berlin,
with proper letters, and follow the same course, thereby
becoming able to judge of the advantages and disadvantages
attached to each country and to determine myself
when, where, and how the work should be undertaken;
to be during this time, through the medium of friends,
correspondence, and scientific societies, announced to the
world in some of the most widely read periodical publications.
"Then, Mr. Audubon, issue a prospectus, and bring
forth one number of your work, and I think you will
succeed and do well; but remember my observations on
the size of your book, and be governed by this fact, that
at present productions of taste are purchased with delight,
by persons who receive much company particularly, and
to have your book laid on the table as a pastime, or an
evening's entertainment, will be the principal use made
of it, and that if it needs so much room as to crowd out
other things or encumber the table, it will not be purchased
by the set of people who now are the very life of
the trade. If large public institutions only and a few
noblemen purchase, instead of a thousand copies that may
be sold if small, not more than a hundred will find their
way out of the shops; the size must be suitable for
the English market" (such was his expression), "and
ought not to exceed that of double Wilson." This conversation
took place in the presence of Dr. Traill, and
both he and Mr. Roscoe are convinced it is my only plan.
Mr. Bohn told Dr. Traill, as well as myself, that exhibiting
my pictures would not do well; that I might be in London
a year before I should be known at all, but that through
the scientific periodicals I should be known over Europe
in the same time, when probably my first number would
be published. He strongly advised me to have the work
printed and finished in Paris, bring over to England say
two hundred and fifty copies, to have it bound and the
titlepage printed, to be issued to the world of England
as an English publication. This I will not do; no work of
mine shall be other than true metal — if copper, copper,
if gold, gold, but not copper gilded. He admitted it
would be a great undertaking, and immensely laborious,
but, he added, my drawings being so superior, I might
rest assured success would eventually be mine. This plan,
therefore, I will pursue with the same perseverance that
since twenty-five years has not wavered, and God's will
be done. Having now determined on this I will return
to Manchester after a few days, visit thy native place,
gaze on the tombs of thy ancestors in Derby and Leicester,
and then enter London with a head humbly bent, but
with a heart intently determined to conquer. On returning
to this abode of peace, I was overtaken by a gentleman
in a gig, unknown to me quite, but who offered me a seat.
I thanked him, accepted, and soon learned he was a Mr.
Dearman. He left me at Green Bank, and the evening
was truly delightful.
|
FROM A PENCIL SKETCH OF AUDUBON DRAWN BY HIMSELF FOR MRS. RATHBONE Now in the possession of Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, Glan-y-Menai, Anglesey.
|
September 30, Woodcroft. I am now at Mr. Richard
Rathbone's; I did not leave Green Bank this morning
till nearly noon. The afternoon was spent with Dr. Traill,
with whom I dined; there was only his own family, and
I was much entertained by Dr. Traill and his son. A man
of such extensive and well digested knowledge as Dr.
Traill cannot fail to be agreeable. About eight his son
drove me to Woodcroft, where were three other guests,
Quakers. The remainder of the evening was spent with
a beautiful microscope and a Diamond Beetle. Mr. Rathbone
is enthusiastic over my publishing plans, and I will
proceed with firm resolution to attempt the being an
author. It is a terrible thing to me; far better am I fitted
to study and delineate in the forest, than to arrange
phrases with suitable grammatical skill. For the present
the public exhibiting of my work will be laid aside, — I
hope, forever. I now intend going to Matlock, and from
there to my Lucy's native place, pass through Oxford,
and so reach the great London, and once more become
the man of business. From there to France, but, except
to see my venerable mother, I shall not like France,
I am sure, as I now do England; and I sincerely hope
that this country may be preferred to that, on financial
grounds, for the production of my work. Yet I love
France most truly, and long to enter my old garden on
the Loire and with rapid steps reach my mother, — yes,
my mother! the only one I truly remember; and no son
ever had a better, nor more loving one. Let no one
speak of her as my "stepmother." I was ever to her
as a son of her own flesh and blood, and she to me a true
mother. I have written to Louisiana to have forwarded
from Bayou Sara six segments of magnolia, yellow-poplar,
beech, button-wood or sycamore, sassafras, and oak, each
about seven or eight inches in thickness of the largest
diameter that can be procured in the woods; to have
each segment carefully handled so as not to mar the bark,
and to have each name neatly painted on the face, with
the height of the tree. These are for the Liverpool Royal
Institution.
Green Bank, October 1. Though the morning was bright
it was near four before I left my room and stepped into
the fresh air, where I could watch the timid birds fly from
bush to bush before me. I turned towards the Mersey
reflecting the calm, serene skies, and listened to the voice
of the Quail, here so shy. I walked to the tide-beaten
beach and watched the Solan Goose in search of a retreat
from the destroyer, man. Suddenly a poorly dressed man,
in somewhat of a sailor garb, and carrying a large bag
dashed past me; his movement suggested flight, and instinctively
I called, "Stop thief!" and made towards him
in a style that I am sure he had never seen used by the
gentlemen of the customs, who at this hour are doubtless
usually drowsy. I was not armed, but to my surprise he
turned, fell at my feet, and with eyes starting from his head
with apprehension, begged for mercy, said the bag only
contained a few leaves of rotten tobacco, and it was the
first time he had ever smuggled. This, then, was a smuggler!
I told him to rise, and as he did so I perceived the
boat that had landed him. There were five men in it, but
instead of landing and defending their companion, they
fled by rowing, like cowards, swiftly away. I was astonished
at such conduct from Englishmen. I told the abject
creature to bring his bag and open it; this he did. It was
full of excellent tobacco, but the poor wretch looked ill
and half starved, and I never saw a human being more
terrified. He besought me to take the tobacco and let
him go, that it was of the rarest quality. I assured him I
never had smoked a single cigar, nor did I intend to, and
told him to take care he did not offend a second time.
One of my pockets was filled with the copper stuff the
shop-keepers here give, which they call penny. I gave
them all to him, and told him to go. He thanked me many
times and disappeared through a thick hedge. The bag
must have contained fifty pounds of fine tobacco and two
pistols, which were not loaded, or so he said. I walked
back to Green Bank thinking of the smuggler. When I
told Mr. Rathbone of my adventure he said I had been
extremely rash, and that I might have been shot dead on
the spot, as these men are often desperadoes. Well! I
suppose I might have thought of this, but dear me! one
cannot always think over every action carefully before committing
it. On my way back I passed a man digging
potatoes; they were small and indifferently formed. The
season has been uncommonly dry and hot — so the English
say; for my part I am almost freezing most of the time,
and I have a bad cough.
October 2. This morning Mrs. Rathbone asked me if I
would draw her a sketch of the Wild Turkey, about the
size of my thumb-nail. I assured her I would with pleasure,
but that I could perhaps do better did I know for what
purpose. She colored slightly, and replied after a moment
that it was for something she desired to have made; so
after I had reached the Institution and finished my business
there, I sat opposite my twenty-three hours' picture and
made the diminutive sketch in less than twenty-three
minutes. The evening was spent at Woodcroft, and Mr.
Rathbone sent his servant to drive me in the gig to Green
Bank, the night being cold and damp. The man was quite
surprised I did not make use of a great coat which had
been placed at my disposal. How little he knew how
often I had lain down to rest, wet, hungry, harassed and
full of sorrow, with millions of mosquitoes buzzing round
me as I lay awake listening to the Chuckmill's Widow, the
Horned Owl, and the hoarse Bull-frog, impatiently awaiting
the return of day to enable me to hunt the forests and
feast my eyes on their beautiful inhabitants. I thought of
all this and then moved the scene to the hunter's cabin.
Again wet, harassed, and hungry, I felt the sudden warmth
of the "Welcome, stranger!" saw the busy wife unhook
dry clothes from the side of the log hut, untie my moccasins,
and take my deerskin coat; I saw the athletic
husband wipe my gun, clean the locks, hang all over the
bright fire; the eldest boy pile on more wood, whilst my
ears were greeted with the sound of the handmill crushing
the coffee, or the rye, for my evening drink; I saw the little
ones, roused by the stranger's arrival, peeping from
under the Buffalo robe, and then turn over on the Black Bear
skin to resume their slumbers. I saw all this, and then
arrived at Green Bank to meet the same hearty welcome.
The squatter is rough, true, and hospitable; my friends
here polished, true, and generous. Both give what they
have, freely, and he who during the tough storms of life
can be in such spots may well say he has known
happiness.
|
AUDUBON IN INDIAN DRESS.
From a pencil sketch drawn by himself for Miss Rathbone, 1826. Now in the possession of Mrs. Abraham
Dixon (née Rathbone), London, England.
|
Green Bank, October 3. To-day I have visited the jail
at Liverpool. The situation is fine, it is near the mouth of
the estuary that is called the river Mersey, and from its
walls is an extensive view of the Irish Channel. The area
owned by this institution is about eight acres. It is built
almost circular in form, having gardens in the court in the
centre, a court of sessions on one side and the main entrance
on the other. It contains, besides the usual cells, a
chapel, and yards in which the prisoners take exercise,
kitchens, store-rooms, etc., besides treadmills. The treadmills
I consider infamous; conceive a wild Squirrel in a
round cage constantly moving, without progressing. The
labor is too severe, and the true motive of correction destroyed,
as there are no mental resources attached to this
laborious engine of shame. Why should not these criminals — if
so they are — be taught different trades, enabling
them when again thrown into the world to earn their living
honestly? It would be more profitable to the government,
and the principle would be more honorable. It is besides
injurious to health; the wheel is only six feet in diameter,
therefore the motion is rapid, and each step must be taken
in quick succession, and I know a quick, short step is more
fatiguing than a long one. The emaciated bodies of the
poor fellows proved this to my eyes, as did my powers of
calculation. The circulation of air was much needed; it
was painful to me to breathe in the room where the mill
was, and I left it saddened and depressed. The female
department is even more lamentable, but I will say no
more, except that my guide and companion was Miss
Mary Hodgson, a Quakeress of great benevolence and
solid understanding, whose labors among these poor unfortunates
have been of immense benefit. I dined with
her, her sister and brother, the latter a merchant of this
busy city.
Manchester, October 6. This morning after four hours'
rest I rose early. Again taking my boots in my hand, I
turned the latch gently, and found myself alone in the
early dawn. It was one of those mornings when not sufficiently
cold for a frost; the dew lay in large drops on each
object, weighing down the points of every leaf, every blade
of grass. The heavens were cloudless, all breezes hushed,
and the only sound the twitterings of the Red-breasted
Warbler. I saw the Blackbird mounted on the slender
larch, waiting to salute the morning sun, the Thrush on the
grass by the mulberry tree, and the Lark unwilling to bid
farewell to summer. The sun rose, the Rook's voice now
joined with that of the Magpie. I saw a Stock Pigeon fly
over me, and I started and walked swiftly into Liverpool.
Here, arriving before six, no one was up, but by repeated
knockings I aroused first Mr. Pillet, and then Mr. Melly.
On my return to the country I encountered Mr. Wm.
Roscoe, also out for an early walk. For several days past
the last Swallows have flown toward the south, frosts have
altered the tints of the foliage, and the mornings have been
chilly; and I was rubbing my hands to warm them when I
met Mr. Roscoe. "A fine, warm morning this, Mr. Audubon."
"Yes," I replied, "the kind of morning I like a
fire with half a cord of wood." He laughed and said I
was too tropical in my tastes, but I was glad to keep warm
by my rapid walking. At eleven I was on my way to
Manchester, this time in a private carriage with Mrs. Rathbone
and Miss Hannah. We changed horses twelve miles
from Green Bank; it was done in a moment, up went a
new postilion, and off we went. Our luncheon had been
brought with us, and was really well served as we rolled
swiftly along. After plenty of substantials, our dessert
consisted of grapes, pears, and a melon, this last by no
means so frequently seen here as in Louisiana. We
reached smoky Manchester and I was left at the door of
the Academy of Natural History, where I found the man
I had left in charge much intoxicated. Seldom in my life
have I felt more vexed. When he is sober I shall give him
the opportunity of immediately finding a new situation.
Quarry Bank, October 7, Saturday. From Green Bank
to Quarry Bank from one pleasure to another, is not like
the butterfly that skips from flower to flower and merely
sees their beauties, but more, I hope, as a bee gathering
honeyed stores for future use. My cold was still quite
troublesome, and many remedies were offered me, but I
never take physic, and will not, even for kind Mrs. Gregg.
Sunday, October 8. I went to church at Mr. Gregg's
chapel; the sermon was good, and the service being over,
took Miss Helen a long ramble through the gardens, in
which even now there is much of beauty.
October 9. As soon as possible a male Chaffinch was
procured, and I sat to draw it to give an idea of what
Mrs. Gregg calls "my style." The Chaffinch was outlined,
daubed with water-colors, and nearly finished when we
were interrupted by callers, Dr. Holland among them, with
whom I was much pleased and interested, though I am
neither a craniologist nor a physiognomist. Lord Stanford's
gamekeeper again came for us, and we had a long
walk, and I killed a Pheasant and a Hare.
October 10. To-day I returned to Manchester to meet
Mr. Bohn. We went to the Academy together, and
examined my drawings. Mr. Bohn was at first simply
surprised, then became enthusiastic, and finally said they
must be published the full size of life, and he was sure
they would pay. God grant it! He strongly advised me
to leave Manchester, and go to London, where he knew I
should at once be recognized. I dined at the good
Quaker's, Mr. Dockray, where my friends Mrs. and Miss
Rathbone are visiting; there is a large and interesting
family. I sketched an Egret for one, a Wild Turkey for
another, a Wood Thrush for a third.
Bakewell, October 11. I am at last, my Lucy, at the
spot which has been honored with thy ancestor's name.
Though dark and rainy I have just returned from a walk
in the churchyard of the village, where I went with Miss
Hannah Rathbone, she and her mother having most kindly
accompanied me hither. It was perhaps a strange place
to go first, but we were attracted by the ancient Gothic
edifice. It seemed to me a sort of illusion that made me
doubt whether I lived or dreamed. When I think how frequently
our plans have been laid to come here, and how
frequently defeated, it is no great wonder that I find it
hard to believe I am here at last. This morning at breakfast,
Lady Rathbone spoke of coming to Matlock, and in
a few moments all was arranged. She, with her niece,
Mrs. Dockray, and Miss Hannah, with several of the
children and myself, should leave in two chaises at noon.
I spent the time till then in going over Mr. Dockray's
wool mill. He procures the wool rough from the sheep,
and it is cloth when he disposes of it; he employs about
seventy weavers, and many other people in the various
departments. I was much interested in the dyeing apparatus.
I packed up a few of my drawings to take with me.
We started, seven of us, in two chaises; all was new, and
therefore interesting. We reached Stockport, a manufacturing
town lying between two elongated hillsides, where
we changed horses, and again at Chapel En-La-Frith,
thirty miles from the point of departure. I saw a good
deal of England that I admired very much. The railways
were new to me, but the approach of the mountains dampened
my spirits; the aridity of the soil, the want of
hedges, and of course of birds, the scarcity of cattle, and
the superabundance of stone walls cutting the hills in all
sorts of distorted ways, made me a very unsocial companion,
but the comfortable inn, and our lively evening has quite
restored my cheerfulness.
Matlock, October 12. This morning I was out soon after
sunrise; again I walked round the church, remarked its
decaying state, and that of all the thatched roofs of the
humble cottages. I ascended the summit of the hill, crossing
a bridge which spanned a winding stream, and had a
lovely view of the country just lighted by the sun's first
beams, and returned to the inn, the Rutland Arms, in
time for the hour of departure, seven. The weather was
now somewhat fitful, but the road good, and the valley
charming. We passed the seat of the Duke of Devonshire,
and Matlock opened to our eyes in all its beauty, the hills
dotted with cottages and gentlemen's seats, the autumnal
tints diversifying the landscape and enriching beautiful
nature; the scenery reminds me of that part of America
on the river called the Clear Juniata. All is remarkably
clean; we rise slowly to more elevated ground, leave the
river and approach the New Baths Hotel, where our host,
Mr. Saxton, has breakfast ready. After this we took a
long walk, turning many times to view the delightful
scenery, though the weather had become quite rainy.
We visited the celebrated cave, each carrying a lighted
candle, and saw the different chambers containing rich
minerals and spars; the walls in many places shone like
burnished steel. On our return, which was down-hill, I
heard with much pleasure the repeated note of the Jackdaws
that constantly flew from hole to hole along the
rocky declivities about us. After dinner, notwithstanding
the rain, we rowed in a boat down the stream, to a dam
and a waterfall, where we landed, walked through the
woods, gathered some beautiful mosses, and saw some Hares,
heard a Kestrell just as if in America, returned to our boat
and again rowed, but this time up-stream, and so left the
Derwent River.
Matlock, October 13. Still rainy, but I found a sheltered
spot, and made this sketch. We entered part of the
grounds of Sir Thomas Arkwright, saw his castle, his
church, and his meadows. The Rooks and Jackdaws were
over our heads by hundreds. The steep banks of the
Derwent were pleasantly covered with shrubby trees; the
castle on the left bank, on a fine elevation, is too regular
to be called (by me) well adapted to the rich natural
scenery about it. We passed along a canal, by a large
manufactory, and a coal-yard to the inn, the Crumford,
and the rest of the day was employed in drawing. The
sketch I took was from "The Heights of Abraham," and
I copied it for Miss Hannah. About sunset we visited
the Rutland Cave, which surpassed all my expectations;
the natural chambers sparkled with brilliancy, and
lights were placed everywhere. I saw there some little
fishes which had not seen the daylight for three years, and
yet were quite sprightly. A certain portion of the roof
represented a very good head of a large tiger. I imitated,
at Mrs. Rathbone's request, the Owl's cry, and the Indian
yell. This latter music never pleased my fancy much,
and I well know the effects it produces previous to and
during an attack whilst the scalping knife is at work. We
had a pleasant walk back to the inn, for the evening was
calm and clear, and the moon shone brightly; so after a
hasty tea we all made for the river, took a boat, and seated
ourselves to contemplate the peace around us. I rowed,
and sung many of the river songs which I learned in
scenes far from quiet Matlock.
Manchester, October 14, Mr. Dockray's House, Hardwick.
By five o'clock this morning I was running by the Derwent;
everything was covered with sparkling congealed
dew. The fog arising from the little stream only permitted
us to see its waters when they made a ripple
against some rock. The vale was all mist, and had I not
known where I was, and heard the notes of the Jackdaws
above my head, I might have conceived myself walking
through a subterraneous passage. But the sun soon
began to dispel the mist, and gradually the tops of the
trees, the turrets of the castle, and the church pierced
through, and stood as if suspended above all objects
below. All was calm till a bell struck my ear, when I
soon saw the long files of women and little girls moving
towards Arkwright's Mills. Almost immediately we
started for Bakewell, and breakfasted at the Rutland
Arms. Proceeding we changed our route, and made
for the well known watering place, Buxton, still in Derbyshire.
The country here is barren, rocky, but so picturesque
that the want of trees is almost atoned for. The
road winds along a very narrow valley for several miles,
bringing a vast variety of detached views before us, all
extremely agreeable to the sight. The scantiness of
vegetable growth forces the cattle to risk much to obtain
food, and now and then when seeing a bull, on bent knee
with outstretched neck, putting out his tongue to seize
the few grasses hanging over the precipices, I was alarmed
for his safety. The Hawk here soars in vain; after repeated
rounds he is forced to abandon the dreary steep,
having espied only a swift Kingfisher. Suddenly the view
was closed, a high wall of rock seemed to put an end to
our journey, yet the chaise ran swiftly down-hill, and turning
a sharp angle afforded delight to our eyes. Here we
alighted and walked to view the beauties around at our
leisure, and we reached the large inn, the Crescent,
where I met the American consul, my friend Mr. Maury,
who has visited this place regularly for twenty-five years.
We had what my friends called a luncheon; I considered
it an excellent dinner, but the English eat heartily. On
our resuming our journey a fine drizzle set in, and as we
neared Manchester the air became thick with coal smoke,
the carts, coaches, and horsemen gradually filled the road,
faces became less clean and rosy, and the children had
none of the liveliness found amongst those in the Derbyshire
Hills. I dreaded returning to the town, yet these
days among the beauties of England in such delightful
society are enough to refresh one after years of labor.
Manchester, October 15, Sunday. I went to the Unitarian
Chapel to hear a sermon from the Rev. John Taylor,
but to my regret he had gone to preach elsewhere, and I
was obliged to content myself with another, — not quite so
practical a sermon as I care for. I dined and spent the
night at Mr. Bentley's; after retiring to my room I was
surprised at a knock; I opened my door and there stood
Mr. Bentley, who said he thought he heard me asking for
something as he passed by. I told him I prayed aloud
every night, as had been my habit from a child at my
mother's knees in Nantes. He said nothing for a moment,
then again wished me good-night, and was gone.
October 18. This evening I was to dine with Dr. Hulme
and (as he said) "a few friends;" so when at four
o'clock I entered his sitting-room, I was surprised to find
it filled with ladies and gentlemen, and felt awkward for a
moment. Some of my drawings were asked for, and at
five we went to dinner; after the ladies had retired, wine
and wit flowed till a late hour.
Quarry Bank, 12 miles from Manchester, October 19. At
five, my cane in hand, I made my way from Manchester,
bound on foot for Quarry Bank; the morning was pleasant
and I enjoyed my walk very much, but found myself quite
out of the right road; therefore, instead of twelve miles, I
measured sixteen, and was hungry enough when I reached
my destination. I was soon put at my drawing, and drew
the whole day; in the afternoon I began a sketch of Mr.
Gregg, and felt quite satisfied with my work, but not so
everybody else. Faults were found, suggestions made,
and I enjoyed the criticisms very much, especially those
of an Irish nephew of Mr. Gregg's, who, after several
comments, drew me confidentially aside, and asked who
it was intended to represent; after this, amid hearty
laughter, I concluded to finish it next day. Later we
took a walk and I entered a cottage where dwelt a
silk weaver; all was clean and well arranged, and I saw
the weaving going on for the first time since I left
France.
October 20. Drawing again all morning, and a walk
later. I was taken to a cottage, where to my great surprise
I saw two cases of well stuffed birds, the work of the
weaver who lived in the cottage. I was taken to the dairy,
where I saw the finest cattle I have yet met with in
England.
October 21. This has been a busy day. On my return
from Quarry Bank I saw Mr. Bentley, Mr. Heywood, and
other friends. Mr. H. gave me a letter to Professor Jameson,
of Edinburgh. Called on Dr. Hulme; paid, in all,
twenty visits, and dined with Mr. Bentley,[85] and with his assistance
packed up my birds safe and snug, though much
fatigued; it was late when we parted; he is a brother
Mason and has been most kind to me. I wrote down for
Mrs. Rathbone a brief memorandum of the flight of birds,
with a few little pencil sketches to make my figures more
interesting: Swallows, two and a half miles a minute;
Wild Pigeons, when travelling, two miles per minute; Swans,
ditto two miles, Wild Turkeys, one mile and three quarters.
Manchester, October 23, 1826, Monday. This day was absolutely
all spent packing and making ready for my start for
Edinburgh; my seat in the coach taken and paid for, — three
pounds fifteen shillings. I spent my last evening
with Mr. Bentley and his family. As the coach leaves at
5 a. m., I am sleeping at the inn to be ready when called.
I am leaving Manchester much poorer than I was when I
entered it.
Carlisle, Tuesday, October 24. The morning was clear
and beautiful, and at five I left Manchester; but as no
dependence can be placed on the weather in this country,
I prepared for rain later. I was alone in the coach, and
had been regretting I had no companion, when a very tall
gentleman entered, but after a few words, he said he was
much fatigued and wished to sleep; he composed himself
therefore and soon slept soundly. How I envied him!
We rolled on, however, and arrived at the village of
Preston, where we breakfasted as quickly as if we had
been Kentuckians. The coaches were exchanged, packages
transferred, and I entered the conveyance and met two
new gentlemen whose appearance I liked; we soon commenced
to chat, and before long were wandering all over
America, part of India, and the Atlantic Ocean. We discussed
the emancipation of the slaves, and the starvation
of the poor in England, the Corn Law, and many other
topics, the while I looked frequently from the windows.
The approach to Lancaster is beautiful; the view of the
well placed castle is commanding, and the sea view bounded
by picturesque shores. We dined at Kendal, having passed
through Bolton and Burton, but before this my two interesting
companions had been left behind at a place where
we stopped to change horses, and only caught up with the
coach by running across some fields. This caused much
altercation between them, the driver, and the guard; one of
the proprietors of the coach who was on board interfered,
and being very drunk made matters worse, and a complaint
was lodged against driver and guard. The tall gentleman
was now wide awake; he introduced himself as a Mr.
Walton, and knew the other gentlemen, who were father and
son, the Messrs. Patison from Cornwall; all were extremely
polite to me, a stranger in their land, but so have I ever
found the true English gentleman.
We now entered a most dreary country, poor beyond
description, immense rolling hills in constant succession,
dotted here and there with miserable cots, the residences of
poor shepherds. No game was seen, the weather was
bleak and rainy, and I cannot say that I now enjoyed the
ride beyond the society of my companions. We passed
through Penrith and arrived at Carlisle at half-past nine,
having ridden one hundred and twenty-two miles. I was
told that in hard winters the road became impassable, so
choked with snow, and that when not entirely obstructed
it was customary to see posts painted black at the top,
every hundred yards or so, to point out the road surely.
We had a miserable supper, but good beds, and I enjoyed
mine, for I felt very wearied, my cold and cough having
been much increased from my having ridden outside the
coach some thirty miles, to see the country.
Edinburgh, Scotland, October 25, Wednesday. We
breakfasted at Carlisle, left there at eight, but I was sadly
vexed at having to pay twelve shillings for my trunk and
portfolio, as I had been positively assured at Manchester
that no further charge would be made. For perhaps ten
miles we passed through an uncommonly flat country,
meandering awhile along a river, passed through a village
called Longtown, and entered Scotland at ten minutes
before ten. I was then just six miles from the spot where
runaway matches are rendered lawful. The country
changed its aspect, and became suddenly quite woody;
we ran along, and four times crossed a beautiful little
stream like a miniature Mohawk; many little rapids were
seen in its windings. The foliage was about to fall, and
looked much as it does with us about our majestic western
streams, only much less brilliant. This scenery, however,
lasted only one stage of perhaps twelve miles, and again we
entered country of the same dreariness as yesterday, mere
burnt mountains, which were not interesting. The number
of sheep grazing on these hills was very great, and they
all looked well, though of a very small species; many of
them had black heads and legs, the body white, with no
horns; others with horns, and still others very small,
called here "Cheviots." The shepherds were poor,
wrapped up in a thin piece of plaid, and did not seem of
that noble race so well painted by Sir Walter Scott. I
saw the sea again to-day. We dined at Hawick on excellent
sea fish, and for the first time in my life, I tasted
Scotch whiskey. It appeared very potent, so after a few
sips I put it down, and told Mr. Patison I suspected his
son of wishing to make me tipsy; to which he replied that
probably it was to try if I would in such a case be as
good-natured as I was before. I took this as quite a compliment
and forgave the son. The conversation at dinner
was very agreeable, several Scotch gentlemen having
joined us; some of them drank their native whiskey pure,
as if water, but I found it both smoky and fiery; so much
for habit. We passed through Selkirk, having driven
nearly the whole day through the estates of the young
Duke of — — , a young fellow of twenty who passes his
days just now shooting Black-cock; he has something like
two hundred thousand pounds per annum. Some of the
shepherds on this astonishing estate have not probably more
than two hundred pounds of oatmeal, a terrible contrast.
We passed so near Sir Walter Scott's seat that I stood up
and stretched my neck some inches to see it, but in vain,
and who knows if I shall ever see the home of the man to
whom I am indebted for so much pleasure? We passed a
few miles from Melrose; I had a great wish to see the old
abbey, and the gentleman to whom Dr. Rutter had given
me a letter, but the coach rolled on, and at ten o'clock I
entered this splendid city. I have seen yet but a very
small portion of it, and that by gaslight, yet I call it a
splendid city! The coach stopped at the Black Bull
Hotel, but it was so full no room could be procured, so we
had our baggage taken to the Star. The clerk, the guard,
the driver, all swore at my baggage, and said that had I
not paid at Carlisle, I would have been charged more here.
Now it is true that my trunk is large and heavy, and so is
the portfolio I carry with me, but to give an idea of the
charges and impositions connected with these coaches
(or their owners) and the attendants, remark the price I
paid; to begin with, —
at Manchester, |
£3 |
15 00, |
|
at Carlisle, |
|
12 00, |
and during the |
two days to drivers and guards, |
|
18 06, |
|
|
£5 |
5 06, |
|
nearly twenty-seven dollars in our money for two days'
travelling from Manchester to Edinburgh. It is not so
much the general amount, although I am sure it is quite
enough for two hundred and twelve miles, but the beggarly
manners used to obtain about one half of it; to see a fellow
with a decent coat on, who calls himself an independent
free-born Englishman, open the door of the coach every
ten or twelve miles, and beg for a shilling each time, is
detestable, and quite an abuse; but this is not all: they
never are satisfied, and if you have the appearance of
wealth about you, they hang on and ask for more. The
porters here were porters indeed, carrying all on their
backs, the first I have seen in this island. At the Star we
had a good supper, and chatted a long time, and it was
near one before the Messrs. Patison and I parted; Mr.
Walton had gone on another course. I thought so much
of the multitude of learned men that abound in this place,
that I dreaded the delivery of my letters to-morrow.
George St., Edinburgh, October 26. It was ten o'clock
when I breakfasted, because I wished to do so with the
Patisons, being so much pleased with their company. I was
much interested in the different people in the room, which
was quite full, and the waiters were kept skipping about
with the nimbleness of Squirrels. My companions, who
knew Edinburgh well, offered to accompany me in search of
lodgings, and we soon entered the second door in George
Street, and in a few minutes made an arrangement with
Mrs. Dickie for a fine bedroom and a well furnished sitting-room.
I am to pay her one guinea per week, which I
considered low, as the situation is fine, and the rooms
clean and comfortable. I can see, from where I am now
writing, the Frith, and the boats plying on it. I had my
baggage brought by a man with a tremendous beard, who
imposed on me most impudently by bringing a brass shilling,
which he said he would swear I had given him. I
gave him another, threw the counterfeit in the fire, and
promised to myself to pay some little attention hereafter
to what kind of money I give or receive. I walked to
Professor Jameson's[86] in the Circus, — not at home; to
James Hall, Advocate, 128 George St., — absent in the
country. Dr. Charles Henry of the Royal Infirmary was
sought in vain, Dr. Thompson was out also, and Professor
Duncan[87] could not be seen until six o'clock. I only saw
Dr. Knox in Surgeon's Square, and Professor Jameson at
the college. This latter received me, I thought, rather
coolly; said that Sir Walter Scott was now quite a recluse,
and was busy with a novel and the Life of Napoleon, and
that probably I should not see him. "Not see Walter
Scott?" thought I; "I SHALL, if I have to crawl on all-fours
for a mile!" But I was a good deal surprised when he
added it would be several days before he could pay me a
visit, that his business was large, and must be attended to;
but I could not complain, as I am bent on doing the same
towards myself; and besides, why should I expect any
other line of conduct? I have been spoiled by the ever-to-be-remembered
families of Roscoes and Rathbones. Dr.
Knox came at once to see me, dressed in an overgown
and with bloody fingers. He bowed, washed his hands,
read Dr. Traill's letter, and promised me at once to do
all in his power for me and my drawings, and said he
would bring some scientific friends to meet me, and to
examine my drawings. Dr. Knox is a distinguished anatomist,
and a great student; Professor Jameson's special
science is mineralogy. I walked a good deal and admired
the city very much, the great breadth of the streets, the
good pavements and footways, the beautiful buildings,
their natural gray coloring, and wonderful cleanliness; perhaps
all was more powerfully felt, coming direct from dirty
Manchester, but the picturesqueness of the toute ensemble
is wonderful. A high castle here, another there, on to a
bridge whence one looks at a second city below, here a
rugged mountain, and there beautiful public grounds,
monuments, the sea, the landscape around, all wonderfully
put together indeed; it would require fifty different views
at least to give a true idea, but I will try from day to day
to describe what I may see, either in the old or new part
of the town. I unpacked my birds and looked at them
with pleasure, and yet with a considerable degree of fear
that they would never be published. I felt very much
alone, and many dark thoughts came across my mind; I
felt one of those terrible attacks of depression to which I
so often fall a prey overtaking me, and I forced myself to
go out to destroy the painful gloom that I dread at all
times, and of which I am sometimes absolutely afraid.
After a good walk I returned more at ease, and looked at
a pair of stuffed pheasants on a large buffet in my present
sitting-room, at the sweetly scented geraniums opposite to
them, the black hair-cloth sofa and chairs, the little cherubs
on the mantelpiece, the painted landscape on my right
hand, and the mirror on my left, in which I saw not only
my own face, but such strong resemblance to that of my
venerated father that I almost imagined it was he that I
saw; the thoughts of my mother came to me, my sister, my
young days, — all was at hand, yet how far away. Ah! how
far is even the last moment, that is never to return again.
Edinburgh, October 27, 1826. I visited the market this
morning, but to go to it I first crossed the New Town into
the Old, over the north bridge, went down many flights of
winding steps, and when at the desired spot was positively
under the bridge that has been built to save the trouble of
descending and mounting from one side of Edinburgh to
the other, the city being mostly built on the slopes of
two long ranges of high, broken hills. The vegetable market
was well arranged, and looked, as did the sections for
meats and fruits, attractive; but the situation, and the narrow
booths in which the articles were exhibited, was, compared
with the Liverpool market, nothing. I ascended the
stairs leading to the New Town, and after turning to the
right, saw before me the monument in honor of Nelson,
to which I walked. Its elevated situation, the broken,
rocky way along which I went, made it very picturesque;
but a tremendous shower of rain accompanied by a heavy
gust of cold wind made me hurry from the spot before I
had satisfied myself, and I returned home to breakfast. I was
struck with the resemblance of the women of the lower
classes to our Indian squaws. Their walk is precisely the
same, and their mode of carrying burdens also; they have
a leather strap passed over the forehead attached to large
baskets without covers, and waddle through the streets,
just like the Shawanees, for instance. Their complexion, if
fair, is beyond rosy, partaking, indeed, of purple — dull, and
disagreeable. If dark, they are dark indeed. Many of
the men wear long whiskers and beards, and are extremely
uncouth in manners, and still more so in language. I had
finished breakfast when Messrs. Patison came to see my
drawings, and brought with them a Miss Ewart, who was
said to draw beautifully. She looked at one drawing after
another, but remained mute till I came to the doves; she
exclaimed at this, and then told me she knew Sir Walter
Scott well, "and," she added, "he will be delighted to
see your magnificent collection." Later I called again at
Dr. Thompson's, but as he was not at home, left the letter
and my card; the same at Professor Duncan's. I then
walked to the fish market, where I found Patrick Neill, Esq.,[88]
at his desk, after having passed between two long files of
printers at their work. Mr. Neill shook hands cordially,
gave me his home address, promised to come and see me,
and accompanied me to the street, begging me not to visit
the Museum until Professor Jameson had sent me a general
ticket of admission. I went then to the Port of Leith,
distant not quite three miles, but missing my way, reached
the Frith of Forth at Trinity, a small village on the bay,
from whence I could see the waters of the German Ocean;
the shore opposite was distant about seven miles, and
looked naked and hilly. During my walk I frequently
turned to view the beautiful city behind me, rising in gradual
amphitheatre, most sublimely backed by mountainous
clouds that greatly improved the whole. The wind was
high, the waters beat the shore violently, the vessels at anchor
pitched, — all was grand. On inquiry I found this
was no longer an admiral's station, and that in a few more
weeks the steamboats that ply between this and London,
and other parts of the north of this island, would stop
their voyages, the ocean being too rough during the winter
season. I followed along the shores, and reached Leith in
about twenty minutes. I saw a very pretty iron jetty with
three arches, at the extremity of which vessels land passengers
and freight. Leith is a large village apparently,
mostly connected with Hamburg and the seaports of
Holland. Much business is going on. I saw here great
numbers of herring-boats and the nets for capturing these
fishes; also some curious drags for oysters, clams, and
other shellfish. The docks are small, and contain mostly
Dutch vessels, none of them large. An old one is fitted
up as a chapel for mariners. I waited till after sunset before
returning to my lodgings, when I told my landlady I
was going to the theatre, that I might not be locked out,
and went off to see "Rob Roy." The theatre not opening
till half-past six, I spent some little time in a bookseller's
shop, reading an account of the Palace and Chapel of
Holyrood. The pit, where I sat, was crowded with gentlemen
and ladies; for ladies of the second class go to
the pit, the superior classes to the boxes, and those of
neither class way above. The house is small but well
lighted. "God save the King" was the overture, and
every one rose uncovered. "Rob Roy" was represented
as if positively in the Highlands; the characters were natural,
the scenery perfectly adapted, the dress and manners
quite true to the story. I may truthfully say that I saw a
good picture of the great outlaw, his Ellen, and the unrelenting
Dougal. I would, were it possible, always see
"Rob Roy" in Edinburgh, "Le Tartuffe" in Paris, and
"She Stoops to Conquer" in England. "Rob Roy," as
exhibited in America, is a burlesque; we do not even
know how the hardy mountaineer of this rigid country
throws on his plaid, or wears his cap or his front piece,
beautifully made of several tails of the red deer; neither
can we render the shrill tone of the horn bugle that hangs
at his side, the merry bagpipe is wanted, also the scenery.
I would just as soon see "Le Tartuffe" in broken French,
by a strolling company, as to see "Rob Roy" again as I
have seen it in Kentucky. It is almost to be regretted
that each country does not keep to its own productions;
to do otherwise only leads to fill our minds with ideas far
different from the truth. I did not stay to see "Rosina;"
though I liked Miss Stephens pretty well, yet she is by no
means equal to Miss Foote.
Edinburgh, October 28, 1826. To-day I have visited the
Royal Palace of Holyrood; it is both interesting and curious,
especially the chapel and the rooms where the present
King of France resided during his exile. I find Professor
Jameson is engaged with Mr. Selby[89] and others in a large
ornithological publication, and Mr. Ed. Roscoe has written,
suggesting that I try to connect myself with them; but my
independent spirit does not turn to the idea with any
pleasure, and I think if my work deserves the attention of
the public, it must stand on its own legs, not on the reputation
of men superior in education and literary acquirements,
but possibly not so in the actual observation of Nature
at her best, in the wilds, as I certainly have seen her.
October 29, Sunday. With the exception of the short
walk to the post-office with my letters, I have been as
busy as a bee all day, for I have written much. Yesterday
at ten Messrs. Patison brought twelve ladies and the
Messrs. Thomas and John Todd of this city to see my
drawings; they remained full two hours. Professor Duncan
came in and was truly a kind friend. After my company
had left, and I had been promised several letters for
Sir Walter Scott, I took a walk, and entered a public garden,
where I soon found myself a prisoner, and where,
had I not found a pretty maid who took pity on my
étourderie, I certainly would have felt very awkward, as I
had neither letter nor pocket-book to show for my identification.
I then went in search of a Scotch pebble; one
attracted me, but a boy in the shop said his father could
make one still handsomer. I wanted not pebbles made by
man, I wanted them the result of nature, but I enquired
of the lad how they were made. Without hesitation the
boy answered: "by fire-heat, and whilst the pores of the
pebbles are open colored infusions are impregnated."
Now what will not man do to deceive his brother? I
called on Mr. Jeffrey,[90] who was not in; he comes from
his Hall, two and a half miles off, every day for two hours,
from two to four o'clock; therefore I entered his sanctum
sanctorum, sealed the letter, and wrote on my card that I
would be happy to see him. What a mass of books,
papers, portfolios, dirt, beautiful paintings, engravings,
casts, with such parcels of unopened packages all directed
"Francis Jeffrey, Esq." Whilst I looked at this
mass I thought, What have I done, compared with what
this man has done, and has to do? I much long to see
the famous critic. As I came away my thoughts reverted to
Holyrood Palace. What a variety of causes has brought
king after king to that spot; what horrors have been committed
there! The general structure is not of a defensive
nature; it lies in a valley, and has simply its walls to guard
it. I was surprised that the narrow stairs which led to the
small chamber where the murder was committed, communicated
at once with the open country, and I was also
astonished to see that the mirrors were positively much
superior to those of the present day in point of intrinsic
purity of reflection; the plates cannot be less than three-fourths
of an inch in thickness. The furniture is all decaying
fast, as well as the paintings which are set into the
walls. The great room for the King's audience contains a
throne by no means corresponding with the ideas de luxe
that I had formed. The room, however, being hung in
scarlet cloth, had a very warm effect, and I remember
it with pleasure. I also recall the view I then had from a
high hill, of the whole city of Edinburgh and the country
around the sea; the more I look on Edinburgh the better
I like it. To-day, as I have said, I have been in my rooms
constantly, and after much writing received Dr. Knox and
a friend of his. The former pronounced my drawings the
finest of their kind in the world. No light praise this.
They promised to see that I was presented to the Wernerian
Society, and talked very scientifically, indeed quite
too much so for the poor man of the woods. They assured
me the ornithological work now about being published
by Messrs. "Selby, Jameson, and Sir Somebody[91]
and Co.," was a "job book." It is both amusing and distressing
to see how inimical to each other men of science
are; and why are they so?
October 30. Mr. Neill took me to a Mr. Lizars,[92] in
St. James Square, the engraver for Mr. Selby, who came
with us to see my work. As we walked along under an
umbrella he talked of nothing else than the astonishing
talent of his employer, how quickly he drew and how well,
until we reached my lodgings. I lost hope at every step,
and I doubt if I opened my lips. I slowly unbuckled my
portfolio, placed a chair for him, and with my heart like a
stone held up a drawing. Mr. Lizars rose from his seat,
exclaiming: "My God! I never saw anything like this
before." He continued to be delighted and astonished,
and said Sir William Jardine[93] must see them, and that he
would write to him; that Mr. Selby must see them; and
when he left at dark he went immediately to Mr. Wm.
Heath, an artist from London, who came at once to see
me. I had gone out and missed him; but he left a note.
Not knowing who he might be, I went to see him, up three
pairs of stairs, à l'artisan;[93b] met a brunette who was Mrs.
Heath, and a moment after the gentleman himself. We
talked together, he showed me some of his work and will
call on me to-morrow.
October 31. So at last Professor Jameson has called on
me! That warm-hearted Mr. Lizars brought him this
morning, just as I was finishing a letter to Victor. He
was kind to me, very kind, and yet I do not understand
the man clearly; he has a look quite above my reach, I
must acknowledge, but I am to breakfast with him to-morrow
at nine. He says he will, with my permission,
announce my work to the world, and I doubt not I shall
find him an excellent friend. Dr. Thompson's sons came
in, tall, slender, and well-looking, made an apology for
their father, and invited me to breakfast on Thursday;
and young Dr. Henry called and also invited me to breakfast.
Mr. Patrick Symes, a learned Scotchman, was with
me a long time, and my morning was a very agreeable
one within, though outside it was cold and rained. Edinburgh
even in the rain, for I took a walk, is surprisingly
beautiful, picturesque, romantic; I am delighted with it.
Mr. Lizars has invited me to call at nine to spend the
evening with him; now I call it much more as if going to
spend the night. I met Mrs. Lizars when I stopped at
his house for a moment to-day; she is the first lady to
whom I have been introduced here, and is a very beautiful
one. Eleven and a half o'clock and I have just returned
from Mr. Lizars, where my evening has been extremely
pleasant. I have seen some of Mr. Selby's original drawings,
and some of Sir William Jardine's, and I no longer
feel afraid. But I must to rest, for I hate late hours and
love to be up before daylight.
November 1. I breakfasted at Professor Jameson's.
A most splendid house, splendid everything, breakfast to
boot. The professor wears his hair in three distinct, different
courses; when he sits fronting the south, for
instance, the hair on his forehead bends westwardly, the
hair behind eastwardly, and the very short hair on top
mounts directly upward, perhaps somewhat like the quills
of the "fretful porcupine." But never mind the ornamental,
external appendages of his skull, the sense within is
great, and full of the nobleness which comes from a kind,
generous heart. Professor Jameson to-day is no more
the man I took him to be when I first met him. He
showed me an uncommon degree of cordiality, and promised
me his powerful assistance so forcibly that I am sure
I can depend upon him. I left him and his sister at ten,
as we both have much to do besides talking, and drinking
hot, well creamed coffee; but our separation was not long,
for at noon he entered my room with several gentlemen
to see my drawings. Till four I was occupied showing
one picture after another, holding each one at arm's-length,
and was very tired, and my left arm once I thought had
an idea of revolutionizing. When my guests had gone I
walked out, took plenty of needed exercise, often hearing
remarks about myself such as "That's a German physician;"
"There's a French nobleman." I ended my walk at
Mr. Lizars', and while with him expressed a wish to secure
some views of beautiful Edinburgh; he went to another
room and brought in a book of views for me to look
at, which I did with interest. He then asked me to draw
something for him, and as I finished a vignette he pushed
the book of superb Edinburgh towards me; on the first
leaf he had written, "To John J. Audubon, as a very imperfect
expression of the regard entertained for his abilities
as an artist, and for his worth as a friend, by William H.
Lizars, engraver of the 'Views of Edinburgh.'" I saw — though
by gas-light — some of Mr. Lizars' work, printing
from copper, coloring with water-color and oils, etc.,
on the same, for the first time in my life. How little I
know! how ignorant I am! but I will learn. I went to
bed after reading Sir Walter's last novel till I was so
pleased with the book that I put it under my pillow to
dream about, as children do at Christmas time; but my
dreams all went another way and I dreamed of the beech
woods in my own dear land.
November 2, Thursday. I drew the bell at the door of
No. 80 George Street, where lives Dr. Thompson, just as
the great bell of St. Andrews struck nine, and we soon sat
down to breakfast. Dr. Thompson is a good, and good-looking
man, and extremely kind; at the table were also
his wife, daughter, son, and another young gentleman;
and just as my second cup of coffee was handed to me a
certain Dr. Fox entered with the air of an old friend, and
at once sat down. He had been seventeen years in
France, and speaks the language perfectly, of course.
After having spoken somewhat about the scrubbiness of
the timber here, and the lofty and majestic trees of my
country dear, I rose to welcome Mrs. Lizars, who came in
with her husband and some friends. Mr. Lizars had not
seen one of my largest drawings; he had been enamoured
with the Mocking-birds and Rattle-snake, but, Lucy, the
Turkeys — her brood, the pose of the Cock Turkey — the
Hawk pouncing on seventeen Partridges, the Whooping
Crane devouring alligators newly born — at these he exclaimed
again and again. All were, he said, wonderful
productions; he wished to engrave the Partridges; but
when the Great-footed Hawks came with bloody rags at
their beaks' ends, and cruel delight in the glance of their
daring eyes, he stopped mute an instant, then said, "That
I will engrave and publish." We were too numerous a
party to transact business then, and the subject was adjourned.
Fatigued and excited by this, I wrote for some
hours, and at four walked out and paid my respects to
young Dr. Henry at the Infirmary, — a nice young man, — and
at five I found myself at Mr. Lizars', who at once
began on the topic of my drawings, and asked why I did
not publicly exhibit them. I told him how kind and
generous the Institution at Liverpool had been, as well as
Manchester, and that I had a letter of thanks from the
Committees. He returned with me to my lodgings, read
the letter, and we marched arm in arm from Mrs. Dickie's
to Professor Jameson, who kept the letter, so he said, to
make good use of it; I showed Mr. Lizars other letters
of recommendation, and as he laid down the last he said:
"Mr. Audubon, the people here don't know who you are
at all, but depend upon it they shall know." We then
talked of the engraving of the Hawks, and it seems that it
will be done. Perhaps even yet fame may be mine, and
enable me to provide all that is needful for my Lucy and
my children. Wealth I do not crave, but comfort; and
for my boys I have the most ardent desire that they may
receive the best of education, far above any that I possess;
and day by day science advances, new thoughts and new
ideas crowd onward, there is always fresh food for enjoyment,
study, improvement, and I must place them where
all this may be a possession to them.
November 3, Friday. My birds were visited by many
persons this day, among whom were some ladies, artists,
of both ability and taste, and with the numerous gentlemen
came Professor James Wilson,[94] a naturalist, an agreeable
man, who invited me to dine at his cottage next
week. Mr. Lizars, who is certainly mon bon cheval de
bataille, is exerting himself greatly in my behalf. At half-past
three good Mr. Neill came, and together we walked
towards his little hermitage, a sweet spot, quite out of
town; nice garden, hot-house filled with exotics, and
house-walls peopled by thousands of sparrows secure in
the luxuriant masses of ivy that only here and there suffer
the eye to see that the habitat is of stone. The Heron's
sharp lance lay on his downy breast while he balanced
on one leg, silent and motionless; the Kittiwake Gull
screamed for food; the Cormorant greedily swallowed it;
whilst the waddling Gannet welcomed her master by
biting his foot, the little Bantams and the great rooster
leaped for the bread held out, the faithful Pigeon cooed
to his timid mate, and the huge watch-dog rubbed
against the owner's legs with joy. We entered the house,
other guests were there, and full of gayety we sat down to
a sumptuous dinner. Eyes sparkled with wit, sense,
knowledge. Mr. Combe[95] who was present has a head
quite like our Henry Clay. My neighbor, Mr. Bridges,[96] is
all life; but after a few observations concerning the birds
of our woods he retired to let the world know that many
of them are arrived in Scotland. It is unanimously agreed
that I must sit for my portrait to Mr. Syme,[97] and that
friend Lizars must engrave it to be distributed abroad.
On my return to my lodgings I was presented with some
pears and apples of native growth, somewhat bigger than
green peas; but ah! this is both ungrateful and discourteous.
To-morrow I am to meet Lord Somebody, and
Miss Stephens; she was called "that delicious actress"
so fervently and so frequently by my learned friends
that I reverse my judgment, or will at least suspend it,
until I see more of her.
November 4, Saturday. Now had I the faculties of my
good friend Mr. Bridges, I should be able to write all that
I feel towards him and the good people of this romantic
Edina's Academic Halls; I would set to, and write long
accounts of all I have enjoyed this day. But, alas! poor
me! I can only scratch a few words next to unintelligible,
and simply say that my little room has been full all day of
individuals good, great, and friendly, and I am very wearied
to-night; it is now past one. I dined at Mr. Lizars', where
were beauties, music, conviviality, and wit. I am working
hard withal; I do with four hours' sleep, keep up a great
correspondence, keep up my journal, and write many hours
on the letter-press for my "Birds" which is almost done.
November 5, Sunday. At ten o'clock my room was
filled with visitors. Friend Bridges came, and stayed a
long time. Miss Stephens the actress and her brother
also paid me a visit. Mr. Bridges insisted on my going
home to dine with him at four, and I never perceived I
was in my slippers till I reached the port of destination.
A Mr. Hovey dined with us. Mrs. Bridges is a stately,
handsome lady, and the diner en famille pleased me
exceedingly. I saw quite a stock of pictures and engravings,
well selected by my knowing friend. I returned
home early and found a note from Mr. John Gregg, who
came himself later bringing me a scrubby letter from
Charles Waterton,[98] and a sweet little sketch from fair Ellen
of Quarry Bank. I was delighted to see him; it seemed
like old times to me. With all this I am by no means
in spirits to write, I am so alone in this strange land,
so far from those I love the best, and the future rises
ofttimes dark before me.
Monday, November 6. The same sad heart to-day, and
but little work and much company. I was glad, however,
to see those who came, among others my coach companion
from Manchester, Mr. Walton, who invited me
in a very friendly manner to see him often. It snowed
this morning, and was quite a new sight to me, for I have
not seen any for about five years — I think. The papers
give such accounts of my drawings and of myself that
I am quite ashamed to walk the streets; but I am dispirited
and melancholy.
Sunday, November 19. I do not know when I have thus
pitilessly put away my journal for nearly two weeks. My
head and heart would not permit me to write, so I must
try to memorandum now all I have seen. What I have
felt is too much for me to write down, for when these
attacks of depression overwhelm me life is almost unendurable.
Every day I exhibited my drawings to those
who came to see them. I had many noblemen, among
whom I especially liked Sir Patrick Walker and his lady;
but I welcomed all ladies, gentlemen, artists, and, I dare
say, critics. At last the Committee of the Royal Institution
invited me to exhibit publicly in their rooms; I owe
this invitation, I know, to the astonishing perseverance
of some unknown friends. When my pictures were removed
there I was no longer "At Home." I painted
from dawn to dark, closely, and perhaps more attentively
than I ever have done before. The picture was large,
contained a Turkey Cock, a hen, and nine young, all the
size of life. Mr. Lizars and his amiable wife visited me
often; often I spent the evenings with them. Mr. David
Bridges, Mr. Cameron, and several others had regular
admittance, and they all saw the regular progress of my
work; all, apparently, admired it. I dined at many houses,
was always kindly received, and as far as my isolated
condition and unfortunate melancholy permitted, enjoyed
myself. It was settled by Mr. Lizars that he would undertake
the publication of the first number of the "Birds of
America," and that was enough to put all my powers
of acting and thinking at fever heat. The papers also
began to be more eulogistic of the merits of myself and
my productions, and I felt bewildered with alternate uncertainties
of hope and fear. I have received many letters
from my dear Liverpool friends, and one, most precious
of all, from the wonderful "Queen Bee" of Green Bank,
with a most beautiful seal of the Wild Turkey and the
motto "America, my country."[99] When my drawings
were exhibited to the public, professors, students, artists,
spoke well of them. I forwarded by post seventy-five
tickets to the principal persons who had been kind to me,
and to all the artists in Edinburgh. I sat once for my
portrait, but my picture kept me at home ever since.
I saw, and dined, and dined again with Sir William
Jardine, and like him very much. He visited me frequently,
and sat and stood watching me painting during
his stay in the city. The famous phrenologist George
Combe visited me also; spoke much of the truth of
his theory as exhibited and verified by my poor skill;
begged I would allow a cast of my head to be taken,
etc., etc., and sent me a card of admission to his lectures
this winter. The famous Professor Wilson of "Blackwood"
fame, I might almost say the author of "Blackwood's
Magazine," visited me also, and was very friendly; indeed,
every one is kind, most truly so. How proud I feel that
in Edinburgh, the seat of learning, science, and solidity
of judgment, I am liked, and am received so kindly. How
much I wish my Lucy could also enjoy it, that our sons
might have partaken of it, this would have rendered each
moment an age of pleasure. I have now determined to
remain here till my first number is published, when I shall
go to Liverpool again, with proofs in hand. I will forward
some of this number to the friends at home as well as
abroad, and will continue painting here the while, and watch
the progress of the engravers and colorists; two drawings
are now under the hand of the engraver, and God grant
me success. I am going to try to find time to spend
a week at Jardine Hall, and some days at Mrs. Fletcher's;
it will remove me from the pressure and excitement to
which I am hourly subjected, and be a complete change
for me in every way.
November 20. Whilst my breakfast was preparing, and
daylight improving, I sat at my little table to write a
notice of descriptive import about my painting of the
Wild Turkeys that now leaned against the wall of my
room, finished. My breakfast came in, but my pen carried
me along the Arkansas River, and so much did I long
for my beloved country that not a morsel could I swallow.
While writing, Mr. Bridges, who usually pays me a daily
visit, happened to come in. I read my description and told
him it was my intention to have it printed, or written out
in a clear hand, to lay on the table of the exhibition room,
for the use of the public. He advised me to go to Professor
Wilson for criticism; so I went at once to his residence,
and reached "Blackwood's" door about ten o'clock.
I did not even ask if Professor Wilson was in; no, I simply
told the man to say Mr. Audubon from America wished
to speak with him. In a moment I was conducted to a
room where I wished that all that had been written in it
was my own to remember, to enjoy, to profit by; but I
had not been here many minutes before a sweet child, a
happy daughter of this great man, asked me to go upstairs,
saying, "Papa will be there in a minute;" and truly,
almost at once the Professor came in, with freedom and
kindness of manner, life in his eye, and benevolence in
his heart. My case was soon explained; he took my
paper, read it, and said if I would allow him to keep it,
he would make one or two alterations and return it in
good time. Back to my lodgings and hungry by this
time, and cooled off, my mind relieved, my painting
finished, I dressed more carefully and walked to the
Royal Institution, and was pleased at seeing there a good
deal of company. But the disagreeable part of my day
is yet to come. I had to dine at Professor Graham's,[100] it
was five o'clock when I reached there, a large assembly
of ladies and gentlemen were there, and I was introduced
to Mrs. Graham only, by some oversight I am sure,
but none the less was my position awkward. There I
stood, motionless as a Heron, and when I dared, gazed
about me at my surroundings, but no one came near me.
There I stood and thought of the concert at Manchester;
but there was this difference: there I was looked at rudely,
here I was with polite company; so I waited patiently for
a change of situation, and the change came. A woman,
aye, an angel, spoke to me in such a quiet, easy way that in
a few moments my mal aise was gone; then the ringing
of a bell summoned us to the dining-room; I sat near the
blue satin lady (for her name I do not know) who came
to my rescue, and a charming young lady, Miss M — — , was
my companion. But the sumptuous dinners of this country
are too much for me. They are so long, so long, that
I recall briefer meals that I have had, with much more
enjoyment than I eat the bountiful fare before me. This
is not a go�ter with friend Bourgeat on the Flat Lake,
roasting the orange-fleshed Ibis, and a few sun-perch;
neither is it on the heated banks of Thompson's Creek, on
the Fourth of July, swallowing the roasted eggs of a large
Soft-shelled Turtle; neither was I at Henderson, at good
Dr. Rankin's, listening to the howlings of the Wolves,
while sitting in security, eating well roasted and jellied
venison, — no, alas! it was far from all these dear spots,
in Great King Street, No. 62, at Dr. Graham's, a distinguished
professor of botany, with a dinner of so many
rich dishes that I cannot remember them.
November 24. I have just finished a long letter to Mr.
Wm. Rathbone, telling him of my reception in beautiful
Edinburgh, and my present plans, which are to publish
one number at my own expense and risk, and with it
under my arm, make my way. If I can procure three
hundred good substantial names of persons or associations
or institutions, I cannot fail doing well for my family;
but, to do this, I must abandon my life to its success, and
undergo many sad perplexities, and perhaps never again — certainly
not for some years — see my beloved America.
The work, from what I have seen of Mr. Lizars'
execution, will be equal to anything in the world at
present, and of the rest the world must judge for itself.
I shall superintend both engraving and coloring personally,
and I pray my courage may not fail; my industry
I know will not. It is true the work will be procured only
at a great expense, but then, a number of years must
elapse before it is completed, so that renders payment an
easier task. This is what I shall try; if I do not succeed
I can return to my woods and there in peace and quiet
live and die. I am sorry that some of my friends, particularly
Dr. Traill, are against the pictures being the size of
life, and I must acknowledge it renders the work rather
bulky, but my heart was always bent on it, and I cannot
refrain from attempting it. I shall publish the letter-press
in a separate book, at the same time with the
illustrations, and shall accompany the descriptions of the
birds with many anecdotes and accounts of localities connected
with the birds themselves, and with my travels in
search of them. I miss my "Wild Turkeys," on which I
worked steadily and from dawn to dark, a long time
here, — for sixteen days. It would be impossible for me
to write down all my feelings and thoughts about my
work, or my life here; it may be that in time I shall be
reconciled or habituated to the life I now lead, but I can
scarce believe this, and often think the woods the only
place in which I truly live.
November 25, 1826. I have been drawing all day at
some Wood Pigeons, as they are emphatically called here,
though woods there are none. The day was cold, wet, and
snowy. Mr. Lizars, however, called with Dr. Brewster,[101]
an eminent and entertaining man. I received a note from
Geo. Combe, Esq., the phrenologist, who wishes to plaster
my poor head to take an impression of the bumps, ordinary
and extraordinary; he also invited me to sup with
him on Monday next. I was to dine at Dr. Monroe's, Craiglockhart,
near Slateford, so I dressed and sent for a coach
that took me two and a half miles for twelve shillings, and
I had to pay one shilling toll, — a dear dinner this. I
arrived and entered a house richly furnished, and was presented
to three ladies, and four gentlemen. The ladies
were Mrs. Monroe, Miss Maria Monroe, and Mrs. Murray;
amongst the gentlemen I at once recognized the amiable
and learned Staff-Surgeon Lyons. Mrs. Monroe I found
a woman of most extraordinary powers, a brilliant conversationalist,
highly educated, and most attractive. She sat
by me, and entertained me most charmingly, and the rest
of her company as well. I need not say the dinner was
sumptuous, for I find no other kind in hospitable Edinburgh.
After dinner we had music from Miss Monroe, a
skilled songstress, and her rich voice, with the pathetic
Scotch ballads which she sang so unaffectedly, brought
tears to my eyes. My return to my lodgings was very
cold, for snow lies all about the hills that surround this
enchanting city.
Sunday, November 26. I went to a Scotch church this
morning, but it was cold and the services seemed to me
cold also, but it may have been that I was unaccustomed
to them. Snow lay thick on the ground and my lodgings
looked cheerless, all but my picture, at which I worked on
my return. I had put my work on the floor, and was
standing on a chair to see the effect at a good distance,
when Mrs. Lizars entered with her husband; they had
come to invite me to dine with them on roasted sheep's-head
(a Scotch dish), and I was glad to accept, for I was
on the verge of a fit of depression, one of those severe
ones when I am almost afraid to be alone in my lodgings;
alone indeed I am, without one soul to whom I can open
my heart. True, I have been alone before, but that was
in beloved America, where the ocean did not roll between
me and my wife and sons. At four, therefore, I reached
James' Square and dined with these good people without
pomp or ostentation; it is the only true way to live. Found
the sheep's-head delicious, and spent the evening most
agreeably. I was shown many beautiful sketches, and two
plates of my birds well advanced. Mr. Lizars walked
home with me; the weather was intensely cold, and the
wind blew a gale; on turning a corner it almost threw me
down, and although warmly dressed I felt the chill keenly.
This morning seems a long way off, so many things have I
thought of this day.
Monday, November 27. As soon as it dawned I was up
and at work, and quite finished my drawing before breakfast.
Mr. Syme came to see me, and was surprised to
find it done. I had also outlined my favorite subject, the
Otter in a trap. At twelve I went to stand up for my
picture, and sick enough I was of it by two; at the request
of Mr. Lizars I wear my wolf-skin coat, and if the head is
not a strong likeness, perhaps the coat may be; but this is
discourteous of me, even to my journal. Mr. Lizars
brought a Mr. Key, an artist, to throw a sky over my
drawing, and the gentleman did it in handsome style, giving
me some hints about this kind of work for which I am
grateful. I dined at home on herrings, mutton-chops,
cabbage, and fritters. As I am now going to sup with Mr.
George Combe, I will write to-morrow what I may hear to-night.
A kind note from Professor Jameson, whom I have
not seen for some time, for he is a busy man, with a card
of admittance to the Museum.
Tuesday, 28th. After writing thus far I left my room
and went to watch the engravers at work on my birds. I
was delighted to see how faithfully copied they were, and
scarcely able to conceive the great "adroit" required to
form all the lines exactly contrary to the model before
them. I took a cup of coffee with Mr. and Mrs. Lizars,
went home to dress, and at nine was again with Mr. Lizars,
who was to accompany me to Mr. Combe's, and reaching
Brower Square we entered the dwelling of Phrenology!
Mr. Scot, the president of that society, Mr. D. Stewart,[102]
Mr. McNalahan, and many others were there, and also a
German named Charles N. Weiss, a great musician. Mr.
George Combe immediately asked this gentleman and
myself if we had any objection to have our heads looked at
by the president, who had not yet arrived. We both signified
our willingness, and were seated side by side on a
sofa. When the president entered Mr. Combe said: "I
have here two gentlemen of talent; will you please tell us
in what their natural powers consist?" Mr. Scot came up,
bowed, looked at Mr. Weiss, felt his head carefully all
over, and pronounced him possessed of musical faculty in
a great degree; I then underwent the same process, and
he said: "There cannot exist a moment of doubt that
this gentleman is a painter, colorist, and compositor, and
I would add an amiable, though quick-tempered man."
Much conversation ensued, we had supper, Miss Scot
and Miss Combe were present, the only ladies. Afterwards
Mr. Weiss played most sweetly on the flute, Mr.
Scot sang Scotch airs, glees and madrigals followed, and
it was after one o'clock when "Music and Painting" left
the company arm in arm. I soon reached my lodgings.
Mr. Weiss gave me a ticket to his concert, and Mrs. Dickie,
who kindly sat up for me, gave me a ship letter. I
hoped it was from my Lucy, but no, it was from Governor
DeWitt Clinton; it was dated thirty days previous to my
receiving it.
Tuesday, 28th. The fog was so dense this morning that
at nine o'clock I could hardly see to write. I put the
drawing of the Stock Pigeons in the Institution, framed
superbly, and it looked well, I thought, even though so
dark a day. I again stood for my picture, two dreadfully
long hours, and I am sure I hope it may prove a good resemblance
to my poor self. Whilst yet in my hunting-dress,
I received word that Sir Walter Scott was in the
Institution and wished to see me; you may depend I was
not long in measuring the distance, and reached the building
quite out of breath, but to no purpose. Sir Walter
had been compelled to go to preside at a meeting upstairs,
and left an apology for me, and a request that unless too
dark for him to see my work I would wait; but it very
soon became quite dark, and I therefore abandoned all
thought of meeting him this time. I dined at Mr. Lizars',
and saw the first-proof impression of one of my drawings.
It looked pretty well, and as I had procured one subscriber,
Dr. Meikleham of Trinidad, I felt well contented.
Wednesday, 29th. The day was cloudy, and sitting for my
portrait has become quite an arduous piece of business. I
was positively in "durance vile" for two and a half hours.
Just as I was finishing my dinner, Mrs. F — — , the cousin
of Mr. Gregg, called; ladies having the right to command,
I went immediately, and found a woman whose features
had more force and character than women generally show
in their lineaments. Her eyes were very penetrating, and
I was struck with the strength of all she said, though nothing
seemed to be studied. She showed the effects of a
long, well learned round of general information. She, of
course, praised my work, but I scarce thought her candid.
Her eyes seemed to reach my very soul; I knew that at
one glance she had discovered my inferiority. The group
of children she had with her were all fine-looking, but not
so gracefully obedient as those of the beautiful Mrs. Rathbone
of Woodcroft. She invited me to her home, near
Roslyn, and I shall, of course, accept this courtesy, though
I felt, and feel now, that she asked me from politeness
more than because she liked me, and I must say the more
I realized her intelligence the more stupid did I become.
Afterwards I went to Mr. Lizars' to meet Dr. Meikleham,
who wishes me to go with him to Trinidad, where I shall
draw, so he says, four hundred birds for him, for a publication
of "Birds of the West Indies." On Friday I go to
Mrs. Isabella Murray's, to see her and some fine engravings.
I have omitted to say that the first impression of
the beautiful seal sent me by Mrs. Rathbone was sent to
my beloved wife; the seal itself is much admired, and the
workmanship highly praised. Mr. Combe has been to see
me, and says my poor skull is a greater exemplification of
the evidences of the truth of his system than any he has
seen, except those of one or two whose great names only
are familiar to me; and positively I have been so tormented
about the shape of my head that my brains are quite out
of sorts. Nor is this all; my eyes will have to be closed
for about one hour, my face and hair oiled over, and plaster
of Paris poured over my nose (a greased quill in each
nostril), and a bust will be made. On the other hand, an
artist quite as crazy and foolishly inclined, has said that
my head was a perfect Vandyke's, and to establish this
fact, my portrait is now growing under the pencil of the
ablest artist of the science here. It is a strange-looking
figure, with gun, strap, and buckles, and eyes that to me
are more those of an enraged Eagle than mine. Yet it is
to be engraved. Sir Walter Scott saw my drawings for a
few moments yesterday, and I hope to meet him to-morrow
when I dine with the Antiquarian Society at the Waterloo
Hotel, where an annual feast is given. My work is
proceeding in very good style, and in a couple of days
colored plates will be at the exhibition rooms, and at the
different booksellers; but with all this bustle, and my
hopes of success, my heart is heavy, for hopes are not
facts. The weather is dull, moist, and disagreeably cold at
times, and just now the short duration of the daylight
here is shocking; the lamps are lighted in the streets at
half-past three o'clock p. m., and are yet burning at half-past
seven a. m.
November 30. My portrait was finished to-day. I cannot
say that I think it a very good resemblance, but it
is a fine picture, and the public must judge of the rest.
I had a bad headache this morning, which has now passed;
to be ill far from home would be dreadful, away from my
Lucy, who would do more for me in a day than all the
doctors in Christendom in a twelvemonth. I visited the
exhibition rooms for a few minutes; I would like to go
there oftener, but really to be gazed at by a crowd is, of
all things, most detestable to me. Mr. Gregg called
about four, also Mr. Bridges and an acquaintance of the
famous "Alligator Rider," and I was told that Mr.
Waterton said that Joseph Bonaparte imitated the manners
and habits of his brother Napoleon; that is much
more than I know or saw. But St. Andrew's Day and my
invitation to dine with the Antiquarians was not forgotten.
At five I was at Mr. Lizars', where I found Mr. Moule
and we proceeded to the Waterloo Hotel. The sitting-room
was soon filled; I met many that I knew, and a few
minutes after the Earl of Elgin[103] made his entrée, I was
presented to him by Mr. Innes of Stow; he shook hands
with me and spoke in a very kind and truly complimentary
manner about my pencil's productions. At six we walked
in couples to the dining-room; I had the arm of my good
friend Patrick Neill, Mr. Lizars sat on my other side, and
there was a sumptuous dinner indeed. It at first consisted
entirely of Scotch messes of old fashion, such as marrow-bones,
codfish-heads stuffed with oatmeal and garlic,
black puddings, sheep's-heads smelling of singed wool,
and I do not know what else. Then a second dinner was
served quite à l'anglaise. I finished with a bit of grouse.
Then came on the toasts. Lord Elgin, being president
and provided with an auctioneer's mallet, brought all the
company to order by rapping smartly on the table with
the instrument. He then rose, and simply said: "The
King! four times four!" Every one rose to drink to the
monarch's health, and the president saying, "Ip, ip, ip,"
sixteen cheers were loudly given. The Dukes of York,
Argyle, and many others had their healths drunk, then
Sir Walter Scott (who, to my great regret, was not able
to be present), and so on and on, one and another, until
mine was proposed by Mr. Skene,[104] the first secretary of
the society. Whilst he was engaged in a handsome panegyric
the perspiration poured from me, I thought I should
faint; and I was seated in this wretched condition when
everybody rose, and the Earl called out: "Mr. Audubon."
I had seen each individual when toasted, rise, and deliver
a speech; that being the case, could I remain speechless
like a fool? No! I summoned all my resolution, and for
the first time in my life spoke to a large assembly, saying
these few words: "Gentlemen, my command of words in
which to reply to your kindness is almost as humble as
that of the birds hanging on the walls of your institution.
I am truly obliged for your favors. Permit me to say, May
God bless you all, and may this society prosper." I felt
my hands wet with perspiration. Mr. Lizars poured me
out a glass of wine and said: "Bravo! take this," which I
gladly did. More toasts were given, and then a delightful
old Scotch song was sung by Mr. Innes; the refrain was
"Put on thy cloak about thee." Then Mr. McDonald
sang. Wm. Allan, Esq.,[105] the famous painter, told a beautiful
story, then rose, and imitated the buzzing of a bumble-bee
confined in a room, and followed the bee (apparently) as
if flying from him, beating it down with his handkerchief;
a droll performance most admirably done. At ten, the
Earl rose, and bid us farewell, and at half-past ten I proposed
to Mr. Lizars to go, and we did. I was much
pleased at having been a guest at this entertainment, particularly
as Lord Elgin expressed a wish to see me again.
I went to Mr. Lizars', where we sat chatting for an hour,
when I returned to my lodgings and took myself to bed.
December 1. My portrait was hung up in the exhibition
room; I prefer it to be gazed at rather than the
original from which it was taken. The day was shockingly
bad, wet, slippery, cold. I had to visit Lord Clancarty
and his lady at noon, therefore I went. I met Mrs.
M — — and her children and the eldest daughter of Mr.
Monroe. Mrs. M — — began a long speech, telling me of
her father, Lord S — — , and his loyalty to the Stuarts; the
details not only of that royal family but all the kings of
England were being poured out, and I should probably
be there yet, merely saying "Yes" from time to time, if a
lucky interruption had not come in the form of a message
from Lord Elgin, to say he desired to see me at the Institution.
I soon reached that place, where I met Lord Elgin,
in company with Secretary Skene and Mr. Hall the advocate,
in the art room. Mr. Hall is nephew to Lady Douglas,
and this gave me an opportunity to hand him her
letter. But the best thing to relate is my breakfast with
that wonderful man David Bridges. I was at his house at
a quarter before nine; a daughter was practising the piano,
the son reading, his wife, well-dressed, was sewing. I
conversed with her and looked at the pictures till the door
opened and my friend came in, attired in his robe de
chambre, shook my hand warmly, and taking his handkerchief
from his pocket, he began whisking and wiping
chimney mantel, tables, chairs, desk, etc., to my utter
annoyance, for I felt for the wife whose poor housewifery
was thus exposed. After breakfast we walked to see my
portrait and to criticise it, for both Mr. Lizars and Mr.
Bridges are connoisseurs. In the evening I visited Mr.
Howe, the editor of the "Courant" and then to the theatre
with Mr. Bridges to see Wairner (?) perform "Tyke" in
"The School of Reform." We met at the Rainbow
Tavern, and soon entered the theatre, which was thinly
attended; but I was delighted with the piece, and the performance
of it, though we left before it was concluded to
attend Mr. Weiss's concert in the Assembly Rooms in
George Street. The flute playing was admirable both in
execution and tone; Mr. Bridges supped with me. It is
now again one o'clock, and I am quite worn out.
December 2, Saturday. The weather was a sharp frost
till evening, when it rained. I was busy painting all day,
and did not put foot out of doors till I went to dine with
Dr. Brown, the professor of theology.[106] Mr. Bridges went
with me, and told me that Professor Wilson had prepared
a notice for "Blackwood's Magazine" respecting myself and
my work. I think the servant who called out my name at
Dr. Brown's must have received a most capital lesson in
pronunciation, for seldom in my travels did I hear my
name so clearly and well pronounced. Several other
guests were present, Professor Jameson among them, and
we passed a most agreeable evening. I must not forget
that Sir James Hall and his brother called to receive information
respecting the comfort that may be expected in
travelling through my dear country.
Sunday, December 3. My good friends, Mr. and Mrs.
Lizars came in as usual after church; they like the Otter
better than the Turkeys. It was nearly finished, to the
great astonishment of Mr. Syme and Mr. Cameron, who
came to announce that the rooms at the Institution were
mine till the 20th inst. Mr. Cameron looked long at the
picture and said: "No man in either England or Scotland
could paint that picture in so short a time." Now to me
this is all truly wonderful; I came to this Europe fearful,
humble, dreading all, scarce able to hold up my head and
meet the glance of the learned, and I am praised so highly!
It is quite unaccountable, and I still fear it will not last;
these good people certainly give me more merit than I am
entitled to; it can only be a glance of astonishment or surprise
operating on them because my style is new, and
somewhat different from those who have preceded me.
Mr. Bridges, who knows everybody, and goes everywhere,
went with me to dine with Mr. Witham of Yorkshire.
We dined — had coffee — supped at eleven. At twelve
the ladies left us; I wished to leave, but it was impossible.
Dr. Knox said he wished to propose me as an honorary
member of the Wernerian Society; our host said he would
second the motion; my health was drunk, and I finally
retired with Dr. Knox, leaving Mr. Bridges and the other
gentlemen making whiskey toddy from that potent Scotch
liquor which as yet I cannot swallow. It was now half-past
two; what hours do I keep! Am I to lead this
life long? If I do I must receive from my Maker a new
supply of strength, for even my strong constitution cannot
stand it.
Monday, December 4. I gave early orders to Mrs.
Dickie to have a particularly good breakfast ready by nine
o'clock because Mr. Witham had offered last night to come
and partake of it with me; I then took to my brushes and
finished my Otter entirely. I had been just thirteen hours
at it, and had I labored for thirteen weeks, I do not think
I should have bettered it. Nine o'clock — ten o'clock — and
no Mr. Witham. I was to accompany him to Dr.
Knox, whose lecture on Anatomy he was to hear. At last
he came with many apologies, having already breakfasted,
and giving me but ten minutes for my morning meal. We
then hurried off, the weather beautiful, but extremely cold.
We ascended the stairs and opened the door of the lecture
room, where were seated probably one hundred and fifty
students; a beating of feet and clapping of hands took
place that quite shocked me. We seated ourselves and
each person who entered the room was saluted as we had
been, and during the intervals a low beating was kept up
resembling in its regularity the footsteps of a regiment on
a flat pavement. Dr. Knox entered, and all was as hushed
as if silence had been the principal study of all present.
I am not an anatomist. Unfortunately, no! I know
almost less than nothing, but I was much interested in the
lecture, which lasted three quarters of an hour, when the
Dr. took us through the anatomical Museum, and his dissecting-room.
The sights were extremely disagreeable,
many of them shocking beyond all I ever thought could
be. I was glad to leave this charnel house and breathe
again the salubrious atmosphere of the streets of "Fair
Edina." I was engaged most certainly to dine out, but
could not recollect where, and was seated trying to remember,
when the Rev. W. J. Bakewell, my wife's first cousin,
and the son of Robert Bakewell the famous grazier and
zoölogist of Derbyshire, came in to see me. He asked
many questions about the family in America, gave me his
card and invited me to dine with him next Monday week,
which is my first unengaged day. I had a letter from Mr.
Monroe at Liverpool telling me I had been elected a member
of the Literary and Philosophical Societies of that
city. Not being able to recall where I was to dine, I was
guilty of what must seem great rudeness to my intended
hosts, and which is truly most careless on my part; so I
went to Mr. Lizars, where I am always happy. The wild
Turkey-cock is to be the large bird of my first number, to
prove the necessity of the size of the work. I am glad to
be able to retire at an early hour. It seems to me an
extraordinary thing, my present situation in Edinburgh;
looked upon with respect, receiving the attentions of the
most distinguished people, and supported by men of
science and learning. It is wonderful to me; am I, or is
my work, deserving of all this?
Tuesday, December 5. After I had put my Otter in the
exhibition room, I met Mr. Syme and with him visited
Mr. Wm. Nicholson,[107] a portrait painter, and there saw,
independent of his own work, a picture from the far-famed
Snyders, intended for a Bear beset with dogs of all sorts.
The picture had great effect, fine coloring, and still finer
finishing, but the Bear was no Bear at all, and the dogs
were so badly drawn, distorted caricatures that I am sure
Snyders did not draw from specimens put in real postures,
in my way. I was quite disappointed, so much had I
heard of this man's pictures of quadrupeds, and I thought
of Dr. Traill, who, although well acquainted with birds
scientifically, told me he had an engraving of birds where
both legs of each individual were put on the same side,
and that he never noticed the defect till it was pointed out
to him. This made me reflect how easily man can be impressed
by general effect and beauty. I returned to the
Institution and had the pleasure of meeting Captain Basil
Hall,[108] of the Royal Navy, his wife, and Lady Hunter.
They were extremely kind to me, and spoke of my dear
friends the Rathbones and Greggs in terms which delighted
me. The captain asked if I did not intend to
exhibit by gaslight, and when I replied that the Institution
had granted me so much favor already that I could not
take it upon myself to speak of that, said that he should
do so at once, and would let me know the answer from
Mr. Skene, the secretary. I wrote the history of my picture
of the Otter, and sent with a note to Professor Wilson,
who had asked for it.
Wednesday, December 6. After breakfast I called on
Professor Jameson, and as the Wild Turkey is to be in my
first number, proposed to give him the account of the
habits of the Turkey Buzzard instead; he appeared anxious
to have any I would give. I spoke to him about the presentation
of my name to the Wernerian Society; he said
it was desirable for me to join it as it would attach me to
the country, and he would give his aid gladly. I visited
Captain Basil Hall of the Royal Navy; as I ascended the
stairs to his parlor I heard the sweet sounds of a piano,
and found Mrs. Hall was the performer. Few women have
ever attracted me more at first sight; her youth and her
fair face are in unison with her manners; and her husband
also received me most kindly, especially when I recalled
our previous slight acquaintance. I spent here a most
agreeable hour. They spoke of visiting the States, and I
urged them to do so. Captain Hall, a man of extraordinary
talents, a great traveller, and a rich man, has made
the most of all, and I found him the best of company.
From thence to friend Neill's establishment in the Old
Town to see at what time my memoranda must be ready for
the press; to my astonishment I was told that to-morrow
was my last day, and I ran home to scribble. Professor
Monroe called on me with a friend and asked me what I
would take to draw skulls, etc., for him; then Mr. Syme
brought an engraver to consult with me on the subject of
my portrait being immortalized. Young Gregg paid me a
visit, and at last I dressed in a hurry and ran to Mr. Lizars'
to know the way to Mr. Ritchie's, where I was to dine.
Mr. Lizars sent a young man to show me the way, and I
arrived at the appointed spot just one hour too late. I
dined however, and dined well. Miss Scott was there, Miss
Combe, Mr. Weiss, and several others; but when dinner
was over and we ascended to the tea room, a crowd of
ladies and gentlemen not before seen were in waiting to
see the "Woodsman from America." We had music and
dancing, and I did not leave till a late hour and must now
write more for the printers. I must tell thee that someone
gave a false note of one pound at my exhibition rooms,
and therefore I paid him well to see my birds. A man
who met me to-day at the door of the Institution asked
me if they were very well worth seeing. Dost thou think I
said "Yes"? Not I! I positively said "No!" and off he
went; but a few yards off I saw him stop to talk to another
man, when he returned and went in.
Thursday, December 7. I wrote as hard as I could
till early this morning, and finished the paper for Professor
Jameson, who sent me a note desiring me to put down the
University of Edinburgh as a subscriber to my work.
I was highly pleased with this, being a powerful leader.
I saw in this day's paper that Charles Bonaparte had arrived
at Liverpool in the "Canada" from New York.
How I longed to see him! Had I been sure of his remaining
at Liverpool a few days, I positively would have gone
there by the evening mail-coach. I saw to-day two of
my drawings in proof; I was well pleased with them;
indeed one of them I liked better than the first that were
done. My dinner was at Mr. Howe's, the editor of the
"Courant." Mr. Allan the artist came in at nine, when his
lessons were just ended at the Academy of Arts, — an extremely
agreeable man, full of gayety, wit, and good sense,
a great traveller in Russia, Greece, and Turkey.
Friday, December 8, 1826. Men and their lives are
very like the different growths of our woods; the noble
magnolia, all odoriferous, has frequently the teasing nettle
growing so near its large trunk as to sometimes be touched
by it. Edinburgh contains a Walter Scott, a Wilson,
a Jameson, but it contains also many nettles of the genus
Mammalia, amongst which men hold a very prominent
station. Now I have run into one of these latter gentry.
To speak out at once, one of my drawings was gently purloined
last evening from the rooms of the Institution. So
runs the fact; perhaps a few minutes before the doors
closed a somebody in a large cloak paid his shilling, entered
the hall and made his round, and with great caution
took a drawing from the wall, rolled it up, and walked off.
The porter and men in attendance missed it almost immediately,
and this morning I was asked if I or Mr. Lizars
had taken it to be engraved. I immediately told Mr.
Lizars; we went to Mr. Bridges, and by his advice to the
court, where Captain Robeson — who, by the way, was at
the battle of New Orleans — issued a warrant against a
young man of the name of I — — , deaf and dumb, who was
strongly suspected. Gladly would I have painted a bird for
the poor fellow, and I certainly did not want him arrested,
but the Institution guards were greatly annoyed at the
occurrence. However, I induced Mr. Lizars to call on
the family of the youth, which is a very good one and well
known in Edinburgh. I returned to my lodgings and on
the stairs met a beggar woman with a child in her arms,
but passed her without much notice beyond pitying her
in her youth and poverty, reached my door, where I saw
a roll of paper; I picked it up, walked in, opened it, and
found my drawing of the Black-poll Warbler! Is not
this a curious story? The thief — whoever he may be,
God pardon him — had, we conceived, been terror-struck
on hearing of the steps we had taken, and had resorted to
this method of restoring the drawing before he was arrested.
I was in time to stop the warrant, and the affair
was silenced. During the afternoon I was called on twice
by Capt. Basil Hall, who was so polite as to present me
with a copy of his work, two volumes, on South America,
with a kind note, and an invitation to dine with him on
Thursday next at eight o'clock. The weather is miserable.
Saturday, December 9. I wrote closely all morning
from six to twelve, only half dressed, and not stopping for
breakfast beyond a cup of coffee, and while thus busily
employed Mr. Hall came in and handed me a note from
Lady Hunter, requesting the honor of my company on
Saturday next to dine at six; he looked at me with surprise
and doubtless thought me the strangest-looking man
in the town. I had much running about with Professor
Jameson to the printer, and with my manuscript to Mr.
Lizars, who took it to Professor Brewster. We visited the
Museum together, called on a Mr. Wilson, where I saw a
most beautiful dead Pheasant that I longed to have to
paint. Then to Dr. Lizars' lecture on anatomy, and with
him to the dissecting-rooms, but one glance was enough
for me, and I hastily, and I hope forever, made my escape.
The day was extremely wet, and I was glad to be in my
room. I hear Mr. Selby is expected next Monday night.
December 10, Sunday. My situation in Edinburgh borders
almost on the miraculous. With scarce one of
those qualities necessary to render a man able to pass
through the throng of the learned people here, I am
positively looked on by all the professors and many of the
principal persons here as a very extraordinary man. I
cannot comprehend this in the least. Indeed I have received
here so much kindness and attention that I look
forward with regret to my removal to Glasgow, fifty miles
hence, where I expect to go the last of this month. Sir
William Jardine has been spending a few days here purposely
to see me, and I am to meet Mr. Selby, and with
these two gentlemen discuss the question of a joint publication,
which may possibly be arranged. It is now a
month since my work was begun by Mr. Lizars; the paper
is of unusual size, called "double elephant," and the
plates are to be finished in such superb style as to eclipse
all of the same kind in existence. The price of each
number, which will contain five prints, is two guineas, and
all individuals have the privilege of subscribing for the
whole, or any portion of it. The two plates now finished
are truly beautiful. This number consists of the Turkey-cock,
the Cuckoos on the pawpaws, and three small drawings,
which in the centre of the large sheet have a fine
effect, and an air of richness, that I think must ensure success,
though I do not yet feel assured that all will go well.
Yet on the other hand, all things bear a better aspect than
I expected to see for many months, if ever. I think that
if my work takes in Edinburgh, it will anywhere. I have
strong friends here who interest themselves in me, but I
must wait patiently till the first number is finished. Mr.
Jameson, the first professor of this place, and the conductor
of the "Philosophical Journal," gives a beautiful announcement
of my work in the present number, with an account,
by me, of the Turkey Buzzard. Dr. Brewster also announces
it, with the introductory letter to my work, and
Professor Wilson also, in "Blackwood's Magazine." These
three journals print upwards of thirty thousand copies, so
that my name will spread quickly enough. I am to deliver
lectures on Natural History at the Wernerian Society at
each of the meetings while I am here, and Professor
Jameson told me I should soon be made a member of all
the other societies here, and that would give my work a
good standing throughout Europe. Much as I find here
to enjoy, the great round of company I am thrown in has
become fatiguing to me in the extreme, nor does it agree
with my early habits. I go out to dine at six, seven, or
even eight o'clock in the evening, and it is often one or
two when the party breaks up; then painting all day, with
my immense correspondence which increases daily, makes
my head feel like an immense hornet's-nest, and my
body wearied beyond all calculation; yet it has to be
done; those who have my interests at heart tell me I must
not refuse a single invitation.
December 11, Monday. Though I awoke feeling much
depressed, my dull feelings were soon dissipated by letters
from my sweet wife and sons. What joy to know them well
and happy on the 14th and 27th of September. My day
was a busy one, and at seven I went to Mr. Lizars', having
engaged to go with him to the Antiquarian Society, where
I met many of my friends, saw a gun-barrel and other
things that had belonged to the Spanish Armada, and heard
a curious and interesting account of that vast fleet read by
Dr. Hibbert, and saw the Scottish antiquities belonging to
the society.
Tuesday, December 12. This morning at ten I went to
the house of Dr. Brewster, whom I found writing in a large
room with several fine pictures on the walls. He received
me very kindly, and in a few minutes I began
reading my paper on the habits of the Carrion Crow,
Vultur atratus. About midway my nervousness affected
my respiration; I paused a moment, and he was good
enough to say it was highly interesting. I resumed, and
went on to the end, much to my relief. He who has been
brought up an auctioneer, or on the boards of some
theatre, with all the knowledge of the proper usage of the
voice, and all the aplomb such a life would give, knows
nothing of the feelings of bashfulness which agitated me, a
man who never looked into an English grammar and who
has forgotten most of what he learned in French and
Spanish ones — a man who has always felt awkward and
shy in the presence of a stranger — a man habituated to
ramble alone, with his thoughts usually bent on the
beauties of Nature herself — this man, me, to be seated
opposite Dr. Brewster in Edinburgh, reading one of my
puny efforts at describing habits of birds that none but
an Almighty Creator can ever know, was ridiculously absurd
in my estimation, during all the time; besides, I also
felt the penetrating looks and keen observation of the
learned man before me, so that the cold sweat started
from me. As I wiped my forehead on finishing my
paper, a large black dog came in, caressed his master, and
made a merciful diversion, and as my agitation gradually
subsided I was able to talk with Dr. Brewster and was
afterwards introduced to his lady, who put me soon at my
ease, and told me I was to be introduced to Sir Walter
Scott on Monday next at the Royal Academy. Poor
me! — far from Sir Walter I could talk to him; hundreds
of times have I spoken to him quite loudly in
the woods, as I looked on the silvery streamlets, or the
dense swamps, or the noble Ohio, or on mountains
losing their peaks in gray mists. How many times have I
longed for him to come to my beloved country, that he
might describe, as no one else ever can, the stream, the
swamp, the river, the mountain, for the sake of future
ages. A century hence they will not be here as I see
them, Nature will have been robbed of many brilliant
charms, the rivers will be tormented and turned astray
from their primitive courses, the hills will be levelled with
the swamps, and perhaps the swamps will have become a
mound surmounted by a fortress of a thousand guns.
Scarce a magnolia will Louisiana possess, the timid Deer
will exist nowhere, fish will no longer abound in the rivers,
the Eagle scarce ever alight, and these millions of lovely
songsters be driven away or slain by man. Without Sir
Walter Scott these beauties must perish unknown to the
world. To the great and good man himself I can never
say this, therefore he can never know it, or my feelings
towards him — but if he did? What have I to say more
than a world of others who all admire him, perhaps are
better able to do so, because more enlightened. Ah!
Walter Scott! when I am presented to thee my head will
droop, my heart will swell, my limbs will tremble, my lips
will quiver, my tongue congeal; nevertheless I shall feel
elevated if I am permitted to touch the hand to which the
world owes so much.
December 13, Wednesday. I have spent the greater
portion of this day in the company of Mr. Selby the
ornithologist, who, in appearance is well formed, and in
manners clever and polite, yet plain and unassuming.
We were together some hours at the Institution, — he was
greatly pleased with my drawings, — and we then dined at
Mr. Lizars' in company with Dr. Lizars, and we all talked
ornithology. I wish I possessed the scientific knowledge
of the subject that Mr. Selby does. He wished to hear
my paper on the "Buzzard," and after doing so, took it
with him to read to Sir Wm. Jardine, to whom he goes
to-morrow, but will return on Monday. Later Dr. Brewster
came to my room with the proof of the paper on the
"Carrion Crow." He read it, and we both corrected.
He told me it was a question whether or no I could be
made a member of the Royal Academy, for only thirty
foreigners were allowed by law, and the number was
already complete; still he hoped an exception would be
made in my case. He thanked me very cordially for my
paper, and said Sir Walter Scott wished to meet me, and
would do so on Monday at the Royal Academy. Mr.
Bridges gave me a very fine notice in the Scotsman, and
has again invited me to dine with him to meet some
distinguished Germans, and before that I must call at
Lord Clancarty's to see Mrs. Murray.
Thursday, December 14. I paid my visit to Mrs. Murray
this forenoon, but the lady was out; so I handed my card
to the slender youth who had opened the door and who
stood before me looking at my hair like an ass at a fine
thistle, and then made off quickly to Dr. Brewster. My
business was before him in an instant; I wished not to be
introduced to Sir Walter in a crowd, and he promised me
not to do so. Much relieved I went to the University to
see Dr. Andrew Brown, Professor of Rhetoric. I found
him a very polished man, and after some conversation he
asked me to write him a paper on the manners and customs
of Indians. But I must promise less writing of this
kind, for I am too busy otherwise; however, immediately
on my return home I sat down to write a long list of memoranda
for a journey in America which I had promised Captain
Basil Hall, and I wrote till my head ached. Mr. Daniel
Lizars has invited me to dine with him on Friday at three,
and has procured two cats, which he wishes me to paint.
Now this suits me to a "T" — a long morning's work,
a short meal, and some hours more of work; very different
from to-day, for it was five minutes of seven when I reached
Captain Hall's. We dined delightfully with just the company
he had promised me, and I was not compelled to
ask any one to take wine with me, a thing in my opinion
detestable quite, a foppish art I cannot bear. I wish
everybody was permitted to drink when he is thirsty, or at
least only when he likes, and not when he dislikes it.
The ladies having left us, the map of my native land was
put on the table; I read my notes, the Captain followed
the course with his pencil from New York to New Orleans,
visiting besides Niagara, St. Louis, and a hundred other
places. We talked of nothing but his journey in my dear
country, and Mrs. Hall is delighted at the prospect. The
Captain wishes to write a book, and he spoke of it with as
little concern as I should say, "I will draw a duck;" is it
not surprising? He said to me, "Why do not you write
a little book telling what you have seen?" I cannot write
at all, but if I could how could I make a little book, when
I have seen enough to make a dozen large books? I will
not write at all.
Friday, December 15. I have just returned from the theatre,
where I saw for the first time "The Beggars' Opera"
and "The Lord of the Manor." They were both badly
represented, most certainly. Only one lady could sing, or
act her part at all well. It was most truly a Beggars'
Opera; I went with Mr. Daniel Lizars and his wife and
brother-in-law. They were all desirous to see a certain
Mr. St. Clair perform; but I truly think that the gentleman
in question had drank too much brandy this day, or
was it of the smoky whiskey which these Scots relish? I
did little work this day, but walked much to refresh myself
after all the hard work and constant writing I have lately
done. The weather was most inviting, and as pleasant
as Louisiana at this season. Upwards of two hundred
people were at my exhibition, and to-morrow it closes.
Baron Stokoe called whilst I was absent and left word he
wished to see me, that he had heard from a friend of mine,
whom I suppose to be Charles Bonaparte. Baron Stokoe
was formerly a physician of eminence in the British
service; when Dr. O'Meara was taken away from St.
Helena, where he was physician to Napoleon, this gentleman
was put in his place, but did not suit the peculiar
ideas of his barbarous governor, and was also dismissed,
not only from the island, but from the service, with a
trifling pension. He had become acceptable to Napoleon
even in the short time they were together, and when he
returned from that lonely rock was employed by Joseph
Bonaparte to attend his daughters from Rome to Philadelphia.
I met him with Charles Bonaparte during his
stay in America. So pleased was Joseph Bonaparte with
his conduct that he is now one of his pensionnaires, and
his general agent in Europe.
Saturday, December 16. I have really done much to-day.
At half-past nine I faced the inclement weather,
crossed the bridge, passed the college regretting such a
curious and valuable monument was quite buried among the
antiquated, narrow streets, and dismal houses that surround
it, then rang the bell, and was admitted to Baron S — — 's
parlor. He was still snug asleep; so that I had enjoyed
four and a half hours of life while he slept. He saw me
at once in his bedroom and told me that if I wrote to
the Prince of Musignano at London this morning, the letter
would probably reach him. I returned home, wrote
my letter, or rather began it, when I received several
pages from my good friend Mr. Rathbone which quite
depressed me. He feared my work would not succeed
on account of the unusual size; and Mrs. Rathbone, Senior,
refused me the pleasure of naming a bird after her, on
account of the publicity, she said; yet I longed to do so,
for what greater compliment could I pay any lady than
to give her name to one of the most exquisite creations
of the Almighty? The whole made me most dismal, but
yet not in the least discouraged or disheartened about my
work. If Napoleon by perseverance and energy rose from
the ranks to be an emperor, why should not Audubon with
perseverance and energy be able to leave the woods of
America for a time and publish and sell a book? — always
supposing that Audubon has some knowledge of his work,
as Napoleon had great knowledge of his. No, no, I shall
not cease to work for this end till old age incapacitates me.
I thought long over Mr. Rathbone's letter, then finished
mine to Charles and put it in the post-office. I then purchased
a Pigeon, killed it, packed up my wires and hammer,
and at one o'clock took these things with my "position
board," called a coach, and went to the meeting of the Wernerian
Society at the University. Lady Morton had joined
me, hence my need for the coach. Mr. Skene met me at
the door, where I parted from Lady Morton, who made me
promise to visit her at Dalmahoy. She is a small, handsome
woman, who speaks most excellent French. Mr.
Lizars joined me, and we all entered the room of the Wernerian
Society of Edinburgh! The room is a plain one;
two tables, one fireplace, many long benches or seats, and a
chair for the president were all the furniture I saw, except
a stuffed sword-fish, which lay on one of the tables for examination
that day. Many persons were already present,
and I unrolled the drawing of the Buzzard for them to see.
Professor Jameson came in, and the meeting began. My
paper on the Buzzard was the first thing, read by Patrick
Neill, — not very well, as my writing was not easy reading
for him. Professor Jameson then rose, and gave quite a
eulogy upon it, my works, and lastly — myself. I then had
the thanks of the society, and showed them my manner of
putting up my specimens for drawing birds, etc.; this they
thought uncommonly ingenious. Professor Jameson then
offered me as an honorary member, when arose a great
clapping of hands and stamping of feet, as a mark of approbation.
Then Professor Jameson desired that the usual
law requiring a delay of some months between the nomination
and the election be laid aside on this occasion; and
again the same acclamations took place, and it was decided
I should be elected at the next meeting; after which the
meeting was ended, I having promised to read a paper on
the habits of the Alligator at the following assembly of
the society. Then came my dinner at Lady Hunter's.
At precisely six I found myself at No. 16 Hope St.
I was shown upstairs, and presented to Lady Mary Clark,
who knew both General Wolfe and General Montgomery,
a most amiable English lady eighty-two years of age.
Many other interesting people were present, and I had the
pleasure of taking Mrs. Basil Hall to dinner, and was
seated next her mother, Lady Hunter, and almost opposite
Lady Mary Clark. I did not feel so uncomfortable as
usual; all were so kind, affable, and truly well-bred. At
nine the ladies left us, and Captain Basil Hall again
attacked me about America, and hundreds of questions
were put to me by all, which I answered as plainly and
briefly as I could.
At eleven we joined the ladies, and tea and coffee were
handed round; other guests had come in, card-tables were
prepared, and we had some music. Portfolios of prints
were ready for those interested in them. I sat watching
all, but listening to Mrs. Hall's sweet music. This bustle
does not suit me, I am not fitted for it, I prefer more solitude
in the woods. I left at last with young Gregg, but
I was the first to go, and we stepped out into the rainy
Sunday morning, for it was long, long past midnight, and
I hastened to my lodgings to commit murder, — yes, to
commit murder; for the cats Mr. Daniel Lizars wished me
to paint had been sent, and good Mrs. Dickie much objected
to them in my rooms; her son helped me, and in two minutes
the poor animals were painlessly killed. I at once
put them up in fighting attitude, ready for painting when
daylight appeared, which would not be long. Good-night,
or good-morning; it is now nearly three o'clock.
Sunday, December 17. I painted all day, that is, during
all the time I could see, and I was up at six this morning
writing by candle-light, which I was compelled to use till
nearly nine. Mr. Bridges called, and I dined at home on
fried oysters and stewed Scotch herrings, then went to
Mr. Lizars', where I nearly fell asleep; but a cup of coffee
thoroughly awakened me, and I looked at some drawings
of birds, which I thought miserable, by Mr. Pelletier. Mr.
Lizars walked home with me to see my cats.
Monday, December 18. My painting of two cats fighting
like two devils over a dead Squirrel was finished at
three o'clock. I had been ten hours at it, but should not
call it by the dignified title of "painting," for it is too rapidly
done for the more finished work I prefer; but I cannot
give more time to it now, and the drawing is good. I
dressed, and took the painting — so I continue to call it — to
Mrs. Lizars', who wished to see it, and it had rained so
hard all day she had not been able to come to my rooms.
At five I dined with George Combe, the conversation
chiefly phrenology. George Combe is a delightful host,
and had gathered a most agreeable company. At seven
Mr. Lizars called for me, and we went to the meeting of
the Royal Academy. Two of my plates were laid on the
table. Dr. Brewster and Mr. Allan wished the Academy
to subscribe for my work, and the committee retired to
act on this and other business. The meeting was very
numerous and no doubt very learned; Sir William Jardine
and Mr. Selby arrived a little before the society was
seated. The door of the hall was thrown open and we all
marched in and seated ourselves on most slippery hair-cloth
seats. The room is rich and beautiful; it is a large
oblong, the walls covered with brilliant scarlet paper in
imitation of morocco. The ceiling is painted to represent
oak panels. The windows are immensely large, framed to
correspond with the ceiling, and with green jalousies; large
chandeliers, with gas, light every corner brilliantly. The
president sat in a large arm-chair lined with red morocco,
and after the minutes of the last meeting had been read,
Professor — — gave us a long, tedious, and labored lecture
on the origin of languages, their formation, etc. It seemed
a very poor mess to me, though that was probably because
I did not understand it. My friend Ord would have
doubtless swallowed it whole, but I could make neither
head nor tail of it. A few fossil bones were then exhibited,
and then, thank heaven! it was over. Sir William
Jardine brought some birds with him from Jardine Hall,
and to-morrow will see my style of posing them for painting.
As I had promised to go to supper with Dr. Russell,
I left soon after ten, without knowing what decision the
committee had reached as to subscribing to my work. I
met several of the Academicians at Dr. Russell's, as well
as others whom I knew; but I am more and more surprised
to find how little these men, learned as they are,
know of America beyond the situation of her principal
cities. We sat down to supper at eleven, — everything
magnificent; but I was greatly fatigued, for I had been at
work since before five this morning, either painting or
writing or thinking hard. We left the table about one, and
I was glad to come home and shall now soon be asleep.
Tuesday, December 19. My writing takes me full two
hours every morning, and soon as finished to-day, I dressed
to go to breakfast with Sir William Jardine and Mr. Selby
at Barry's Hotel. It was just nine, the morning fine and
beautiful, the sun just above the line of the Old Town, the
horizon like burnished gold, the walls of the Castle white
in the light and almost black in the shade. All this made
a beautiful scene, and I dwelt on the power of the great
Creator who formed all, with a thought of all man had
done and was doing, when a child, barefooted, ragged, and
apparently on the verge of starvation, altered my whole
train of ideas. The poor child complained of want, and,
had I dared, I would have taken him to Sir William Jardine,
and given him breakfast at the hotel; but the world
is so strange I feared this might appear odd, so I gave the
lad a shilling, and then bid him return with me to my
lodgings. I looked over all my garments, gave him a
large bundle of all that were at all worn, added five shillings,
and went my way feeling as if God smiled on me
through the face of the poor boy. The hotel was soon
reached, and I was with my friends; they had brought
Ducks, Hawks, and small birds for me to draw. After
breakfast we all went to my room, and I showed these
gentlemen how I set up my specimens, squared my paper,
and soon had them both at work drawing a Squirrel.
They called this a lesson. It was to me like a dream, that
I, merely a woodsman, should teach men so much my
superiors. They worked very well indeed, although I perceived
at once that Mr. Selby was more enthusiastic, and
therefore worked faster than Sir William; but he finished
more closely, so that it was hard to give either the supremacy.
They were delighted, especially Mr. Selby,
who exclaimed, "I will paint all our quadrupeds for my
own house." They both remained with me till we could
see no more. At their request I read them my letter on
the "Carrion Crow;" but Dr. Brewster had altered it so
much that I was quite shocked at it, it made me quite sick.
He had, beyond question, greatly improved the style (for
I have none), but he had destroyed the matter.
I dined at Major Dodd's with a complete set of military
gentry, generals, colonels, captains, majors, and, to my
surprise, young Pattison, my companion in the coach from
Manchester; he was Mrs. Dodd's cousin. I retired rather
early, for I did not care for the blustering talk of all these
warriors. Sir William Jardine and Mr. Lizars came to my
lodgings and announced that I was elected by universal
acclamation a member of the Society of Arts of the city
of Edinburgh.
Wednesday, December 20. Phrenology was the order of
the morning. I was at Brown Square, at the house of
George Combe by nine o'clock, and breakfasted most
heartily on mutton, ham, and good coffee, after which we
walked upstairs to his sanctum sanctorum. A beautiful
silver box containing the instruments for measuring the
cranium, was now opened, — the box and contents were a
present from the ladies who have attended Mr. Combe's
lectures during the past two years, — and I was seated fronting
the light. Dr. Combe acted as secretary and George
Combe, thrusting his fingers under my hair, began searching
for miraculous bumps. My skull was measured as
minutely and accurately as I measure the bill or legs of
a new bird, and all was duly noted by the scribe. Then
with most exquisite touch each protuberance was found
as numbered by phrenologists, and also put down according
to the respective size. I was astounded when they
both gave me the results of their labors in writing, and
agreed in saying I was a strong and constant lover, an
affectionate father, had great veneration for talent, would
have made a brave general, that music did not equal
painting in my estimation, that I was generous, quick-tempered,
forgiving, and much else which I know to be
true, though how they discovered these facts is quite a
puzzle to me. They asked my permission to read the
notes at their next meeting, to which I consented. I then
went to court to meet Mr. Simpson the advocate, who was
to introduce me to Francis Jeffrey. I found Mr. Simpson
and a hundred others in their raven gowns, and powdered,
curled wigs, but Mr. Jeffrey was not there. After doing
many things and writing much, I went this evening to Mr.
Lizars', and with him to Dr. Greville, the botanist.[109] He
rarely leaves his house in winter and suffers much from
asthma; I found him wearing a green silk night-cap, and
we sat and talked of plants till 2 a. m. When I entered
my rooms I found Mr. Selby had sent me three most
beautiful Pheasants, and to-morrow I begin a painting of
these birds attacked by a Fox for the Exhibition in London
next March. Also I had a note from the Earl of
Morton to spend a day and night at his home at Dalmahoy,
saying he would send his carriage for me next
Wednesday, one week hence.
Thursday, December 21. To-day I received letters from
De Witt Clinton and Thomas Sully in answer to mine in
forty-two days; it seems absolutely impossible the distance
should have been covered so rapidly; yet it is so, as I
see by my memorandum book. I have written already
in reply to Thomas Sully, promising him a copy of my
first number when finished, say a month hence, with the
request that he forward it, in my name, to that Institution
which thought me unworthy to be a member. There is
no malice in my heart, and I wish no return or acknowledgment
from them. I am now determined never to be
a member of that Philadelphia Society, but I still think
talents, no matter how humble, should be fostered in one's
own country. The weather is clear, with a sharp frost.
What a number of Wild Ducks could I shoot on a morning
like this, with a little powder and plenty of shot; but I had
other fish to fry. I put up a beautiful male Pheasant, and
outlined it on coarse gray paper to pounce it in proper
position on my canvas. Sir Wm. Jardine and Mr. Selby
were here drawing under my direction most of the day.
My time is so taken up, and daylight so short, that
though four hours is all I allow for sleep, I am behind-hand,
and have engaged an amanuensis. I go out so much
that I frequently dress three times a day, the greatest bore
in the world to me; why I cannot dine in my blue coat as
well as a black one, I cannot say, but so it seems. Mrs.
Lizars came with a friend, Mr. Simpson, to invite me to a
phrenological supper, Dr. Charles Fox, looking very ill,
and two friends of Mr. Selby; the whole morning passed
away, no canvas came for me, and I could not have left my
guests to work, if it had. I looked often at the beautiful
Pheasant, with longing eyes, but when the canvas came and
my guests had gone, daylight went with them, so I had
lost a most precious day; that is a vast deal in a man's
life-glass. The supper was really a phrenological party;
my head and Mr. Selby's were compared, and at twelve
o'clock he and I went home together. I was glad to feel
the frosty air and to see the stars. I think Mr. Selby one
of those rare men that are seldom met with, and when
one is found it proves how good some of our species may
be. Never before did I so long for a glimpse of our rich
magnolia woods; I never before felt the want of a glance
at our forests as I do now; could I be there but a moment,
hear the mellow Mock-bird, or the Wood-thrush, to me
always so pleasing, how happy should I be; but alas! I
am far from those scenes. I seem, in a measure, to have
gone back to my early days of society and fine dressing,
silk stockings and pumps, and all the finery with which I
made a popinjay of myself in my youth.
December 22, Friday. I painted a good portion to-day
though it was quite dark by three of the afternoon; how
I long for the fair days of summer. My room to-day was
a perfect levee; it is Mr. Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon
there; I only hope they will not make a conceited fool
of Mr. Audubon at last. I received every one as politely
as I could, palette and brushes in hand, and conducted
each in his turn to the door. I was called from my work
twenty-five times, but I was nevertheless glad to see one
and all. I supped with Sir William Jardine, Mr. Lizars,
and Mr. Moule, Sir William's uncle, at Barry's Hotel;
we talked much of fish and fishing, for we were all sportsmen.
I left at midnight and found at my room a long
letter from Charles Bonaparte.
Saturday, December 23. I had to grind up my own
colors this morning; I detest it, it makes me hot, fretful,
moody, and I am convinced has a bad effect on my mind.
However, I worked closely, but the day was shockingly
short; I cannot see before half-past nine, and am forced
to stop at three....
The 24th and 25th I remained closely at my work
painting; on the 24th my drawings were all taken down
and my paintings also. I wrote to the president of the
Royal Institution and presented that society with my
large painting of the "Wild Turkeys." I should have
hesitated about offering it had I not been assured it had
some value, as Gally, the picture dealer, offered me a
hundred guineas for it the previous day; and I was glad
to return some acknowledgment of the politeness of the
Institution in a handsome manner. My steady work
brought on a bad headache, but I rose early, took a walk
of many miles, and it has gone.
December 26. My steady painting, my many thoughts,
and my brief nights, bring on me now every evening
a weariness that I cannot surmount on command. This
is, I think, the first time in my life when, if needed, I could
not rouse myself from sleepiness, shake myself and be
ready for action in an instant; but now I cannot do that,
and I have difficulty often in keeping awake as evening
comes on; this evening I had to excuse myself from
a gathering at Lady Hunter's, and came home intending
to go at once to bed; but I lay down on my sofa for
a moment, fell asleep, and did not wake till after midnight,
when I found myself both cold and hungry. I have taken
some food and now will rest, though no longer sleepy,
for to-morrow I go to Earl Morton's, where I wish, at
least, to keep awake.
Dalmahoy, eight miles from Edinburgh, December 27,
Wednesday. I am now seated at a little table in the
Yellow Bedchamber at Earl Morton's, and will give an
account of my day. After my breakfast, not anxious to
begin another Pheasant, I did some writing and paid some
visits, returned to my lodgings and packed a box for
America with various gifts, some mementos I had received,
and several newspapers, when Lord Morton's carriage was
announced. My porte-feuille and valise were carried
down, and I followed them and entered a large carriage
lined with purple morocco; never was I in so comfortable
a conveyance before; the ship that under easy sail glides
slowly on an even sea has a more fatiguing motion; I
might have been in a swinging hammock. We passed
the castle, through Charlotte Square, and out on the
Glasgow road for eight miles, all so swiftly that my
watch had barely changed the time from one hour to
another when the porter pushed open the gate of Dalmahoy.
I now began to think of my meeting with the
man who had been great Chamberlain to the late Queen
Charlotte. I did not so much mind meeting the Countess,
for I had become assured of her sweetness of disposition
when we had met on previous occasions, but the Chamberlain
I could not help dreading to encounter. This,
however, did not prevent the carriage from proceeding
smoothly round a great circle, neither did it prevent
me from seeing a large, square, half Gothic building with
two turrets, ornamented with great lions, and all the signs
of heraldry belonging to Lord Morton. The carriage
stopped, a man in livery opened the door, and I walked
in, giving him my hat and gloves and my American stick
(that, by the bye, never leaves me unless I leave it). Upstairs
I went and into the drawing-room. The Countess
rose at once and came to greet me, and then presented
Lord Morton to me — yes, really not me to him; for
the moment I was taken aback, I had expected something
so different. I had formed an idea that the Earl was
a man of great physical strength and size; instead I saw a
small, slender man, tottering on his feet, weaker than a newly
hatched Partridge; he welcomed me with tears in his
eyes, held one of my hands and attempted speaking, which
was difficult to him, the Countess meanwhile rubbing
his other hand. I saw at a glance his situation and
begged he would be seated, after which I was introduced
to the mother of the Countess, Lady Boulcar, and I took
a seat on a sofa that I thought would swallow me up,
so much down swelled around me. It was a vast room,
at least sixty feet long, and wide in proportion, let me
say thirty feet, all hung with immense paintings on a rich
purple ground; all was purple about me. The large
tables were covered with books, instruments, drawing
apparatus, and a telescope, with hundreds of ornaments.
As I glanced at the pictures I could see the Queen of
England fronting Mary of Scotland, a chamberlain here,
a duke there, and in another place a beautiful head
by Rembrandt. Van Dyke had not been forgotten;
Claude Lorraine had some landscapes here also; while
the celebrated Titian gave a lustre to the whole. I rose
to take a closer view, the Countess explaining all to me,
but conceive my surprise when, looking from the middle
window, I saw at the horizon the castle and city of Edinburgh,
a complete miniature eight miles off, a landscape
of fields, water, and country between us and it. Luncheon
was announced; I am sure if my friends complain that
I eat but little, they must allow that I eat often; never
were such lands for constant meals as England and Scotland.
The Countess of Boulcar rolled Lord Morton in
his castored chair, I gave my arm to Lady Morton, we
crossed a large antechamber, into a dining-room quite
rich in paintings, and at present with a sumptuous repast.
Three gentlemen, also visitors, entered by another
door, — Messrs. Hays, Ramsay, and a young clergyman
whose name I forget. After luncheon my drawings were
produced, the Earl was rolled into a good position for
light, and my "Book of Nature" was unbuckled. I am
not going to repeat praises again. The drawings seen,
we adjourned to the drawing-room and the Countess
begged me to give her a lesson to-morrow, which I shall
most gladly do. The Countess is not exactly beautiful,
but she is good-looking, with fine eyes, a brilliant complexion,
and a good figure; she is a woman of superior
intellect and conversation, and I should think about forty
years of age; she was dressed in a rich crimson gown,
and her mother in black satin. At six I re-entered the
house, having taken a short walk with the gentlemen, and
was shown to my room. "The yellow room," I heard
the Countess say to the lackey who showed me the way.
My valise had been unpacked, and all was most comfortable,
and truly yellow in this superb apartment. The
bed was hung with yellow of some rich material, and
ornamented with yellow crowns, and was big enough for
four of my size; a large sofa and large arm-chairs, all
yellow, the curtains, dressing-table, all indeed was yellow,
intensified by the glow of a bright wood fire. My evening
toilet is never a very lengthy matter, — for in my
opinion it is a vile loss of time to spend as many minutes
in arranging a cravat as a hangman does in tying his
knot, — and I was ready long before seven, when I again
gave the Countess my arm, and Lord Morton was again
rolled in, in his chair. The waiters, I think there were
four, were powdered and dressed in deep red, almost
maroon liveries, except the butler, who was in black, and
who appeared to me to hand fresh plates continuously.
After a dinner of somewhat more than an hour, the ladies
retired with the Earl, and I remained with the three
gentlemen to talk and drink wine. The conversation was
entirely of antiquities. Mr. Hays is a deeply learned and
interesting man, besides being quite an original. At the
hour of ten we joined the Countess, the Earl having
retired, and I have been much interested looking at the
signatures of the kings of old, as well as that of Marie,
Queen of Scots, and those of many other celebrated men
and women, while two of the gentlemen were examining
a cabinet of antique coins. The Countess looked very
brilliant, being attired in white satin with a crimson turban.
At midnight (coffee having been served about eleven),
the ladies bid us good-night, and we sat down to talk,
and drink, if we wished to, Madeira wine. What a life!
I could not stand this ceremony daily, I long for the
woods; but I hope this life will enable me to enjoy them
more than ever at a future period, so I must bear it
patiently. After a few moments I left the gentlemen, and
came to my yellow room.
Thursday, December 28. Daylight came and I opened
all my yellow curtains, and explored my room by daylight;
and I have forgotten to tell thee that the dressing-room,
with its large porcelain tub and abundance of clear water,
opened from it, and was warm with crimson of the color of
the Countess's turban. The chimney-piece was decorated
with choice shells, and above it a painting representing
Queen Mary in her youth. The house seemed very still,
but after dressing I decided to go down, for the morning
was clear and the air delightful. As I entered the drawing-room
I saw two housemaids busily cleaning; the younger
saw me first, and I heard her say, "The American gentleman
is down already," when they both vanished. I went
out to look about the grounds, and in about an hour was
joined by the young clergyman, and a walk was immediately
undertaken. The Hares started before our dogs, and
passing through various woods, we came by a turn to the
stables, where I saw four superbly formed Abyssinian
horses, with tails reaching to the earth, and the legs of one
no larger than those of an Elk. The riding-room was yet
lighted, and the animals had been exercised that morning.
The game-keeper was unkennelling his dogs; he showed
me a large tame Fox.
Then through other woods we proceeded to the Manor,
now the habitat of the great falconer John Anderson and
his Hawks. He had already received orders to come to
the Hall at eleven to show me these birds in their full
dress. We visited next the hot-houses, where roses were
blooming most sweetly, and then following a brook reached
the Hall about ten. The ladies were in the drawing-room,
and the Earl came in, when we went to breakfast. Neither
at this meal nor at luncheon are seen any waiters. The
meal over, all was bustle in the drawing-room; chalks,
crayons, papers, all required was before me in a few
minutes, and I began to give the Countess a most unnecessary
lesson, for she drew much better than I did; but I
taught her how to rub with cork, and prepare for water-color.
The Earl sat by watching us, and then asked to see
my drawings again. The falconer came, and I saw the
Falcons ready for the chase. He held the birds on his
gloved hands, with bells and hoods and crests; but the
morning was not fit for a flight, so I lost that pleasure.
The Countess asked for my subscription book and wrote
with a steel pen, "The Countess of Morton;" she wished
to pay for the first number now, but this I declined. She
promised me letters for England, with which offer I was
much pleased. Desiring some fresh Pheasants for my
work, she immediately ordered some killed for me. After
luncheon I walked out to see a herd of over a hundred
brown Deer, that like sheep were feeding within a few
hundred paces of the Hall. I approached quite close to
them, and saw that many had shed their horns; they
scampered off when they sighted me, knowing perhaps
what a hunter I was! Lady Morton wished me to remain
longer, but as I had promised to dine with Captain Hall I
could not do so; it was therefore decided that I should
return next week to spend another night and give another
lesson. My ride to Edinburgh was soon over, and a letter
and a book from Charles Bonaparte were at my lodgings.
Captain Hall told me at dinner that he was a midshipman
on board the Leander when Pierce was killed off New
York, and when I was on my way from France, when our
captain, seeing the British vessel, wore about round Long
Island and reached New York by Hell Gate. There is a
curious notice about me by Professor Wilson in "Blackwood's
Magazine."
Friday, December 29. I painted all day, and did this most
happily and cheerfully, for I had received two long letters
from my Lucy, of October 14 and 23. The evening was
spent with Captain Hall, Mr. Lizars, and his brother.
Saturday, December 30. So stormy a day that I have
not been disturbed by visitors, nor have I been out, but
painted all day.
Sunday, December 31. This evening I dined at Captain
Hall's, especially for the purpose of being introduced to
Francis Jeffrey, the principal writer in the "Edinburgh
Review." Following the advice given me I did not take
my watch, lest it should be stolen from me on my return,
for I am told this is always a turbulent night in Edinburgh.
Captain Hall and his wife received me with their usual
cordiality, and we were soon joined by Mr. McCulloch, a
writer on Political Economy and a plain, agreeable man.
Then Francis Jeffrey and his wife entered; he is a small
(not to say tiny) being, with a woman under one arm and
a hat under the other. He bowed very seriously indeed,
so much so that I conceived him to be fully aware of his
weight in society. His looks were shrewd, but I thought
his eyes almost cunning. He talked a great deal and very
well, yet I did not like him; but he may prove better than
I think, for this is only my first impression. Mrs. Jeffrey
was nervous and very much dressed. If I mistake not
Jeffrey was shy of me, and I of him, for he has used me
very cavalierly. When I came I brought a letter of introduction
to him; I called on him, and, as he was absent, left
the letter and my card. When my exhibition opened I
enclosed a card of admittance to him, with another of my
own cards. He never came near me, and I never went
near him; for if he was Jeffrey, I was Audubon, and felt
quite independent of all the tribe of Jeffreys in England,
Scotland, and Ireland, put together. This evening, however,
he thanked me for my card politely. At dinner he
sat opposite to me and the conversation was on various
topics. America, however, was hardly alluded to, as whenever
Captain Hall tried to bring that country into our
talk, Mr. Jeffrey most skilfully brought up something else.
After coffee had been served Mr. Jeffrey made some inquiries
about my work, and at ten I took my leave, having
positively seen the little man whose fame is so great both
in Scotland and abroad. I walked home briskly; this was
the eve of a New Year, and in Edinburgh they tell me it
is rather a dangerous thing to be late in the streets, for
many vagabonds are abroad at this time, and murders and
other fearful deeds take place. To prevent these as far as
possible, the watch is doubled, and an unusual quantity of
gas-lights are afforded. I reached my room, sat down and
outlined a Pheasant, to save daylight to-morrow, and was
about going to bed, when Mrs. Dickie came in and begged
I would wait till twelve o'clock to take some toddy with
her and Miss Campbell, my American boarding companion,
to wish all a happy New Year. I did so, of course,
and had I sat up all night, and written, or drawn, or sat
thinking by my fire, I should have done as well, for the
noise kept increasing in the streets, and the confusion was
such that until morning I never closed my eyes. At early
morning this first day of January, 1827, I received from
Captain Hall three volumes of his voyages, and from the
Countess of Morton four beautiful Pheasants and a basket
of rare hot-house flowers.
Edinburgh, January 1, 1827, Monday.[110] A Happy New
Year to you, my book. Bless me! how fair you look this
very cold day. Which way, pray, are you travelling? Travelling
wherever chance or circumstance may lead you?
Well, I will take you for my companion, and we will talk
together on all kinds of subjects, and you will help me to
remember, for my memory is bad, very bad. I never can
recollect the name of an enemy, for instance; it is only my
friends whom I can remember, and to write down somewhat
of their kind treatment of me is a delight I love to
enjoy.
January 6, Saturday. Ever since the first day of this
month I have been most closely engaged at my painting of
the "Pheasants Attacked by a Fox." I have, however,
spent another day and night at Dalmahoy. I have written
a long paper for the Wernerian Society on the habits of
Alligators, and am always very weary at night.
January 7. I keep at my painting closely, and for a
wonder was visited by Dr. Bridges. I have labored hard,
but my work is bad; some inward feeling tells me when it
is good. No one, I think, paints in my method; I, who
have never studied but by piecemeal, form my pictures
according to my ways of study. For instance, I am now
working on a Fox; I take one neatly killed, put him up
with wires, and when satisfied of the truth of the position,
I take my palette and work as rapidly as possible; the
same with my birds. If practicable, I finish the bird at
one sitting, — often, it is true, of fourteen hours, — so that
I think they are correct, both in detail and composition.
Monday, 8th. I rose this morning two and a half hours
before day, and wrote much before breakfast. Thanks to
my good spirit not a soul called upon me this day, and I
brushed away without losing a moment of the precious
light of these short days. This evening I saw my plate of
the Wild Turkey, and went to hear Captain Basil Hall lecture
at the Royal Society on the Trade Winds. The practical
as well as theoretical knowledge of this learned man
rendered this a most valuable evening to me. I was introduced
to Mr. Perceval, the son of the King of England's
Secretary of State,[111] who was shamefully and barbarously
murdered some years since.
Tuesday, 9th. Mr. Hays, the Dalmahoy antiquarian,
called on me, and brought me a copy of Bewick's "Quadrupeds."
At eight this evening I went to the Society of Arts,
of which I have been elected a member. Here I saw a
capital air-gun, and a steam-carriage in full motion; but I
had to operate, and showed my manner of putting up my
birds with wires, and I positively shook so that I feared I
should not be able to proceed to the termination; this
bashfulness is dreadful, how am I ever to overcome it?
January 10. The weather has been most strange, at
times so dark that I could not see to paint, and suddenly
the sun shone so brightly that I was dazzled. It rained,
it blew, it snowed; we have had all seasons. A Mr. Buchanan
from London came to see my work, and Professor
Wilson at the same time; both liked my painting, and
strangely enough the two had known each other twenty
years ago. I went to the theatre to see Miss Foote and
Mr. Murray; both were much applauded, and the house
was crowded. I am very fond of the theatre; I think it
the best of all ways to spend an evening for délassement.
I often find myself when there laughing or crying like a
child.
January 11. Scarce daylight at half-past seven, but I
was up and away with a coal porter and his cart into the
country. I wanted some large, rough stones for my foreground;
this was my reason for my excursion. I passed a
small, dirty, and almost lost building, where the union between
Scotland and England was ratified. At one o'clock
Professor Russell called in his carriage with Mr. Lizars, then
we went to see a picture of the famous Hondekoeter. To
me the picture was destitute of life; the animals seemed
to me to be drawn from poorly stuffed specimens, but the
coloring, the finish, the manner, the effect, was most beautiful,
and but for the lack of Nature in the animals was
a picture which commanded admiration and attention.
Would that I could paint like Hondekoeter! At eight
I went to the Phrenological Society, and may safely say
that never before was I in such company; the deepest
philosophers in this city of learning were there, and
George Combe read an essay on the mental powers of
man, as illustrated by phrenological researches, that astounded
me; it lasted one and a half hours, and will remain
in my mind all my life.
January 12. My painting has now arrived at the difficult
point. To finish highly without destroying the general
effect, or to give the general effect and care not about
the finishing? I am quite puzzled. Sometimes I like the
picture, then a heat rises to my face and I think it a miserable
daub. This is the largest piece I have ever done;
as to the birds, as far as they are concerned I am quite satisfied,
but the ground, the foliage, the sky, the distance are
dreadful. To-day I was so troubled about this that at two
o'clock, when yet a good hour of daylight remained, I left
it in disgust, and walked off to Dr. Bridges. I passed on
my way the place where a man was murdered the night
before last; a great multitude of people were looking at
the spot, gazing like fools, for there was nothing to be
seen. How is it that our sages tell us our species is much
improved? If we murder now in cool blood, and in a most
terrifying way, our brother, we are not a jot forward since
the time of Cain.
January 13. Painted five hours, and at two o'clock
accompanied by Mr. Lizars, reached the University and
entered the rooms of the Wernerian Society with a paper
on the habits of Alligators in my pocket, to be read to the
members and visitors present. This I read after the business
of the meeting had been transacted, and, thank God,
after the effort of once beginning, I went on unfalteringly
to the end. In the evening I went with Mr. Lizars to see
"As You Like It." Miss Foote performed and also Mr.
Murray, but the house was so crowded that I could scarce
see.
January 14. Could not work on my picture, for I have
no white Pheasant for a key-stone of light, but Professor
Jameson called and said he would write for one for me to
the Duke of Buccleugh. After receiving many callers I went
to Mr. O'Neill's to have a cast taken of my head. My
coat and neckcloth were taken off, my shirt collar turned
down, I was told to close my eyes; Mr. O'Neill took a
large brush and oiled my whole face, the almost liquid
plaster of Paris was poured over it, as I sat uprightly till
the whole was covered; my nostrils only were exempt. In
a few moments the plaster had acquired the needful consistency,
when it was taken off by pulling it down gently.
The whole operation lasted hardly five minutes; the only
inconvenience felt was the weight of the material pulling
downward over my sinews and flesh. On my return from
the Antiquarian Society that evening, I found my face on
the table, an excellent cast.
January 17 to Sunday, 21st. John Syme, the artist, asked
me if I did not wish to become an associate member of
the Scottish Artists. I answered, "Yes." I have promised
to paint a picture of Black Cock for their exhibition, and
with that view went to market, where for fifteen shillings I
purchased two superb males and one female. I have been
painting pretty much all day and every day. Among my
visitors I have had the son of Smollett, the great writer, a
handsome young gentleman. Several noblemen came to
see my Pheasants, and all promised me a white one. Professor
Russell called and read me a letter from Lord — — ,
giving me leave to see the pictures at his hall, but I, poor
Audubon, go nowhere without an invitation.
January 22, Monday. I was painting diligently when
Captain Hall came in, and said: "Put on your coat, and
come with me to Sir Walter Scott; he wishes to see you
now." In a moment I was ready, for I really believe my
coat and hat came to me instead of my going to them.
My heart trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished
it over. Had not his wondrous pen penetrated my soul
with the consciousness that here was a genius from God's
hand? I felt overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Sir
Walter, the Great Unknown. We reached the house, and
a powdered waiter was asked if Sir Walter were in.[112] We
were shown forward at once, and entering a very small
room Captain Hall said: "Sir Walter, I have brought Mr.
Audubon." Sir Walter came forward, pressed my hand
warmly, and said he was "glad to have the honor of meeting
me." His long, loose, silvery locks struck me; he
looked like Franklin at his best. He also reminded me of
Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of Wm.
Roscoe about him, and a kindness most prepossessing. I
could not forbear looking at him, my eyes feasted on his
countenance. I watched his movements as I would those
of a celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck
me forcibly. His little room was tidy, though it partook a
good deal of the character of a laboratory. He was
wrapped in a quilted morning-gown of light purple silk;
he had been at work writing on the "Life of Napoleon."
He writes close lines, rather curved as they go from left to
right, and puts an immense deal on very little paper.
After a few minutes had elapsed he begged Captain Hall
to ring a bell; a servant came and was asked to bid Miss
Scott come to see Mr. Audubon. Miss Scott came, black-haired
and black-dressed, not handsome but said to be
highly accomplished, and she is the daughter of Sir Walter
Scott. There was much conversation. I talked little, but,
believe me, I listened and observed, careful if ignorant. I
cannot write more now. — I have just returned from the
Royal Society. Knowing that I was a candidate for the
electorate of the society, I felt very uncomfortable and
would gladly have been hunting on Tawapatee Bottom.
|
AUDUBON. From the portrait by Henry Inman. Now in the possession of the family.
|
January 23, Tuesday. My first visitor was Mr. Hays
the antiquarian, who needed my assistance, or rather my
knowledge of French in the translation of a passage relating
to "le droit du seigneur." Dr. Combe called later
and begged me to go to Mr. Joseph, the sculptor, with
him, and through a great fall of snow we went through
Windsor Street, one of the handsomest in this beautiful
city. Mr. Joseph was in, and I saw an uncommonly good
bust of Sir Walter, one of Lord Morton, and several
others. I have powerfully in my mind to give my picture
of the "Trapped Otter" to Mrs. Basil Hall, and, by Washington,
I will. No one deserves it more, and I cannot
receive so many favors without trying to make some
return.
January 24. My second visit to Sir Walter Scott was
much more agreeable than my first. My portfolio and its
contents were matters on which I could speak substantially,[113]
and I found him so willing to level himself with me
for a while that the time spent at his home was agreeable
and valuable. His daughter improved in looks the moment
she spoke, having both vivacity and good sense.
January 28. Yesterday I had so many visitors that I
was quite fatigued; my rooms were full all the time, yet I
work away as if they were so many cabbages, except for a
short time taken to show them a few drawings, give them
chairs, and other civil attentions. In the evening I went to
the theatre to see the "Merchant of Venice;" the night
was violently stormy, the worst I remember for years. I
thought of the poor sailors, what hard lives they have.
January 30, Tuesday. The days begin to show a valuable
augmentation. I could this morning begin work at
eight, and was still at my easel at four. A man may do a
good deal on a painting in eight hours provided he has the
power of laying the true tints at once, and does not muddy
his colors or need glazing afterwards. Now a query arises.
Did the ancient artists and colorists ever glaze their work?
I sometimes think they did not, and I am inclined to think
thus because their work is of great strength of standing,
and extremely solid and confirmed on the canvas — a proof
with me that they painted clean and bright at once, but
that this once they repeated, perhaps, as often as three
times. Glazing certainly is a beautiful way of effecting
transparency, particularly over shadowy parts, but I frequently
fear the coating being so thin, and that time preys
on these parts more powerfully than on those unglazed, so
that the work is sooner destroyed by its application than
without it. I am confident Sir Joshua Reynolds' pictures
fade so much in consequence of his constant glazing.
Lord Hay, who has only one arm, called this morning, and
promised me White Pheasants by Saturday morning. So
many people have called that I have not put a foot out
to-day.
January 31, Wednesday. I had the delight of receiving
letters from home to-day; how every word carried me
to my beloved America. Oh, that I could be with you
and see those magnificent forests, and listen to sweet
Wood Thrushes and the Mock-Birds so gay!
February 1. I have just finished a picture of Black
Cock sunning and dusting themselves, with a view in the
background of Loch Lomond, nine feet by six, for which
I am offered two hundred guineas. It will be exhibited at
the Royal Institute rooms next week, and the picture of
the Pheasants, the same size, at the Scottish Society of
Artists, of which I am now an associate member.
February 5. None of my promised White Pheasants
have come, but I have determined the picture shall be
finished if I have to paint in a black Crow instead. Dr.
Brewster spoke to me of a camera lucida to enable me to
outline birds with great rapidity. I would like such an
instrument if merely to save time in hot weather, when
outlining correctly is more than half the work. At eight
o'clock I entered the rooms of the Royal Society. I opened
my large sheets and laid them on the table; the astonishment
of every one was great, and I saw with pleasure many
eyes look from them to me. The business of the society
was then done behind closed doors; but when these were
opened and we were called into the great room, Captain
Hall, taking my hand, led me to a seat immediately opposite
to Sir Walter Scott; then, Lucy, I had a perfect view of
that great man, and I studied from Nature Nature's noblest
work. After a lecture on the introduction of the Greek
language into England, the president, Sir Walter, rose and
we all followed his example. Sir Walter came to me, shook
my hand cordially, and asked me how the cold weather of
Edinburgh agreed with me. This mark of attention was
observed by other members, who looked at me as if I had
been a distinguished stranger.
February 9. I have been, and am yet, greatly depressed,
yet why I am so it is impossible for me to conceive,
unless it be that slight vexations, trifling in themselves, are
trying to me, because, alas! I am only a very, very common
man. I dined to-night at Professor Jameson's, and
as my note said "with a few friends," was surprised to
find thirty besides myself. The engineer, Mr. S — — , was
here, and many other noted men, including the famous
Professor Leslie,[114] an enormous mass of flesh and an extremely
agreeable man, who had been in Virginia many
years ago, but recollects those days well.
February 10. I visited the Royal Institution this morning,
and saw my Black Cocks over the first of the first-room
doors. I know well that the birds are drawn as well
as any birds ever have been; but what a difference exists
between drawing one bird or a dozen and amalgamating
them with a sky, a landscape, and a well adapted foreground.
Who has not felt a sense of fear while trying to combine
all this? I looked at my work long, then walked round the
room, when my eyes soon reached a picture by Landseer,
the death of a stag. I saw much in it of the style of those
men who know how to handle a brush and carry a good
effect; but Nature was not there, although a Stag, three
dogs, and a Highlander were introduced on the canvas.
The Stag had his tongue out and his mouth shut! The
principal dog, a greyhound, held the Deer by one ear
just as if a loving friend; the young hunter has laced the
Deer by one horn very prettily, and in the attitude of a
ballet-dancer was about to cast the noose over the head
of the animal. To me, or to my friends Dr. Pope or Mr.
Bourgeat such a picture is quite a farce; not so here however.
Many other pictures drew my attention, and still
more so the different artists who came in with brushes
and palettes to tickle their pictures. I was to read a paper
at the Wernerian Society on the Rattlesnake, but had not
had time to finish it; nevertheless I went to the society
rooms, which were crowded. I was sorry I was not prepared
to read to those assembled that a Rattlesnake
rattled his tail, not to give knowledge to man of his presence,
but because he never strikes without rattling, and
that destitute of that appendage he cannot strike at all.
The wind blows a doleful tune and I feel utterly alone.
Monday, February 12. Mr. Lizars insisted on my going
to the Antiquarian Society, saying it was usual for a member
newly elected to be present on the first occasion
possible. I went, of course, but felt very sheepish withal.
We had an excellent paper by Mr. Hays respecting a bell
found in Argyle, of very ancient date.
Tuesday, February 13. This was the grand, long promised,
and much wished-for day of the opening of the
Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal Institution. At one
o'clock I went, the doors were just opened, and in a few
minutes the rooms were crowded. Sir Walter Scott was
present; he came towards me, shook my hand cordially,
and pointing to Landseer's picture said: "Many such
scenes, Mr. Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger
days." We talked much of all about us, and I would
gladly have joined him in a glass of wine, but my foolish
habits prevented me, and after inquiring of his daughter's
health, I left him, and shortly afterwards the rooms; for I
had a great appetite, and although there were tables
loaded with delicacies, and I saw the ladies particularly
eating freely, I must say to my shame I dared not lay my
fingers on a single thing. In the evening I went to the
theatre where I was much amused by "The Comedy of
Errors," and afterwards "The Green Room." I admire
Miss Neville's singing very much; and her manners also;
there is none of the actress about her, but much of the
lady.
Tuesday, 20th. A week has passed without writing here
because I have done nothing else but write — many letters
for Captain Hall, and at his request a paper to be read at
the Natural History Society. I pitched on the "Habits of
the Wild Pigeon." I began on Wednesday, and it took me
until half-past three of the morning, and after a few hours'
sleep I rose to correct it, which was needed, I can assure
thee. Were it not for the facts it contains, I would not
give a cent for it, nor anybody else, I dare say. I positively
brought myself so much among the Pigeons and in the
woods of America that my ears were as if really filled
with the noise of their wings; I was tired and my eyes
ached. I dined at a Mr. Tytler's and met among the guests
Mr. Cruden, brother of the compiler of the famous concordance.
On Sunday I made for the seashore, and walked
eight miles; the weather was extremely cold, my ears and
nose I thought would drop off, yet I went on. Monday
Captain Hall called to speak to me about my paper on
Pigeons; he complained that I expressed the belief that
Pigeons were possessed of affection and tenderest love, and
that this raised the brute species to a level with man. O
man! misled, self-conceited being, when wilt thou keep
within the sphere of humility that, with all thy vices and
wickedness about thee, should be thine. At the exhibition
rooms I put up my drawing of the Wild Pigeons and
Captain Hall read my paper. I was struck with the silence
and attention of the audience. The president invited me
to supper with him, but I was too excited, so excused
myself.
February 21. I wrote again nearly all day, and in the
evening went to the theatre to see "The School for Grown
Children."
February 23. Young Hutchinson came about the middle
of the day, and I proposed we should have an early dinner
and a long walk after for the sake of exercise, that I now
find much needed. We proceeded towards the village of
Portobello, distant three miles, the weather delightful, the
shore dotted with gentlemen on horseback galloping over
the sand in all directions. The sea calm and smooth, had
many fishing-boats. The village is a summer resort, built
handsomely of white stone, and all was quietness. From
here we proceeded across country to Duddingston, about
a mile and a half, to see the skaters on the lake, a mere
duck puddle; but the ice was too thin, and no skaters
were there. We gradually ascended the hill called Arthur's
Seat, and all of a sudden came in full view of the fair city.
We entered in the Old Town and reached my lodgings
by the North Bridge. I was quite tired, and yet I had
not walked more than ten miles. I thought this strange,
and wondered if it could be the same body that travelled
over one hundred and sixty-five miles in four days without
a shade of fatigue. The cities do not tempt me to walk,
and so I lose the habit.
February 24. To the Wernerian Society at two o'clock,
my drawing of the Mocking-Bird with me. The room was
completely filled, and a paper on the rhubarb of commerce
was read; it was short, and then Professor Jameson called my
name. I rose, and read as distinctly as I could my paper
on Rattlesnakes, a job of three quarters of an hour. Having
finished I was cheered by all, and the thanks of the
Assembly unanimously voted. My cheeks burned, and after
a few questions had been put me by the president and some
of the gentlemen present, I handed my manuscript to
Professor Jameson, and was glad to be gone. Young Murray,
the son of the London publisher, accompanied me to
the Scottish Society Exhibition, but I soon left him as so
many eyes were directed to me that I was miserable.
February 27. It blew and rained tremendously, and
this morning I parted from Captain Hall, who goes to
London. His leaving Edinburgh affects me considerably;
he is a kind, substantial friend, and when we finally shook
hands, I doubt not he knew the feeling in my heart. This
evening was spent at Mr. Joseph's the sculptor. There
were a number of guests, and music and dancing was proposed.
My fame as a dancer produced, I am sure, false
expectations; nevertheless I found myself on the floor
with Mrs. Joseph, a lively, agreeable little lady, much my
junior, and about my Lucy's age. After much dancing,
during which light refreshments were served, we sat down
to supper at twelve o'clock, and we did not leave till
three.
February 28. I have been reading Captain Hall's "Voyages
and Travels," and going much about to rest my eyes
and head; but these few days of idleness have completely
sickened me, and have given me what is named the Blue
Devils so effectually that the sooner I drive them off the
better.
March 1. Mr. Kidd,[115] the landscape artist, breakfasted
with me, and we talked painting a long time. I admired
him for his talents at so early a period of life, he being
only nineteen. What would I have been now if equally
gifted by nature at that age? But, sad reflection, I have
been forced constantly to hammer and stammer as if in
opposition to God's will, and so therefore am nothing
now but poor Audubon. I asked him to come to me
daily to eat, drink, and give me the pleasure of his company
and advice. I told him my wish was so intense to
improve in the delightful art of painting that I should begin
a new picture to-morrow, and took down my portfolio
to look for one of my drawings to copy in oil. He had
never seen my work, and his bright eyes gazed eagerly on
what he saw with admiration.
March 2. Mr. Kidd breakfasted with me, and we
painted the whole day.
March 3. I painted as constantly to-day, as it snowed
and blew hard outside my walls. I thought frequently
that the devils must be at the handles of �olus' bellows,
and turned the cold blasts into the Scotch mists to freeze
them into snow. It is full twenty years since I saw the
like before. I dined at Mr. Ritchie's, reaching his house
safely through more than two feet of snow.
March 4. The weather tolerably fair, but the snow lay
deep. The mails from all quarters were stopped, and the
few people that moved along the streets gave a fuller idea
of winter in a northern clime than anything I have seen
for many years. Mr. Hays called for me, and we went to
breakfast with the Rev. Mr. Newbold, immediately across
the street. I was trundled into a sedan chair to church.
I had never been in a sedan chair before, and I like to
try, as well as see, all things on the face of this strange
world of ours; but so long as I have two legs and feet
below them, never will I again enter one of these machines,
with their quick, short, up-and-down, swinging motion, resembling
the sensations felt during the great earthquake in
Kentucky. But Sydney Smith preached. Oh! what a
soul there must be in the body of that great man. What
sweet yet energetic thoughts, what goodness he must possess.
It was a sermon to me. He made me smile, and he
made me think deeply. He pleased me at times by painting
my foibles with due care, and again I felt the color come
to my cheeks as he portrayed my sins. I left the church
full of veneration not only towards God, but towards the
wonderful man who so beautifully illustrates his noblest
handiwork. After lunch Mr. Hays and I took a walk
towards Portobello, tumbling and pitching in the deep
snow. I saw Sky-Larks, poor things, caught in snares as
easily — as men are caught. For a wonder I have done
no work to-day.
March 5. As a lad I had a great aversion to anything
English or Scotch, and I remember when travelling with
my father to Rochefort in January, 1800, I mentioned this
to him, for to him, thank God, I always told all my
thoughts and expressed all my ideas. How well I remember
his reply: "Laforest, thy blood will cool in
time, and thou wilt be surprised to see how gradually prejudices
are obliterated, and friendships acquired, towards
those that at one time we held in contempt. Thou hast
not been in England; I have, and it is a fine country."
What has since taken place? I have admired and esteemed
many English and Scotch, and therefore do I feel proud
to tell thee that I am a Fellow of the Royal Society of
Edinburgh. My day has been rather dull, though I painted
assiduously. This evening I went to the Society of Arts,
where beautiful experiments were shown by the inventors
themselves; a steam coach moved with incomprehensible
regularity. I am undetermined whether to go to Glasgow
on my way to Dublin, or proceed overland to Newcastle,
Liverpool, Oxford, Cambridge, and so on to London, but
I shall move soon.
March 7. This evening I was introduced to Sydney
Smith, the famous preacher of last Sunday, and his fair
daughters, and heard them sing most sweetly. I offered
to show them some of my drawings and they appointed
Saturday at one o'clock. The wind is blowing as if intent
to destroy the fair city of Edinburgh.
March 8. The weather was dreadful last night and still
continues so; the snow is six feet deep in some parts of
the great roads, and I was told at the Post Office that
horsemen sent with the mail to London had been obliged
to abandon their horses, and proceed on foot. Wrote a
letter to Sir Walter Scott requesting a letter of introduction,
or shall I say endorsement, and his servant brought me
a gratifying reply at eight of the evening. At one Dr.
Spence came with Miss Neville, the delightful singer at
the theatre, her mother, and Miss Hamilton. They sat
with me some time, and I was glad to see near-by the
same Miss Neville whom I admire so much at the play. I
found her possessed of good sense and modesty, and like
her much; her mother asked me to spend the evening of
next Saturday with them, and said her daughter would
sing for me with pleasure. Had a note from Sydney
Smith; the man should study economy; he would destroy
more paper in a day than Franklin in a week; but all great
men are more or less eccentric. Walter Scott writes a
diminutive hand, very difficult to read, Napoleon a large,
scrawling one, still more difficult, and Sydney Smith goes
up-hill all the way with large strides.
March 9. My first work this day was to send as a
present to Miss Anne Scott a copy of my first number.
Professor Wilson called and promised to come again on
Monday.
March 10. I visited Mr. James B. Fraser,[116] a great
traveller in Asia and Africa, and saw there a large collection
of drawings and views in water-colors of the
scenery of these countries. The lecture at the Wernerian
Society was very interesting; it was on the uses of cotton
in Egypt, and the origin of the name in the English language.
I dined at Mr. Neill's; among the guests was a Mr.
Blair, the superintendent of the Botanical Gardens here;
he has been in different parts of America frequently. There
were several other gentlemen present interested in like
subjects, and we talked of little else than trees and exotic
plants, birds and beasts; in fact it was a naturalists' dinner,
but a much better one than naturalists generally have who
study in the woods. I was obliged to leave early, as I had
an engagement at Miss Neville's. Tea was served, after
which Miss Neville rose, and said she would open the
concert. I was glad to see her simply but beautifully
dressed in a plain white gown of fine muslin, with naught
but her fine auburn hair loose in large curls about her neck,
and a plain scarf of a light-rose color. She sang and
played most sweetly; the gentlemen present were all more
or less musical, and we had fine glees, duets, trios. The
young lady scarcely left off singing, for no sooner was a
song finished than some one asked for another; she immediately
replied, "Oh, yes," and in a moment the room
was filled with melody. I thought she must be fatigued,
and told her so, but she replied: "Mr. Audubon, singing
is like painting; it never fatigues if one is fond of it, and I
am." After a handsome supper we had more singing, and
it was past two o'clock when I rose, shook hands with
Miss Neville, bowed to the company, and made my exit.
March 12. I can scarcely believe that this day, there
is in many places six feet of snow, yet with all this no
invitation is ever laid aside, and last evening I went to
dinner in a coach drawn by four horses. At noon to-day
I went with Mr. Lizars to the Assembly Rooms, to see the
fencing. About a thousand persons, all in full dress,
gathered in a few minutes, and a circle being formed,
eight young men came in, and went through the first
principles of fencing; we had fine martial music and a
succession of fencing turns till two o'clock, when the assault
began between the two best scholars. Five hits were
required to win the prize — a fine sword — and it was
presented to the conqueror, a Mr. Webster. At half-past
six I dined at Mr. Hamilton's, where a numerous and
agreeable party was assembled. At ten Miss Neville and
her mother came with still others. We had dancing and
singing, and here I am, quite wearied at half-past three;
but I must be up early to-morrow morning.
March 13. The little I slept had a bad effect on me, for
I rose cross of mind and temper. I took a long walk on
the London road, returned and reached Brae House, and
breakfasted with the famous Mrs. Grant,[117] an old lady very
deaf, but very agreeable withal. Her son and daughter
and another lady formed our party. We talked of nothing
but America; Mrs. Grant is positively the only person I
have met here who knows anything true about my country.
I promised to call again soon. This evening I dined at
Sir James Riddell's, and I do not know when I have
spent a more uncomfortable evening; the company were
all too high for me, though Sir James and his lady did all
they could for me. The ton here surpassed that at the
Earl of Morton's; five gentlemen waited on us while at
table, and two of these put my cloak about my shoulders,
notwithstanding all I could say to the contrary.
Several of these men were quite as well dressed as
their master. What will that sweet lady, Mrs. Basil
Hall think of a squatter's hut in Mississippi in contrast
with this? No matter! whatever may be lacking, there
is usually a hearty welcome. Oh! my America, how
dearly I love thy plain, simple manners.
March 14. I have been drawing all day, two Cat-birds
and some blackberries for the Countess of Morton, and
would have finished it had I not been disturbed by visitors.
Mr. Hays came with his son; he asked me if it would not
be good policy for me to cut my hair and have a fashionable
coat made before I reached London. I laughed, and
he laughed, and my hair is yet as God made it.
March 17. I had long wished to visit Roslyn Castle
and the weather being beautiful I applied to Mrs. Dickie
for a guide, and she sent her son with me. We passed
over the North Bridge and followed the turnpike road,
passing along the foot of the Pentland Hills, looking back
frequently to view Edinburgh under its cloud of smoke,
until we had passed a small eminence that completely hid
it afterwards from our sight. Not an object of interest lay
in our way until we suddenly turned southeast and
entered the little village of Roslyn. I say little, because
not more than twenty houses are there, and these are all
small except one. It is high, however, so much so that
from it we looked down on the ruined castle, although the
elevation of the castle above the country around is very
great. On inquiry, we were assured that the chapel was
the only remaining edifice worthy of attention. We
walked down to it and entered an enclosure, when before
us stood the remains of the once magnificent Chapel of
Roslyn. What volumes of thoughts rushed into my mind.
I, who had read of the place years before, who knew by
tradition the horrors of the times subsequent to the founding
of the edifice, now confronted reality. I saw the
marks of sacrilegious outrage on objects silent themselves
and which had been raised in adoration to God. Strange
that times which produced such beautiful works of art
should allow the thief and the murderer to go almost unpunished.
This Gothic chapel is a superb relic; each
stone is beautifully carved, and each differs from all the
others. The ten pillars and five arches are covered with
the finest fret-work, and all round are seen the pedestals
that once supported the images that Knox's party were
wont to destroy without thought or reason. I went down
some mouldering steps into the Sacristy, but found only
bare walls, decaying very fast; yet here a curious plant
was growing, of a verdigris color. To reach the castle we
went down and along a narrow ridge, on each side of
which the ground went abruptly to the bottom of a narrow,
steep valley, through which a small, petulant stream
rushed with great rapidity over a rocky bed. This guards
three sides of the promontory on which Roslyn Castle
once was; for now only a few masses of rubbish were to be
seen, and a house of modern structure occupies nearly the
original site. In its day it must have been a powerful
structure, but now, were it existing, cannon could destroy
it in a few hours, if they were placed on the opposite
hills. A large meadow lay below us, covered with bleaching
linen, and the place where we stood was perfectly
lonely, not even the reviving chirp of a single bird could
be heard, and my heart sank low while my mind was engaged
in recollections of the place. In silence we turned
and left the Castle and the little village, and returned by
another route to busy Edinburgh. The people were just
coming out of church, and as I walked along I felt a tap
on my shoulder and heard good Mr. Neill say, "Where
are you going at the rate of six miles an hour?" and he
took me home to dine with him, after we had been to my
lodgings, where I put my feet in ice cold water for ten
minutes, when I felt as fresh as ever.
|
FACSIMILE OF ENTRY IN JOURNAL
|
March 19, 1827. This day my hair was sacrificed, and
the will of God usurped by the wishes of man. As the
barber clipped my locks rapidly, it reminded me of the
horrible times of the French Revolution when the same
operation was performed upon all the victims murdered at
the guillotine; my heart sank low.
John J. Audubon.[118]
Shortly after breakfast I received a note from Captain
Hall, and another from his brother, both filled with entreaties
couched in strong terms that I should alter my hair
before I went to London. Good God! if Thy works are
hated by man it must be with Thy permission. I sent for
a barber, and my hair was mowed off in a trice. I knew I
was acting weakly, but rather than render my good friend
miserable about it, I suffered the loss patiently.
March 20. I visited Mr. Hays at his office, and had
the pleasure of seeing all the curious ancient manuscripts,
letters, mandates, Acts of Parliament, etc., connected with
the official events of Scotland with England for upwards
of three hundred years past. Large volumes are written
on parchment, by hand, and must have been works of
immense labor. The volumes containing the mere transfers
of landed estates filed within the last forty years
amounted to almost three thousand, and the parcels of
ancient papers filled many rooms in bundles and in bags of
leather, covered with dust, and mouldering with age. The
learned antiquarian, Mr. Thompson, has been at great
pains to put in order all these valuable and curious documents.
The edifice of the Registry is immense, and the
long, narrow passages proved a labyrinth to me. Mr.
Hays' allotted portion of curiosities consists of Heraldry,
and I saw the greatest display of coats of arms of all sorts,
emblazoned in richest style on sleek vellum and parchment.
March 21. Called on Miss D — — , the fair American.
To my surprise I saw the prints she had received the
evening before quite abused and tumbled. This, however,
was not my concern, and I regretted it only on her
account, that so little care should be taken of a book that
in fifty years will be sold at immense prices because of its
rarity.[119] The wind blew great guns all morning. Finding
it would be some days before my business would permit
me to leave, I formed an agreement to go to see the
interior of the Castle, the regalia, and other curiosities of
the place to-morrow. I received a valuable letter of
introduction to the Secretary of the Home Department,
Mr. Peel, from the Lord Advocate of Scotland, given me
at the particular request of the Countess of Morton, a most
charming lady; the Earl of Morton would have written
himself but for the low state of his health.
March 22. After lunch the Rev. Wm. Newbold and I
proceeded to the Castle; the wind blew furiously, and consequently
no smoke interfered with the objects I wished
to see. We passed a place called the "Mound," a thrown-up
mass of earth connecting now the New with the Old
city of Edinburgh. We soon reached the gates of the
Castle, and I perceived plainly that I was looked upon as
an officer from the continent. Strange! three days ago I
was taken for a priest, quick transition caused only by the
clipping of my locks. We crossed the drawbridge and
looked attentively at the deep and immense dried ditches
below, passed through the powerful double gates, all
necessary securities to such a place. We ascended continually
until we reached the parapets where the King
stood during his visit, bowing, I am told, to the gaping
multitude below, his hat off, and proud enough, no doubt,
of his high station. My hat was also off, but under different
impulses; I was afraid that the wind would rob me of
it suddenly. I did not bow to the people, but I looked
with reverence and admiration on the beauties of nature
and of art that surrounded me, with a pleasure seldom felt
before. The ocean was rugged with agitated waves as far
as the eye could reach eastwardly; not a vessel dared
spread its sails, so furious was the gale. The high mountains
of wild Scotland now and then faintly came to our
view as the swift-moving clouds passed, and suffered the
sun to cast a momentary glance at them. The coast of
the Frith of Forth exhibited handsome villas, and noblemen's
seats, bringing at once before me the civilization of
man, and showing how weak and insignificant we all are.
My eyes followed the line of the horizon and stopped at a
couple of small elevations, that I knew to be the home of
the Countess of Morton; then I turned to the immense
city below, where men looked like tiny dwarfs, and horses
smaller than sheep. To the east lay the Old Town, and
now and then came to my ears the music of a band as the
squall for a moment abated. I could have remained here
a whole day, but my companion called, and I followed
him to the room where the regalia are kept. We each
wrote our names, paid our shilling, and the large padlock
was opened by a red-faced, bulky personage dressed in a
fanciful scarlet cloth, hanging about him like mouldering
tapestry. A small oblong room, quite dark, lay before us;
it was soon lighted, however, by our conductor. A high
railing of iron, also of an oblong form, surrounded a table
covered with scarlet cloth, on which lay an immense sword
and its scabbard, two sceptres, a large, square, scarlet
cushion ornamented with golden tassels, and above all
the crown of Scotland. All the due explanations were
cried out by our conductor, on whose face the reflection
of all the red articles was so powerfully displayed just now
that it looked like a large tomato, quite as glittering, but
of a very different flavor, I assure thee. We looked at all
till I was tired; not long did this take, for it had not one
thousandth portion of the beauties I had seen from the
parapet. We left the Castle intending to proceed to the
stone quarries three miles distant, but the wind was now so
fierce, and the dust so troubled my eyes, that the jaunt was
put off till another day. I paid young Kidd three guineas
for his picture. Have just had some bread and butter and
will go to bed.
March 23. Young Kidd breakfasted with me, and no
sooner had he gone than I set to and packed up. I felt very
low-spirited; the same wind keeps blowing, and I am now
anxious to be off to Mr. Selby's Newcastle, and my dear
Green Bank. My head was so full of all manner of
thoughts that I thought it was Saturday, instead of Friday,
and at five o'clock I dressed in a great hurry and went to
Mr. Henry Witham's with all possible activity. My Lucy,
I was not expected till to-morrow! Mr. Witham was not
at home, and his lady tried to induce me to remain and
dine with her and her lovely daughter; but I declined, and
marched home as much ashamed of my blunder as a fox
who has lost his tail in a trap. Once before I made a
sad blunder; I promised to dine at three different houses
the same day, and when it came I discovered my error,
and wrote an apology to all, and went to none.
Twizel House, Belford — Northumberland, April 10,
1827. Probably since ten years I have not been so long
without recording my deeds or my thoughts; and even
now I feel by no means inclined to write, and for no particular
reason. From Friday the 23d of March till the 5th
of April my time was busily employed, copying some of my
drawings, from five in the morning till seven at night. I
dined out rarely, as I found the time used by this encroached
too much on that needed by my ardent desire to improve
myself in oil and in perspective, which I wished to study
with close attention. Every day brought me packets of
letters of introduction, and I called here and there to make
my adieux. I went often in the evening to Mr. Lizars';
I felt the parting with him and his wife and sister would
be hard, and together we attended meetings of the different
societies. The last night I went to the Royal Society.
Sir Wm. Hamilton[120] read a paper against phrenology,
which would seem to quite destroy the theory of Mr.
Combe. I left many things in the care of my landlady,
as well as several pictures, and at six o'clock on the morning
of April 5, left Edinburgh, where I hope to go again.
The weather was delightful. We passed Dunbar and Berwick,
our road near the sea most of the time, and at half-past
four, the coach stopped opposite the lodge of Twizel
House. I left my baggage in the care of the woman at
the lodge, and proceeded through some small woods
towards the house, which I saw after a few minutes, — a
fine house, commanding an extensive view of the country,
the German Ocean, and Bamborough Castle. I ascended
the great staircase with pleasure, for I knew that here
was congeniality of feeling. Hearing the family were
out and would not return for two hours, I asked to be
shown to the library, and told my name. The man said
not a word, went off, and about ten minutes after, whilst
I was reading the preface of William Roscoe to his "Leo
X.," returned and said his master would be with me in a
moment. I understood all this. Mr. Selby came in, in
hunting-dress, and we shook hands as hunters do. He
took me at once out in his grounds, where Mrs. Selby,
his three daughters, and Captain Mitford his brother-in-law
were all engaged transplanting trees, and I felt at
home at once. When we returned to the house Mr. Selby
conducted me to his laboratory, where guns, birds, etc.,
were everywhere. I offered to make a drawing and Captain
Mitford went off to shoot a Chaffinch. We had supper,
after which the eagerness of the young ladies made me
open my box of drawings; later we had music, and the
evening passed delightfully. I thought much of home
I assure thee, and of Green Bank also, and then of my
first sight of thee at Fatland, and went to bed thanking
God for the happy moments he has granted us. The
next morning I felt afraid my early habits would create
some disturbance in the repose of the family, and was
trying to make good my outing at five, and thought I
had already done so, when to my surprise and consternation
the opening of the hall door made such a noise as I
doubted not must have been heard over the whole establishment;
notwithstanding, I issued into the country fresh
air, and heard all around me the Black-birds, Thrushes,
and Larks at their morning songs. I walked, or rather
ran about, like a bird just escaped from a cage; plucked
flowers, sought for nests, watched the fishes, and came
back to draw. All went well; although the shooting season
(as the English please to call it) was long since over, we
took frequent walks with guns, and a few individuals were
the sufferers from my anxiety to see their bills, and eyes,
and feathers; and many a mile did I race over the moors
to get them. More or less company came daily to see
my drawings, and I finished a drawing for Mr. Selby of
three birds, a Lapwing for Mrs. Selby, who drew fully
as well as I did, and who is now imitating my style, and
to whom I have given some lessons. Also I finished a
small picture in oil for the charming elder daughter
Louise; the others are Jane and Fanny. So much at home
did we become that the children came about me as freely
as if I had long known them; I was delighted at this, for
to me to have familiar intercourse with children, the most
interesting of beings, is one of my greatest enjoyments,
and my time here was as happy as at Green Bank; I can
say no more. The estate is well situated, highly ornamented,
stocked with an immensity of game of the country,
and trout abound in the little rivulets that tumble from
rock to rock towards the northern ocean. To-morrow I
leave this with Captain Mitford for his country seat.
Mitford Castle, near Morpeth, Northumberland, April 11,
1827. I rose as early as usual, and not to disturb my
kind friends, I marched down the staircase in my stockings,
as I often do where the family are not quite such
early risers; instead of opening the hall door I sat down
in the study, and outlined a Lapwing, in an extremely
difficult position, for my friend Selby, and did not go
on my walk until the servants made their appearance,
and then I pushed off to the garden and the woods to
collect violets. I felt quite happy, the fragrance of the
air seemed equal to that of the little blue flowers which
I gathered. We breakfasted, and at ten o'clock I bid
farewell to Mrs. Selby; good, amiable lady, how often
she repeated her invitation to me to come and spend
a goodly time with them. Mr. Selby and the children
walked down to the lodge with the captain and me, and
having reached the place too early we walked about the
woods awhile. The parting moment came at last, all too
soon, our baggage was put on the top of the "Dart," an
opposition coach, and away we rolled. My good companion
Captain Mitford kept my spirits in better plight
than they would otherwise have been, by his animated
conversation about game, fishing, America, etc., and after
a ride of about twelve miles we entered the small village
of Alnwick, commanded by the fine castle of the Duke
of Northumberland. Having to change horses and wait
two hours, we took a walk, and visited the interior of that
ancient mass of buildings, the whole being deserted at
present, the Duke absent. I saw the armory, the dungeons,
the place for racking prisoners, but the grotesque
figures of stone standing in all sorts of attitudes, defensive
and offensive, all round the top of the turrets and bastions,
struck me most. They looked as if about to move, or to
take great leaps to the ground, to cut our throats. This
castle covers five acres of ground, is elevated, and therefore
in every direction are good views of the country. From
it I saw the cross put up in memory of King Malcolm
killed by Hammond. At two precisely (for in England
and Scotland coaches start with great punctuality) we
were again en route. We passed over the Aln River, a
very pretty little streamlet, and reached Felton, where
we changed horses. The whole extent of country we
passed this day was destitute of woods, and looked to me
very barren. We saw little game; about five we arrived
within two miles of Morpeth, where the captain and I
alighted; we walked to a pretty little vale and the ruins
of the old castle lay before us, still doomed to moulder
more, and walking on reached the confluence of two
small, pretty streams from which originated the name
of my friend's ancestors, Meetingford. We reached the
house, and having heard of his brother's indisposition,
the captain and I entered quietly, and I was presented to
the owner of the hall. I saw before me a thin, pale, emaciated
being who begged I would go to him, as he could
not rise. I shook his withered hand and received his
kind welcome. During the evening I had ample opportunity
to observe how clever and scientific he was, and
regretted the more his frail body. He was extremely
anxious to see my drawings, and he examined them more
closely than I can ever remember any one to have done
before, and was so well acquainted with good drawing
that I felt afraid to turn them over for his inspection.
After looking at probably a hundred without saying a
single word, he exclaimed suddenly: "They are truly
beautiful; our King ought to purchase them, they are too
good to belong to a single individual." We talked much
on subjects of natural history, and he told me that he
made it a rule that not a gun was ever fired during the
breeding season on any part of his beautiful estate;
he delighted to see the charming creatures enjoy life
and pleasure without any annoyance. Rooks, Jackdaws,
Wood-Pigeons, and Starlings were flying in hundreds
about the ruined castle. We sat up till after twelve, when
hot water and spirits were produced, after which we said
good-night; but I needed nothing to make me sleep, for
in five minutes after I lay down I was — I know not where.
April 12. I am now at last where the famous Bewick
produced his handsome and valuable work on the birds of
England. It is a dirty-looking place, this Newcastle, and
I do not know if it will prove at all pleasant. This morning
early the captain and myself took a good ramble about
Mitford Hall grounds; saw the rookery, the ruins of the
castle, and walked some way along the little river front.
We breakfasted about ten with his brother, who wished to
see my drawings by daylight. Afterwards my baggage
was taken to Morpeth, and the captain and I walked
thither about twelve. Our way was along a pretty little
stream called the Wansbeck, but the weather changed and
the rain assured me that none of the persons we expected
to see in the village would come, on this account, and I was
not mistaken. At half-past four I mounted the coach for
this place, and not an object of interest presented itself in
the journey of thirteen miles.
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, April 13. At ten o'clock I left
the inn, having had a very indifferent breakfast, served on
dirty plates; therefore I would not recommend the "Rose
and Crown," or the hostess, to any friend of mine. Yet
my bed was quite comfortable, and my sleep agreeably
disturbed about one hour before day by some delightful
music on the bugle. I often, even before this, have had a
wish to be a performer on this instrument, so sure I am
that our grand forests and rivers would re-echo its sonorous
sounds with fine effect. I passed through many streets,
but what a shabby appearance this Newcastle-upon-Tyne
has, after a residence of nearly six months in the beautiful
city of Edinburgh. All seems dark and smoky, indeed I
conceive myself once more in Manchester. The cries of
fish, milk, and vegetables, were all different, and I looked
in vain for the rosy cheeks of the Highlanders. I had
letters to the members of the Johnson family, given me by
Captain Mitford, and therefore went to St. James Square,
where I delivered them, and was at once received by a tall,
fine-looking young gentleman, who asked me if I had
breakfasted. On being answered in the affirmative, he
requested me to excuse him till he had finished his, and
I sat opposite the fire thinking about the curious pilgrimage
I had now before me. Will the result repay the
exertions? Alas! it is quite impossible for me to say, but
that I shall carry the plan out in all its parts is certain
unless life departs, and then I must hope that our Victor
will fall into my place and accomplish my desires, with
John's help to draw the birds, which he already does well.
Mr. Edward Johnson soon re-entered, bringing with him
Mr. John Adamson, secretary to the Literary and Philosophical
Society of this place. I presented the letter for him
from Mr. Selby, but I saw at once that he knew me by
name. Soon after he very kindly aided me to find suitable
lodgings, which I did in Collingwood Street. We
then walked to Mr. Bewick's, the engraver, son of the
famous man, and happily met him. He is a curious-looking
man; his head and shoulders are both broad, but his
keen, penetrating eyes proved that Nature had stamped
him for some use in this world. I gave him the letters I
had for him, and appointed a time to call on his father. I
again suffered myself to be imposed upon when I paid my
bill at the inn on removing to my lodgings, and thought of
Gil Blas of Santillane. Five persons called to see my
drawings this afternoon, and I received a note from Mr.
Bewick inviting me to tea at six; so I shall see and talk
with the wonderful man. I call him wonderful because I
am sincerely of the opinion that his work on wood is
superior to anything ever attempted in ornithology. It is
now near eleven at night. Robert Bewick (the son) called
for me about six, and we proceeded to his father's house.
On our way I saw an ancient church with a remarkably
beautiful Lanterne at top, St. Nicholas' Church I was told,
then we passed over the Tyne, on a fine strong bridge of
stone, with several arches, I think six or seven. This is
distant from the sea, and I must say that the Tyne here is
the only stream I have yet seen since my landing resembling
at all a river. It is about as large as Bayou Sara
opposite the Beech Woods, when full. I saw some of the
boats used in carrying coals down the stream; they are
almost of oval shape, and are managed with long, sweeping
oars, and steerers much like our flat-boats on the Ohio.
My companion did not talk much; he is more an acting
man than a talker, and I did not dislike him for that.
After ascending a long road or lane, we arrived at Bewick's
dwelling, and I was taken at once to where he was at work,
and saw the man himself. He came to me and welcomed
me with a hearty shake of the hand, and took off for a
moment his half-clean cotton night-cap tinged with the
smoke of the place. He is tall, stout, has a very large
head, and his eyes are further apart than those of any man
I remember just now. A complete Englishman, full of
life and energy though now seventy-four, very witty and
clever, better acquainted with America than most of his
countrymen, and an honor to England. Having shown
me the work he was at, a small vignette cut on a block of
box-wood not more than three by two inches, representing
a dog frightened during the night by false appearances of
men formed by curious roots and branches of trees, rocks,
etc., he took me upstairs and introduced me to his three
daughters — all tall, and two of them with extremely fine
figures; they were desirous to make my visit an agreeable
one and most certainly succeeded. I met there a Mr.
Goud, and saw from his pencil a perfect portrait of Thomas
Bewick, a miniature, full-length, in oil, highly finished, well
drawn and composed. The old gentleman and I stuck to
each other; he talked of my drawings, and I of his woodcuts,
till we liked each other very much. Now and then
he would take off his cotton cap, but the moment he became
animated with the conversation the cap was on, yet
almost off, for he had stuck it on as if by magic. His eyes
sparkled, his face was very expressive, and I enjoyed him
much more, I am sure, than he supposed. He had heard
of my drawings and promised to call early to-morrow
morning with his daughters and some friends. I did not
forget dear John's wish to possess a copy of his work on
quadrupeds, and having asked where I could procure one,
he answered "Here." After coffee and tea had been
served, young Bewick, to please me, brought a bagpipe
of a new construction, called a "Durham," and played
simple, nice Scotch and English airs with peculiar taste;
the instrument sounded like a hautboy. Soon after ten
the company broke up, and we walked into Newcastle.
The streets were desolate, and their crookedness and
narrowness made me feel the more the beauty of fair
Edinburgh.
April 14. The weather is now becoming tolerable and
spring is approaching. The Swallows glide past my windows,
and the Larks are heard across the Tyne. Thomas
Bewick, his whole family, and about a hundred others have
kept me busy exhibiting drawings. Mr. Bewick expressed
himself as perfectly astounded at the boldness of my undertaking.
I am to dine with him to-morrow, Mr. Adamson
to-day, and Mr. Johnson on Wednesday if I do not go on
to York that day.
April 15. Mr. Adamson called for me at church time,
and we proceeded a short distance and entered St.
Nicholas' church. He ordered an officer to take me
to what he called the mansion house and I was led along
the aisles to a place enclosed by an iron railing and
showed a seat. In looking about me I saw a large
organ over the door I had entered, and in front of this
were seated many children, the lasses in white, the lads
in blue. An immense painting of the Lord's Supper
filled the end opposite the entrance, and the large Gothic
windows were brilliant with highly colored glass. A few
minutes passed, when a long train of office bearers and the
magistrates of the town, headed by the mayor, came in procession
and entered the mansion house also; a gentleman
at my elbow rose and bowed to these and I followed his
example; I discovered then that I was seated in the most
honorable place. The service and sermon were long and
tedious; often to myself I said, "Why is not Sydney Smith
here?" Being in church I sat patiently, but I must say I
thought the priest uncommonly stupid. Home to luncheon
and afterwards went to Heath, the painter,[121] who with
his wife received me with extreme kindness. He showed
me many sketches, a number of which were humorous.
He likes Newcastle better than Edinburgh, and I would
not give an hour at Edinburgh, especially were I with
friend Lizars, his wife, and sister, for a year here. So
much for difference of taste. — I have just returned from
old Bewick's. We had a great deal of conversation, all
tending towards Natural History; other guests came in as
the evening fell, and politics and religion were touched
upon. Whilst this was going on old Bewick sat silent
chewing his tobacco; the son, too, remained quiet, but
the eldest daughter, who sat next to me, was very interesting,
and to my surprise resembles my kind friend Hannah
Rathbone so much, that I frequently felt as if Miss Hannah,
with her black eyes and slender figure, were beside me. I
was invited to breakfast to-morrow at eight with Mr.
Bewick to see the old gentleman at work.
April 16. I breakfasted with old Bewick this morning
quite sans cérémonie, and then the old man set to work to
show me how simple it was to cut wood! But cutting wood
as he did is no joke; he did it with as much ease as I can
feather a bird; he made all his tools, which are delicate
and very beautiful, and his artist shop was clean and attractive.
Later I went with Mr. Plummer, the officiating
American consul at this place, to the court-rooms, and
Merchant Coffee House, also to a new fish market, small
and of a half-moon form, contiguous to the river, that I
have forgotten to say is as dirty and muddy as an alligator
hole. The coal boats were moving down by hundreds,
with only one oar and a steerer, to each of which I saw
three men. We then went to the Literary and Philosophical
Society rooms; the library is a fine, large room with
many books — the museum small, but in neat order, and
well supplied with British specimens. Since then I have
been showing my drawings to at least two hundred persons
who called at my lodgings. I was especially struck with
a young lady who came with her brother. I saw from my
window a groom walking three fine horses to and fro, and
almost immediately the lady and gentleman entered, whip
in hand, and spurred like fighting-cocks; the lady, with a
beaver and black silk neckerchief, came in first and alone,
holding up with both hands her voluminous blue riding-habit,
and with a ton very unbecoming her fine eyes and
sweet face. She bowed carelessly, and said: "Compliments,
sir;" and perceiving how much value she put on
herself, I gave her the best seat in the room. For some
time she sat without a word; when her brother began to
put questions, however, she did also, and so fast and so
searchingly that I thought them Envoies Extraordinaires
from either Temminck or Cuvier. Mr. Adamson, who sat
by all the time, praised me, when they had gone, for my
patience, and took me home to dine with him en famille.
A person (a glazier, I suppose), after seeing about a
hundred pictures, asked me if I did not want glass and
frames for them. How I wish I was in America's dark
woods, admiring God's works in all their beautiful ways.
April 17. Whilst I was lying awake this morning waiting
for it to get light, I presently recollected I was in
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and recalled the name of Smollett,
no mean man, by the bye, and remembered his eulogium
of the extraordinary fine view he obtained when travelling
on foot from London to this place, looking up the Tyne
from Isbet Hill, and I said, "If Smollett admired the
prospect, I can too," and leaped from my bed as a hare
from his form on newly ploughed ground at the sound
of the sportsman's bugle, or the sight of the swift greyhound.
I ran downstairs, out-of-doors, and over the
Tyne, as if indeed a pack of jackals had been after me.
Two miles is nothing to me, and I ascended the hill
where poor Isbet, deluded by a wretched woman, for her
sake robbed the mail, and afterwards suffered death on
a gibbet; and saw — the sea! Far and wide it extended;
the Tyne led to it, with its many boats with their coaly
burdens. Up the river the view was indeed enchanting;
the undulating meadows sloped gently to the water's edge
on either side, and the Larks that sprang up before me,
welcoming the sun's rise, animated my thoughts so much
that I felt tears trickling down my cheeks as I gave praise
to the God who gave life to all these in a day. There was
a dew on the ground, the bees were gathering honey from
the tiniest flowerets, and here and there the Blackbird so
shy sought for a fibrous root to entwine his solid nest of
clay. Lapwings, like butterflies of a larger size, passed
wheeling and tumbling over me through the air, and had
not the dense smoke from a thousand engines disturbed
the peaceful harmony of Nature, I might have been there
still, longing for my Lucy to partake of the pleasure with
me. But the smoke recalled me to my work, and I turned
towards Newcastle. So are all transient pleasures followed
by sorrows, except those emanating from the
adoration of the Supreme Being. It was still far from
breakfast time; I recrossed the Tyne and ascended the
east bank for a couple of miles before returning to my
lodgings. The morning afterward was spent as usual.
I mean, holding up drawings to the company that came
in good numbers. Morning here is the time from ten to
five, and I am told that in London it sometimes lengthens
to eight of the evening as we term it. Among these visitors
was a Mr. Donkin, who remained alone with me when
the others had left, and we had some conversation; he is
an advocate, or, as I would call it, a chancellor. He
asked me to take a bachelor's dinner with him at five; I
accepted, and he then proposed we should drive out and
see a house he was building two miles in the country. I
again found myself among the rolling hills, and we soon
reached his place. I found a beautiful, low house of
stone, erected in the simplest style imaginable, but so
well arranged and so convenient that I felt satisfied he
was a man of taste as well as wealth. Garden, grounds,
all was in perfect harmony, and the distant views up and
down the river, the fine woods and castle, all came in
place, — not to satiate the eye, but to induce it to search
for further beauties. On returning to town Mr. Donkin
showed me the old mansion where poor Charles the First
was delivered up to be beheaded. He could have escaped
through a conduit to the river, where a boat was waiting,
but the conduit was all darkness and his heart failed him.
Now I should say that he had no heart, and was very unfit
for a king. At Mr. Donkin's house I was presented to
his partners, and we had a good dinner; the conversation
ran much on politics, and they supported the King and Mr.
Canning. I left early, as I had promised to take a cup of
tea with old Bewick. The old gentleman was seated as
usual with his night-cap on, and his tobacco pouch in one
hand ready to open; his countenance beamed with pleasure
as I shook hands with him. "I could not bear the
idea of your going off without telling you in written
words what I think of your 'Birds of America;' here it is
in black and white, and make whatever use you may of
it, if it be of use at all," he said, and put an unsealed
letter in my hand. We chatted away on natural-history
subjects, and he would now and then exclaim: "Oh that
I was young[122] again! I would go to America. What a
country it will be." "It is now, Mr. Bewick," I would
retort, and then we went on. The young ladies enjoyed
the sight and remarked that for years their father had
not had such a flow of spirits.
April 19. This morning I paid a visit of farewell to Mr.
Bewick and his family; as we parted he held my hand
closely and repeated three times, "God preserve you."
I looked at him in such a manner that I am sure he understood
I could not speak. I walked slowly down the hilly
lane, and thought of the intrinsic value of this man to the
world, and compared him with Sir Walter Scott. The
latter will be forever the most eminent in station, being
undoubtedly the most learned and most brilliant of the
two; but Thomas Bewick is a son of Nature. Nature
alone has reared him under her peaceful care, and he in
gratitude of heart has copied one department of her works
that must stand unrivalled forever; I say "forever" because
imitators have only a share of real merit, compared with inventors,
and Thomas Bewick is an inventor, and the first
wood-cutter in the world! These words, "first wood-cutter"
would, I dare say, raise the ire of many of our hearty squatters,
who, no doubt, on hearing me express myself so
strongly, would take the axe, and fell down an enormous tree
whilst talking about it; but the moment I would explain to
them that each of their chips would produce under his chisel
a mass of beauties, the good fellows would respect him quite
as much as I do. My room was filled all day with people
to see my works and me whom some one had said resembled
in physiognomy Napoleon of France. Strange simile
this, but I care not whom I resemble, if it be only in looks,
if my heart preserves the love of the truth.
Saturday, April 21. I am tired out holding up drawings,
I may say, all day; but have been rewarded by an
addition of five subscribers to my work. Am off to-morrow
to York. God bless thee, my Lucy.
York, Sunday, April 22, 1827. Left Newcastle at eight;
the weather cold and disagreeable, still I preferred a seat
on top to view the country. Passed through Durham, a
pretty little town with a handsome castle and cathedral,
planted on an elevated peninsula formed by a turn of the
river Wear, and may be seen for many miles. It is a rolling
country, and the river wound about among the hills;
we crossed it three times on stone bridges. Darlington,
where we changed horses, is a neat, small place, supported
by a set of very industrious Quakers; much table linen
is manufactured here. As we approached York the woods
became richer and handsomer, and trees were dispersed
all over the country; it looked once more like England,
and the hedges reminded me of those about "Green Bank."
They were larger and less trimmed than in Scotland. I
saw York Minster six or seven miles before reaching the
town, that is entered by old gates. The streets are disgustingly
crooked and narrow, and crossed like the burrows of
a rabbit-warren. I was put down at the Black Swan.
Though the coach was full, not a word had been spoken
except an occasional oath at the weather, which was indeed
very cold; and I, with all the other passengers, went at
once to the fires. Anxious to find lodgings not at the
Black Swan, I went to Rev. Wm. Turner, son of a gentleman
I had met at Newcastle, for information. His
father had prepared him for my visit at my request, and I
was soon installed at Mrs. Pulleyn's in Blake Street. My
present landlady's weight, in ratio with that of her husband,
is as one pound avoirdupois to one ounce apothecary!
She looks like a round of beef, he like a farthing candle.
Oh that I were in Louisiana, strolling about the woods, looking
in the gigantic poplars for new birds and new flowers!
April 23, Monday. The weather looked more like approaching
winter than spring; indeed snow fell at short
intervals, and it rained, and was extremely cold and misty.
Notwithstanding the disagreeable temperature, I have
walked a good deal. I delivered my letters as early as
propriety would allow, but found no one in; at least I was
told so, for beyond that I cannot say with any degree of
accuracy I fear. The Rev. Mr. Turner called with the
curator of the Museum, to whom I showed some drawings.
After my dinner, eaten solus, I went out again; the Minster
is undoubtedly the finest piece of ancient architecture I
have seen since I was in France, if my recollection serves
me. I walked round and round it for a long time, examining
its height, form, composition, and details, until my neck
ached. The details are wonderful indeed, — all cut of the
same stone that forms the mass outwardly. Leaving it
and going without caring about my course, I found myself
in front of an ancient castle,[123] standing on a mound,
covered with dark ivy, fissured by time and menacing its
neighborhood with an appearance of all tumbling down at
no remote period. I turned east and came to a pretty
little stream called the Ouse, over which I threw several
pebbles by way of exercise. On the west bank I found a
fine walk, planted with the only trees of size I have seen in
this country; it extended about half a mile. Looking up
the stream a bridge of fine stone is seen, and on the
opposite shores many steam mills were in operation. I
followed down this mighty stream till the road gave out,
and, the grass being very wet and the rain falling heavily,
I returned to my rooms. York is much cleaner than
Newcastle, and I remarked more Quakers; but alas! how
far both these towns are below fair Edinburgh. The
houses here are low, covered with tiles, and sombre-looking.
No birds have I seen except Jackdaws and Rooks.
To my surprise my host waited upon me at supper; when
he enters my room I think of Scroggins' ghost. I have
spent my evening reading "Blackwood's Magazine."
April 24. How doleful has this day been to me! It
pleased to rain, and to snow, and to blow cold all day.
I called on Mr. Phillips, the curator of the Museum, and
he assured me that the society was too poor to purchase
my work. I spent the evening by invitation at the Rev.
Wm. Turner's in company with four other gentlemen.
Politics and emancipation were the chief topics of conversation.
How much more good would the English do by
revising their own intricate laws, and improving the condition
of their poor, than by troubling themselves and their
distant friends with what does not concern them. I feel
nearly determined to push off to-morrow, and yet it would
not do; I may be wrong, and to-morrow may be fairer to
me in every way; but this "hope deferred" is a very
fatiguing science to study. I could never make up my
mind to live and die in England whilst the sweet-scented
jessamine and the magnolias flourish so purely in my
native land, and the air vibrates with the songs of the
sweet birds.
April 25. I went out of the house pretty soon this morning;
it was cold and blowing a strong breeze. I pushed
towards the river with an idea of following it downwards
two hours by my watch, but as I walked along I saw a
large flock of Starlings, at a time when I thought all birds
were paired, and watched their motions for some time, and
thereby drew the following conclusion, namely: that the
bird commonly called the Meadow Lark with us is more
nearly related to the Starling of this country than to any
other bird. I was particularly surprised that a low note, resembling
the noise made by a wheel not well greased, was
precisely the same in both, that the style of their walk and
gait was also precisely alike, and that in short flights the
movement of the wings had the same tremulous action
before they alighted. Later I had visitors to see my pictures,
possibly fifty or more. It has rained and snowed
to-day, and I feel as dull as a Martin surprised by the
weather. It will be strange if York gives me no subscribers,
when I had eight at Newcastle. Mr. P — — called
and told me it would be well for me to call personally on
the nobility and gentry in the neighborhood and take
some drawings with me. I thanked him, but told him
that my standing in society did not admit of such conduct,
and that although there were lords in England, we of
American blood think ourselves their equals. He laughed,
and said I was not as much of a Frenchman as I looked.
April 26. I have just returned from a long walk out of
town, on the road toward Newcastle. The evening was
calm, and the sunset clear. At such an hour how often have
I walked with my Lucy along the banks of the Schuylkill,
Perkiomen Creek, the Ohio River, or through the fragrant
woods of Louisiana; how often have we stopped
short to admire the works of the Creator; how often have
we been delighted at hearing the musical notes of the timid
Wood Thrush, that appeared to give her farewell melody
to the disappearing day! We have looked at the glittering
fire-fly, heard the Whip-poor-will, and seen the vigilant
Owl preparing to search field and forest! Here the scene
was not quite so pleasing, though its charms brought youth
and happiness to my recollection. One or two Warblers
perched on the eglantine, almost blooming, and gave
their little powers full vent. The shrill notes of Thrushes
(not ours) came from afar, and many Rooks with loaded
bills were making fast their way towards the nests that
contained their nearly half-grown offspring. The cattle
were treading heavily towards their pens, and the sheep
gathered to the lee of each protecting hedge. To-day
have I had a great number of visitors, and three subscribers.
April 27. A long walk early, and then many visitors,
Mr. Vernon[124] among them, who subscribed for my work.
All sorts of people come. If Matthews the comic were now
and then to present himself at my levees, how he would act
the scenes over. I am quite worn out; I think sometimes
my poor arms will give up their functions before I secure
five hundred subscribers.
Saturday, 28th. During my early walk along the Ouse
I saw a large butterfly, quite new to me, and attempted to
procure it with a stroke of my cane; but as I whirled it
round, off went the scabbard into the river, more than half
across, and I stood with a naked small sword as if waiting
for a duel. I would have swam out for it, but that there
were other pedestrians; so a man in a boat brought it to
me for sixpence. I have had a great deal of company, and
five subscribers. Mr. Wright took me all over the Minster,
and also on the roof. We had a good spy-glass, and
I had an astonishing view of the spacious vales that surround
the tile-covered city of York. I could easily follow
the old walls of defence. It made me giddy to look directly
down, as a great height is always unpleasant to me.
Now I have packed up, paid an enormous bill to my landlady.
Leeds, Sunday, April 28. The town of Leeds is much
superior to anything I have seen since Edinburgh, and I
have been walking till I feel quite exhausted. I breakfasted
in York at five this morning; the coach did not
start till six, so I took my refreshing walk along the Ouse.
The weather was extremely pleasant; I rode outside, but
the scenery was little varied, almost uniformly level, well
cultivated, but poor as to soil. I saw some "game" as
every bird is called here. I was amused to see the great
interest which was excited by a covey of Partridges. What
would be said to a gang of Wild Turkeys, — several hundred
trotting along a sand-bar of the Upper Mississippi? I
reached Leeds at half-past nine, distant from York, I believe,
twenty-six miles. I found lodgings at once at 39
Albion Street, and then started with my letters.
April 30. Were I to conclude from first appearances as
to the amount of success I may expect here, compared with
York, by the difference of attention paid me at both places
so soon after my arrival, I should certainly expect much
more here; for no sooner was breakfast over than Mr.
Atkinson called, to be followed by Mr. George and many
others, among them a good ornithologist,[125] — not a closet
naturalist, but a real true-blue, who goes out at night and
watches Owls and Night-jars and Water-fowl to some purpose,
and who knows more about these things than any
other man I have met in Europe. This evening I took a
long walk by a small stream, and as soon as out of sight
undressed and took a dive smack across the creek; the water
was so extremely cold that I performed the same feat back
again and dressed in a hurry; my flesh was already quite
purple. Following the stream I found some gentlemen
catching minnows with as much anxiety as if large trout,
playing the little things with beautiful lines and wheels.
Parallel to this stream is a canal; the adjacent country
is rolling, with a number of fine country-seats. I wish I
had some one to go to in the evenings like friend Lizars.
May 1, 1827. This is the day on which last year I left
my Lucy and my boys with intention to sail for Europe.
How uncertain my hopes at that time were as to the final
results of my voyage, — about to leave a country where
most of my life had been spent devoted to the study of
Nature, to enter one wholly unknown to me, without a
friend, nay, not an acquaintance in it. Until I reached
Edinburgh I despaired of success; the publication of a
work of enormous expense, and the length of time it must
necessarily take; to accomplish the whole has been sufficient
to keep my spirits low, I assure thee. Now I feel like
beginning a New Year. My work is about to be known, I
have made a number of valuable and kind friends, I have
been received by men of science on friendly terms, and
now I have a hope of success if I continue to be honest,
industrious, and consistent. My pecuniary means are
slender, but I hope to keep afloat, for my tastes are simple;
if only I can succeed in rendering thee and our sons happy,
not a moment of sorrow or discomfort shall I regret.
May 2. Mr. George called very early, and said that
his colleague, the Secretary of the Literary and Philosophical
Society, would call and subscribe, and he has done so.
I think I must tell thee how every one stares when they
read on the first engraving that I present for their inspection
this name: "The Bonaparte Fly-catcher" — the very
bird I was anxious to name the "Rathbone Fly-catcher"
in honor of my excellent friend "Lady" Rathbone, but
who refused to accept this little mark of my gratitude. I
afterwards meant to call it after thee, but did not, because
the world is so strangely composed just now that I feared
it would be thought childish; so I concluded to call it
after my friend Charles Bonaparte. Every one is struck
by the name, so explanations take place, and the good
people of England will know him as a great naturalist, and
my friend. I intend to name, one after another, every one
of my new birds, either for some naturalist deserving this
honor, or through a wish to return my thanks for kindness
rendered me. Many persons have called, quite a large
party at one time, led by Lady B — — . I am sorry to say
I find it generally more difficult to please this class of persons
than others, and I feel in consequence more reserved
in their presence, I can scarcely say why. I walked out
this evening to see Kirkstall Abbey, or better say the
ruins of that ancient edifice. It is about three miles out
of Leeds and is worthy the attention of every traveller. It
is situated on the banks of the little river Ayre, the same
I bathed in, and is extremely romantic in its appearance,
covered with ivy, and having sizable trees about and
amongst its walls. The entrance is defended by a board
on which is painted: "Whoever enters these ruins, or
damages them in the least, will be prosecuted with all the
rigor of the law." I did not transgress, and soon became
very cautious of my steps, for immediately after, a second
board assured every one that spring-guns and steel-traps are
about the gardens. However, no entreaty having been expressed
to prevent me from sketching the whole, I did so
on the back of one of my cards for thee. From that spot
I heard a Cuckoo cry, for I do not, like the English, call it
singing. I attempted to approach the bird, but in vain; I
believe I might be more successful in holding a large
Alligator by the tail. Many people speak in raptures of the
sweet voice of the Cuckoo, and the same people tell me in
cold blood that we have no birds that can sing in America.
I wish they had a chance to judge of the powers of the
Mock-bird, the Red Thrush, the Cat-bird, the Oriole, the
Indigo Bunting, and even the Whip-poor-will. What
would they say of a half-million of Robins about to take
their departure for the North, making our woods fairly
tremble with melodious harmony? But these pleasures are
not to be enjoyed in manufacturing towns like Leeds and
Manchester; neither can any one praise a bird who sings
by tuition, like a pupil of Mozart, as a few Linnets and
Starlings do, and that no doubt are here taken as the
foundation stone of the singing powers allotted to European
birds generally. Well, is not this a long digression for thee?
I dare say thou art fatigued enough at it, and so am I.
May 3. Until two o'clock this day I had only one
visitor, Mr. John Marshall, a member of Parliament to whom
I had a letter; he told me he knew nothing at all about
birds, but most generously subscribed, because, he told me,
it was such a work as every one ought to possess, and to
encourage enterprise. This evening I dined with the
Messrs. Davy, my old friends of Mill Grove; the father, who
for many months has not left his bed-chamber, desired to
see me. We had not met since 1810, but he looked as fresh
as when I last saw him, and is undoubtedly the handsomest
and noblest-looking man I have ever seen in my life, excepting
the Marquis de Dupont de Nemours. I have at
Leeds only five subscribers, — poor indeed compared with
the little town of York.
May 5. I breakfasted with young Mr. Davy, who after
conducted me to Mr. Marshall's mills. We crossed the
Ayre in a ferry boat for a half-penny each, and on the
west bank stood the great works. The first thing to see
was the great engine, 150 horse-power, a stupendous structure,
and so beautiful in all its parts that no one could, I
conceive, stand and look at it without praising the ingenuity
of man. Twenty-five hundred persons of all ages and
both sexes are here, yet nothing is heard but the burr of
machinery. All is wonderfully arranged; a good head
indeed must be at the commander's post in such a vast
establishment.
Manchester, May 6 1827. My journey was uneventful
and through the rain. I reached Mr. Bentley's soon after
noon, and we were both glad to meet.
May 7. The rooms of the Natural History Society
were offered to me, to show my work, but hearing accidentally
that the Royal Institution of Manchester was holding
an exhibition at the Messrs. Jackson's and thinking
that place better suited to me, I saw these gentlemen and
was soon installed there. I have had five subscribers.
I searched for lodgings everywhere, but in vain, and was
debating what to do, when Dr. Harlan's friend, Mr. E. W.
Sergeant, met me, and insisted on my spending my time
under his roof. He would take no refusal, so I accepted.
How much kindness do I meet with everywhere. I have
had much running about and calling on different people,
and at ten o'clock this evening was still at Mr. Bentley's,
not knowing where Mr. Sergeant resided. Mr. Surr was
so kind as to come with me in search of the gentleman;
we found him at home and he gave me his groom to go
for my portmanteau. Of course I returned to Mr. Bentley's
again, and he returned with me to see me safely
lodged. Mr. Sergeant insisted on his coming in; we had
coffee, and sat some time conversing; it is now past two
of the morning.
May 8. I saw Mr. Gregg and the fair Helen of Quarry
Bank this morning; they met me with great friendship. I
have saved myself much trouble here by exhibiting no
drawings, only the numbers of my work now ready. Mr.
Sergeant has purchased my drawing of the Doves for
twenty pounds.
May 13, Sunday. My time has been so completely
occupied during each day procuring subscribers, and all
my evenings at the house of one or another of my friends
and acquaintances that my hours have been late, and
I have bidden thee good-night without writing it down.[126]
Manchester has most certainly retrieved its character, for
I have had eighteen subscribers in one week, which is more
than anywhere else.
Liverpool, Monday, May 14. I breakfasted with my
good friend Bentley, and left in his care my box containing
250 drawings, to be forwarded by the "caravan," — the
name given to covered coaches. I cannot tell how extremely
kind Mr. Sergeant has been to me during all my
stay. He exerted himself to procure subscribers as if the
work had been his own, and made my time at his house
as pleasant as I could desire. I was seated on top of the
coach at ten o'clock, and at three was put down safely
at Dale St. I went immediately to the Institution, where I
found Mr. Munro. I did not like to go to Green Bank
abruptly, therefore shall spend the night where I am, but
sent word to the Rathbones I was here. I have called on
Dr. Chorley and family, and Dr. Traill; found all well and
as kind as ever. At six Mr. Wm. Rathbone came, and
gave me good tidings of the whole family; I wait impatiently
for the morrow, to see friends all so dear.
May 19, Saturday night. I leave this to-morrow morning
for London, a little anxious to go there, as I have
oftentimes desired to be in sight of St. Paul's Church.
I have not been able to write because I felt great pleasure
in letting my good friends the Rathbones know what I
had done since I was here last; so the book has been in
the fair hands of my friend Hannah. "Lady" Rathbone
and Miss Hannah are not at Green Bank, but at Woodcroft,
and there we met. While I waited in the library how
different were my thoughts from those I felt on my first
entry into Liverpool. As I thought, I watched the well-shaped
Wagtails peaceably searching for food within a few
paces of me. The door opened, and I met my good,
kind friends, the same as ever, full of friendship, benevolence,
and candor. I spent most of the morning with them,
and left my book, as I said, with them. Thy book, I
should have written, for it is solely for thee. I was driven
into Liverpool by Mr. Rd. Rathbone, with his mother and
Miss Hannah, and met Mr. Chorley by appointment, that
we might make the respectful visits I owed. First to
Edward Roscoe's, but saw only his charming wife; then to
William Roscoe's. The venerable man had just returned
from a walk, and in an instant our hands were locked.
He asked me many questions about my publication,
praised the engraving and the coloring. He has much
changed. Time's violent influence has rendered his cheeks
less rosy, his eye-brows more bushy, forced his fine eyes
more deeply in their sockets, made his frame more bent,
his walk weaker; but his voice had all its purity, his language
all its brilliancy. I then went to the Botanic
Gardens, where all was rich and beautiful; the season
allows it. Then to Alexander Gordon's and Mr. Hodgson.
Both out, and no card in my pocket. Just like me. I
found the intelligent Swiss[127] in his office, and his "Ah,
Audubon! Comment va?" was all-sufficient. I left him to
go to Mr. Rathbone's, where I have spent every night except
the last. As usual I escaped every morning at four for
my walk and to write letters. I have not done much work
since here, but I have enjoyed that which I have long
desired, the society of my dear friends the Rathbones.
Whilst writing this, I have often wished I could take in the
whole at one glance, as I do a picture; this need has frequently
made me think that writing a good book must be
much more difficult than to paint a good picture. To my
great joy, Mr. Bentley is going with me to London. With
a heavy heart I said adieu to these dear Rathbones, and
will proceed to London lower in spirits than I was in
Edinburgh the first three days.
Shrewsbury, May 20. After all sorts of difficulties with
the coach, which left one hour and a half late, we reached
Chester at eleven, and were detained an hour. I therefore
took a walk under the piazzas that go all through the
town. Where a street has to be crossed we went down
some steps, crossed the street and re-ascended a few steps
again. Overhead are placed the second stories of every
house; the whole was very new and singular to me. These
avenues are clean, but rather low; my hat touched the top
once or twice, and I want an inch and a half of six feet,
English measure. At last we proceeded; passed the village
of Wrexham, and shortly after through another village,
much smaller, but the sweetest, neatest, and pleasantest
spot I have seen in all my travels in this country. It was
composed of small, detached cottages of simple appearance,
divided by gardens sufficiently large for each house,
supplied with many kinds of vegetables and fruit trees,
luxuriant with bloom, while round the doors and windows,
and clambering over the roofs, were creeping plants and
vines covered with flowers of different hues. At one spot
were small beds of variegated tulips, the sweet-scented
lilies at another, the hedges looked snowy white, and
everywhere, in gentle curves, abundance of honeysuckle.
This village was on a gentle declivity from which, far over
the Mersey, rising grounds were seen, and the ascending
smoke of Liverpool also. I could not learn the name of this
little terrestrial paradise, and must wait for a map to tell
me. We dined in a hurry at Eastham, and after passing
through a narrow slip in Wales, and seeing what I would
thus far call the most improved and handsomest part of
England, we are now at Shrewsbury for five hours. Mr.
Bentley and I had some bread and butter and pushed out
to see the town, and soon found ourselves on the bank of
the Severn, a pretty little stream about sixty yards wide.
Many men and boys were doing what they called fishing,
but I only saw two sprats in one of the boys' hats during
the whole walk. Some one told us that up the river we
should find a place called the "Quarry" with beautiful
trees, and there we proceeded. About a dozen men, too
awkward to be sailors, were rowing a long, narrow, pleasure
boat, while one in the bow gave us fine music with
the bugle. We soon reached the Quarry, and found ourselves
under tall, luxuriant, handsome trees forming broad
avenues, following the course of the river, extremely agreeable.
Indeed, being a woodsman, I think this the finest
sight I have seen in England. How the Severn winds
round the town, in the form of a horse-shoe! About the
centre of this horse-shoe, another avenue, still more beautiful,
is planted, going gently up the hill towards the town.
I enjoyed this walk more than I can tell thee, and when I
thought of the disappointment I had felt at five hours delay
at Shrewsbury, and the pleasure I now felt, I repeated
for the more than one thousand and first time, "Certainly
all is for the best in this world, except our own sins."
London, May 21, 1827. I should begin this page perhaps
with a great exclamation mark, and express much
pleasure, but I have not the wish to do either; to me
London is just like the mouth of an immense monster,
guarded by millions of sharp-edged teeth, from which if
I escape unhurt it must be called a miracle. I have many
times longed to see London, and now I am here I feel a
desire beyond words to be in my beloved woods. The
latter part of the journey I spent closely wrapped in both
coat and cloak, for we left Shrewsbury at ten, and the
night was chilly; my companions were Mr. Bentley and
two Italians, one of whom continually sang, and very well,
while the other wished for daylight. In this way we continued
till two of the morning, and it was then cold. From
twelve until four I was so sleepy I could scarcely hold up
my head, and I suffered much for the want of my regular
allowance of sleep which I take between these hours;
it is not much, yet I greatly missed it. We breakfasted
at Birmingham at five, where the worst stuff bearing the
name of coffee that I ever tasted was brought to us. I
say tasted, for I could do no more. The country constantly
improved in beauty; on we drove through Stratford-on-Avon,
Woodstock, and Oxford. A cleaner and
more interesting city I never saw; three thousand students
are here at present. It was ten o'clock when we entered
the turnpike gate that is designated as the line of demarcation
of London, but for many miles I thought the road
forming a town of itself. We followed Oxford Street its
whole length, and then turning about a few times came to
the Bull and Mouth tavern where we stay the night.
May 23. Although two full days have been spent in
London, not a word have I written; my heart would not
bear me up sufficiently. Monday was positively a day of
gloom to me. After breakfast Mr. Bentley took a walk
with me through the City, he leading, and I following as
if an ox to the slaughter. Finally we looked for and
found lodgings, at 55 Great Russell Street, to which we at
once removed, and again I issued forth, noting nothing but
the great dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. I delivered several
letters and was well received by all at home. With
Mr. Children[128] I went in the evening to the Linnæan Society
and exhibited my first number. All those present pronounced
my work unrivalled, and warmly wished me
success.
Sunday, May 28. Ever since my last date I have been
delivering letters, and attending the meetings of different
societies. One evening was spent at the Royal Society,
where, as in all Royal Societies, I heard a dull, heavy
lecture. Yesterday my first call was on Sir Thos. Lawrence;
it was half-past eight, as I was assured later would
not do. I gave my name, and in a moment the servant
returned and led me to him. I was a little surprised to
see him dressed as for the whole day. He rose and shook
hands with me the moment I pronounced my good friend
Sully's name. While he read deliberately the two letters
I had brought, I examined his face; it did not exhibit the
look of genius that one is always expecting to meet with
in a man of his superior talents; he looked pale and pensive.
He wished much to see my drawings, and appointed
Thursday at eight of the morning, when, knowing the
value of his time, I retired. Several persons came to see
me or my drawings, among others Mr. Gallatin, the American
minister. I went to Covent Garden Theatre with Mr.
Bentley in the evening, as he had an admittance ticket.
The theatre opens at six, and orders are not good after
seven. I saw Madame Vestris; she sings middling well,
but not so well in my opinion as Miss Neville in Edinburgh.
The four brothers Hermann I admired very
much; their voices sounded like four flutes.
May 29. I have been about indeed like a post-boy,
taking letters everywhere. In the evening I went to
the Athenæum at the corner of Waterloo Place, expecting
to meet Sir Thomas Lawrence and other gentlemen; but
I was assured that about eleven or half-past was the fashionable
time for these gentlemen to assemble; so I returned
to my rooms, being worn out; for I must have
walked forty miles on these hard pavements, from Idol
Lane to Grosvenor Square, and across in many different
directions, all equally far apart.
Tuesday, May 30. At twelve o'clock I proceeded with
some of my drawings to see Mr. Gallatin, our Envoy extraordinaire.
He has the ease and charm of manner of a
perfect gentleman, and addressed me in French. Seated
by his side we soon travelled (in conversation) to America;
he detests the English, and spoke in no measured
terms of London as the most disagreeable place in Europe.
While we were talking Mrs. and Miss Gallatin came in, and
the topic was changed, and my drawings were exhibited.
The ladies knew every plant, and Mr. Gallatin nearly every
bird. I found at home that new suit of clothes that my
friend Basil Hall insisted upon my procuring. I looked
this remarkable black dress well over, put it on, and thus
attired like a mournful Raven, went to dine at Mr. Children's.
On my return I found a note from Lord Stanley,
asking me to put his name down as a subscriber; this
pleased me exceedingly, as I consider Lord Stanley a man
eminently versed in true and real ornithological pursuits.
Of course my spirits are better; how little does alter a
man. A trifle raises him, a little later another casts him
down. Mr. Bentley has come in and tells me three poor
fellows were hanged at Newgate this morning for stealing
sheep. My God! how awful are the laws of this land, to
take a human life for the theft of a miserable sheep.
June 1. As I was walking, not caring whither, I suddenly
met a face well known to me; I stopped and warmly
greeted young Kidd of Edinburgh. His surprise was as
great as mine, for he did not know where I had been since
I left Edinburgh. Together we visited the exhibition at
the British gallery. Ah! what good work is here, but
most of the painters of these beautiful pictures are no
longer on this earth, and who is there to keep up their
standing? I was invited to dine with Sir Robert Inglis,[129]
and took a seat in the Clapham coach to reach his place.
The Epsom races are in full activity about sixteen miles
distant, and innumerable coaches, men on horseback,
barouches, foot passengers, filled the road, all classes from
the beau monde to the beggar intent on seeing men run
the chance of breaking their necks on horses going
like the wind, as well as losing or gaining pence, shillings,
or guineas by the thousand. Clapham is distant from
London five miles, and Sir Robert invited me to see the
grounds while he dressed, as he came in almost as I did.
How different from noisy London! I opened a door and
found myself on a circular lawn so beautifully ornamented
that I was tempted to exclaim, "How beautiful are Thy
works, O God!" I walked through avenues of foreign
trees and shrubs, amongst which were tulip-trees, larches,
and cypresses from America. Many birds were here,
some searching for food, while others gave vent to their
happy feelings in harmonious concerts. The house itself
was covered with vines, the front a mass of blooming roses
exuberant with perfume. What a delightful feast I had in
this peaceful spot! At dinner there were several other
guests, among them the widow of Sir Thomas Stanford
Raffles, governor of Java, a most superior woman, and
her conversation with Dr. Horsfield was deeply interesting.
The doctor is a great zoölogist, and has published a fine
work on the birds of Java. It was a true family dinner,
and therefore I enjoyed it; Sir Robert is at the head of
the business of the Carnatic association of India.
Friday, June 2. At half-past seven I reached Sir
Thomas Lawrence, and found him writing letters. He
received me kindly, and at once examined some of my
drawings, repeating frequently, "Very clever, indeed!"
From such a man these words mean much. During breakfast,
which was simple enough and sans cérémonie, he
asked me many questions about America and about my
work. After leaving him I met Mr. Vigors[130] by appointment,
who said everything possible to encourage me, and
told me I would be elected as a foreign member to the
Athenæum. Young Kidd called to see me, and I asked
him to come and paint in my room; his youth, simplicity,
and cleverness have attached me to him very much.
June 18. Is it not strange I should suffer whole weeks
to pass without writing down what happens to me? But I
have felt too dull, and too harassed. On Thursday
morning I received a long letter from Mr. Lizars, informing
me that his colorers had struck work, and everything was
at a stand-still; he requested me to try to find some persons
here who would engage in that portion of the business,
and he would do his best to bring all right again. This
was quite a shock to my nerves; but I had an appointment
at Lord Spencer's and another with Mr. Ponton; my
thoughts cooled, I concluded to keep my appointments.
On my return I found a note from Mr. Vigors telling me
Charles Bonaparte was in town. I walked as quickly as
possible to his lodgings, but he was absent. I wrote him
a note and came back to my lodgings, and very shortly
was told that the Prince of Musignano was below, and in
a moment I held him by the hand. We were pleased
to meet each other on this distant shore. His fine head
was not altered, his mustachios, his bearded chin, his keen
eye, all was the same. He wished to see my drawings,
and I, for the first time since I had been in London, had
pleasure in showing them. Charles at once subscribed,
and I felt really proud of this. Other gentlemen came in,
but the moment the whole were gone my thoughts returned
to the colorers, and my steps carried me in search of
some; and this for three days I have been doing. I have
been about the suburbs and dirtier parts of London, and
more misery and poverty cannot exist without absolute
starvation. By chance I entered a print shop, and the
owner gave me the name of a man to whom I went, and
who has engaged to color more cheaply than it is done
in Edinburgh, and young Kidd has taken a letter from
me to Mr. Lizars telling him to send me twenty-five copies.
June 19. I paid a visit to Sir Thomas Lawrence this
morning and after waiting a short time in his gallery he
came to me and invited me into his painting-room. I had
a fair opportunity of looking at some of his unfinished
work. The piece before me represented a fat man sitting
in an arm-chair, not only correctly outlined but beautifully
sketched in black chalk, somewhat in the style of Raphael's
cartoons. I cannot well conceive the advantage of all that
trouble, as Sir Thomas paints in opaque color, and not as I
do on asphaltum grounds, as I believe the old masters did,
showing a glaze under the colors, instead of over, which I
am convinced can be but of short duration. His colors
were ground, and his enormous palette of white wood
well set; a large table was literally covered with all sorts
of brushes, and the room filled with unfinished pictures,
some of which appeared of very old standing. I now had
the pleasure of seeing this great artist at work, which I
had long desired to do. I went five times to see Mr.
Havell the colorer, but he was out of town. I am full
of anxiety and greatly depressed. Oh! how sick I am of
London.
June 21. I received a letter from Mr. Lizars that was
far from allaying my troubles. I was so struck with the
tenure of it that I cannot help thinking now that he does
not wish to continue my work. I have painted a great
deal to-day and called on Charles Bonaparte.
June 22. I was particularly invited to dine at the
Royal Society Club with Charles Bonaparte, but great
dinners always so frighten me that I gave over the
thought and dined peaceably at home. This evening
Charles B. called with some gentlemen, among whom
were Messrs. Vigors, Children, Featherstonehaugh, and
Lord Clifton. My portfolios were opened before this set
of learned men, and they saw many birds they had not
dreamed of. Charles offered to name them for me, and I
felt happy that he should; and with a pencil he actually
christened upwards of fifty, urging me to publish them at
once in manuscript at the Zoölogical Society. These
gentlemen dropped off one by one, leaving only Charles
and Mr. Vigors. Oh that our knowledge could be arranged
into a solid mass. I am sure the best ornithological
publication of the birds of my beloved country might then
be published. I cannot tell you how surprised I was when
at Charles's lodgings to hear his man-servant call him
"your Royal Highness." I thought this ridiculous in the
extreme, and I cannot conceive how good Charles can
bear it; though probably he does bear it because he is
good Charles. I have no painting to do to-morrow morning,
or going to bed at two would not do. I was up at
three this morning, and finished the third picture since in
London.
June 28. I have no longer the wish to write my days.
I am quite wearied of everything in London; my work
does not proceed, and I am dispirited.
July 2. I am yet so completely out of spirits that in
vain have I several times opened my book, held the pen,
and tried to write. I am too dull, too mournful. I have
finished another picture of Rabbits; that is all my consolation.
I wish I was out of London.
Leeds, September 30, 1827. I arrived here this day, just
five months since my first visit to the place, but it is three
long months since I tarnished one of thy cheeks, my dear
book. I am quite ashamed of it, for I have had several
incidents well deserving to be related even in my poor
humble style, — a style much resembling my paintings in
oil. Now, nevertheless, I will in as quick a manner as
possible recapitulate the principal facts.
First. I removed the publication of my work from
Edinburgh to London, from the hands of Mr. Lizars into
those of Robert Havell, No. 79 Newman St., because the
difficulty of finding colorers made it come too slowly, and
also because I have it done better and cheaper in London.
I have painted much and visited little; I hate as much as
ever large companies. I have removed to Great Russell
St., number 95, to a Mrs. W — — 's, an intelligent widow,
with eleven children, and but little cash.
Second. The King!! My dear Book! it was presented
to him by Sir Walter Waller, Bart., K.C.H., at the request
of my most excellent friend J. P. Children, of the British
Museum. His Majesty was pleased to call it fine, permitted
me to publish it under his particular patronage,
approbation, and protection, became a subscriber on the
usual terms, not as kings generally do, but as a gentleman,
and my friends all spoke as if a mountain of sovereigns
had dropped in an ample purse at once, and for me. The
Duchess of Clarence also subscribed. I attended to my
business closely, but my agents neither attended to it nor
to my orders to them; and at last, nearly at bay for means
to carry on so heavy a business, I decided to make a sortie
for the purpose of collecting my dues, and to augment my
subscribers, and for that reason left London this day fortnight
past for Manchester, where I was received by my
friends à bras ouverts. I lived and lodged at friend Sergeant's,
collected all my money, had an accession of nine
subscribers, found a box of beautiful bird-skins sent
Bentley by my dear boy Johnny,[131] left in good spirits, and
here I am at Leeds. On my journey hither in the coach
a young sportsman going from London to York was my
companion; he was about to join a shooting expedition,
and had two dogs with him in a basket on top of the
coach. We spoke of game, fish, and such topics, and
presently he said a work on ornithology was being published
in London by an American (he told me later he
took me for a Frenchman) named Audubon, and spoke of
my industry and regretted he had not seen them, as his
sisters had, and spoke in raptures of them, etc. I could
not of course permit this, so told him my name, when he
at once shook hands, and our conversation continued
even more easily than before. I am in the same lodgings
as formerly. My landlady was talking with a meagre-looking
child, who told a sad story of want, which my good
landlady confirmed. I never saw greater pleasure than
sparkled in that child's face as I gave her a few pieces of
silver for her mother. I never thought it necessary to be
rich to help those poorer than ourselves; I have considered
it a duty to God, and to grow poorer in so doing is a
blessing to me. I told the good landlady to send for one
of the child's brothers, who was out of work, to do my
errands for me. I took a walk and listened with pleasure
to the song of the little Robin.
October 1. I called at the Philosophical Hall and at
the Public Library, but I am again told that Leeds, though
wealthy, has no taste; nevertheless I hope to establish an
agency here.
October 3. I visited the museum of a Mr. Calvert, a
man who, like myself, by dint of industry and perseverance
is now the possessor of the finest collection I have seen in
England, with the exception of the one at Manchester.
I received a letter from Mr. Havell only one day old;
wonderful activity this in the post-office department. I
have been reading good Bewick's book on quadrupeds.
I have had no success in Leeds, and to-morrow go to
York.
York, October 5. Mr. Barclay, my agent here, I soon
found had done almost nothing, had not indeed delivered
all the numbers. I urged him to do better, and went to the
Society Hall, where I discovered that the number which
had been forwarded from Edinburgh after I had left there
was miserably poor, scarcely colored at all. I felt quite
ashamed of it, although Mr. Wright thought it good; but
I sent it at once to Havell for proper treatment. Being
then too late to pay calls, I borrowed a volume of Gil Blas,
and have been reading.
October 6. No luck to-day, my Lucy. I am, one would
think, generally either before or after the proper time. I
am told that last week, when the Duke of Wellington was
here, would have been the better moment. I shall have
the same song given me at Newcastle, I dare foretell. I
have again been reading Gil Blas; how replete I always
find it of good lessons.
October 8. I walked this morning with Mr. Barclay to
the house of Mr. F — — , a mile out of town, to ascertain if
he had received the first number. His house was expressly
built for Queen Elizabeth, who, I was told, had never been
in it after all. It resembles an old church, the whole front
being of long, narrow windows. The inside is composed of
large rooms, highly decorated with ancient pictures of the
F — — family. The gardens are also of ancient appearance;
there were many box-trees cut in the shape of hats,
men, birds, etc. I was assured the number had not been
received, so I suppose it never was sent. On our return
Mr. Barclay showed me an asylum built by Quakers for
the benefit of lunatics, and so contrived with gardens,
pleasure-grounds, and such other modes of recreation, that
in consequence of these pleasant means of occupying
themselves many had recovered.
October 9. How often I thought during these visits of
poor Alexander Wilson. When travelling as I am now, to
procure subscribers, he as well as myself was received with
rude coldness, and sometimes with that arrogance which
belongs to parvenus.
October 11. It has been pouring down rain during all
last night and this day, and looks as if it would not cease
for some time; it is, however, not such distressing falls of
water as we have in Louisiana; it carries not every object
off with the storm; the banks of the rivers do not fall in
with a crash, with hundreds of acres of forest along with
them; no houses are seen floating on the streams with
cattle, game, and the productions of the husbandman. No,
it rains as if Nature was in a state of despondency, and I
am myself very dull; I have been reading Stanley's Tales.
October 12. This morning I walked along the Ouse;
the water had risen several feet and was quite muddy. I
had the pleasure of seeing a little green Kingfisher perched
close to me for a few minutes; but the instant his quick
eye espied me, he dashed off with a shrill squeak, almost
touching the water. I must say I longed for a gun to have
stopped him, as I never saw one fresh killed. I saw
several men fishing with a large scoop-net, fixed to a long
pole. The fisherman laid the net gently on the water, and
with a good degree of force he sank it, meantime drawing
it along the bottom and grassy banks towards him. The
fish, intent on feeding, attempted to escape, and threw
themselves into the net and were hauled ashore. This
was the first successful way of fishing I have seen in England.
Some pikes of eight or ten pounds were taken, and
I saw some eels. I have set my heart on having two
hundred subscribers on my list by the first of May next;
should I succeed I shall feel well satisfied, and able to have
thee and our sons all together. Thou seest that castles are
still building on hopeful foundations only; but he who
does not try anything cannot obtain his ends.
October 15, Newcastle. Yesterday I took the coach and
found myself here after an uneventful journey, the route
being now known to me, and came to my former lodgings,
where I was followed almost immediately by the Marquis
of Londonderry, who subscribed at once. Then I called
upon friend Adamson, who before I could speak invited
me to dinner every day that I was disengaged. He
advised me to have a notice in the papers of my being
here for a few days, so I went to the Tyne Mercury; saw
Mr. Donkin, who invited me to breakfast with him to-morrow
at half-past seven, quite my hour.
October 17. During the day Mr. Wingate, an excellent
practical ornithologist, came to see me, and we had much
conversation which interested me greatly. Also came the
mayor, who invited me to dine with him publicly to-morrow.
I have written to Mr. Selby to ask if he will be at Alnwick
Castle on Friday, as if so I will meet him there, and try to
find some subscribers. Several persons have asked me
how I came to part with Mr. Lizars, and I have felt glad
to be able to say that it was at his desire, and that we
continue esteemed friends. I have been pleased to find
since I left London that all my friends cry against my
painting in oil; it proves to me the real taste of good
William Rathbone; and now I do declare to thee that I will
not spoil any more canvas, but will draw in my usual old,
untaught way, which is what God meant me to do.
October 18. This morning I paid a visit to old Mr.
Bewick. I found the good gentleman as usual at work,
but he looked much better, as the cotton cap had been
discarded for a fur one. He was in good spirits, and we
met like old friends. I could not spend as much time with
him as I wished, but saw sufficient of him and his family
to assure me they were well and happy. I met Mr.
Adamson, who went with me to dine at the Mansion
House. We were received in a large room, furnished in
the ancient style, panelled with oak all round, and very
sombre. The company all arrived, we marched in couples
to dinner and I was seated in the centre, the mayor at
one end, the high sheriff at the other; we were seventy-two
in number. As my bad luck would have it, I was
toasted by John Clayton, Esq.; he made a speech, and I,
poor fellow, was obliged to return the compliment, which
I did, as usual, most awkwardly and covered with perspiration.
Miserable stupidity that never will leave me! I had
thousands of questions to answer about the poor aborigines.
It was dark when I left, and at my room was a
kind letter from Mr. Selby, inviting me to meet him at
Alnwick to-morrow.
Twizel House, October 19. I arrived at Alnwick about
eleven this morning, found the little village quite in a
bustle, and Mr. Selby at the court. How glad I was to
see him again I cannot say, but I well know I feel the
pleasure yet, though twelve hours have elapsed. Again
I dined with the gentlemen of the Bar, fourteen in number.
A great ball takes place at Alnwick Castle this night, but
Mr. Selby took me in his carriage and has brought me
to his family, — a thousand times more agreeable to me
than the motley crowd at the Castle. I met again Captain
Mitford, most cordial to me always. To my regret many
of my subscribers have not yet received the third number,
not even Mr. Selby. I cannot understand this apparent
neglect on the part of Mr. Lizars.
Sunday, October 21. Although it has been raining and
blowing without mercy these two days, I have spent my
time most agreeably. The sweet children showed their
first attachment to me and scarce left me a moment during
their pleasure hours, which were too short for us all.
Mrs. Selby, who was away with her sick brother, returned
yesterday. Confined to the house, reading, music, and
painting were our means of enjoyment. Both this morning
and this evening Mr. Selby read prayers and a chapter
in the Bible to the whole household, the storm being so
severe.
Edinburgh, October 22. I am again in the beautiful
Edinburgh; I reached it this afternoon, cold, uncomfortable
and in low spirits. Early as it was when I left this
morning, Mrs. Selby and her lovely daughter came down
to bid me good-bye, and whenever I leave those who show
me such pure kindness, and especially such friends as
these dear Selbys, it is an absolute pain to me. I think
that as I grow older my attachment augments for those
who are kind to me; perhaps not a day passes without
I visit in thought those mansions where I have been
so hospitably received, the inmates of which I recall with
every sense of gratitude; the family Rathbone always first,
the Selbys next, in London Mr. Children, in Manchester
the Greggs and Bentleys and my good friend Sergeant,
at Leeds Mr. Atkinson, at Newcastle dear old Bewick,
Mr. Adamson, and the Rev. William Turner, and here Mr.
Lizars and too many to enumerate; but I must go back
to Liverpool to name John Chorley, to whom I feel warmly
attached. It rained during my whole journey here, and
I saw the German Ocean agitated, foaming and dark in
the distance, scarce able to discern the line of the horizon.
I send my expense account to you, to give Victor an idea
of what the cost of travelling will be when he takes charge
of my business here, whilst I am procuring fresh specimens.
I intend next year positively to keep a cash
account with myself and others, — a thing I have never yet
done.
October 23. I visited Mr. Lizars first, and found him
as usual at work; he received me well, and asked me
to dine with him. I was sorry to learn that Lady Ellen
Hall and W. H. Williams had withdrawn their subscriptions,
therefore I must exert myself the more.
October 27. Anxious to appoint an agent at Edinburgh,
I sent for Mr. Daniel Lizars the bookseller, and made
him an offer which he has accepted; I urged him not
to lose a moment in forwarding the numbers which have
been lying too long at his brother's; many small matters
have had to be arranged, but now I believe all is settled.
W. H. Lizars saw the plates of No. 3, and admired them
much; called his workmen, and observed to them that
the London artists beat them completely. He brought
his account, and I paid him in full. I think he regrets
now that he decided to give my work up; for I was
glad to hear him say that should I think well to intrust
him with a portion of it, it should be done as well as
Havell's, and the plates delivered in London at the same
price. If he can fall twenty-seven pounds in the engraving
of each number, and do them in superior style to
his previous work, how enormous must his profits have
been; good lesson this for me in the time to come,
though I must remember Havell is more reasonable
owing to what has passed between us in our business
arrangements, and the fact that he owes so much to
me.[132] I have made many calls, and been kindly welcomed
at every house. The "Courant" and the "Scotchman"
have honored me with fine encomiums on my work.
The weather has been intolerable, raining and blowing
constantly.
October 31. Mr. W. H. Lizars has dampened my spirits
a good deal by assuring me that I would not find Scotland
so ready at paying for my work as England, and positively
advised me not to seek for more subscribers either here
or at Glasgow. It is true, six of my first subscribers have
abandoned the work without even giving me a reason;
so my mind has wavered. If I go to Glasgow and can
only obtain names that in the course of a few months
will be withdrawn, I am only increasing expenses and
losing time, and of neither time nor money have I too great
a portion; but when I know that Glasgow is a place of
wealth, and has many persons of culture, I decide to go.
November 2. I called on Professor Wilson this morning
who welcomed me heartily, and offered to write something
about my work in the journal called "Blackwood";
he made me many questions, and asked me to breakfast
to-morrow, and promised me some letters for Glasgow.
November 3. My breakfast with the Professor was very
agreeable. His fine daughter headed the table, and two
sons were with us. The more I look at Wilson, the more
I admire his originalities, — a man not equal to Walter
Scott, it is true, but in many ways nearly approaching
him; as free from the detestable stiffness of ceremonies
as I am when I can help myself, no cravat, no waistcoat,
but a fine frill of his own profuse beard, his hair flowing
uncontrolled, and in his speech dashing at once at the
object in view, without circumlocution; with a countenance
beaming with intellect, and eyes that would do justice
to the Bird of Washington. He gives me comfort, by
being comfortable himself. With such a man I can talk
for a whole day, and could listen for years.
Glasgow, November 4. At eleven I entered the coach for
my ride of forty-two miles; three inside passengers besides
myself made the entire journey without having uttered
a single word; we all sat like so many owls of different
species, as if afraid of one another, and on the qui vive,
all as dull as the barren country I travelled this day. A
few glimpses of dwarflike yellow pines here and there
seemed to wish to break the dreariness of this portion
of Scotland, but the attempt was in vain, and I sat watching
the crows that flew under the dark sky foretelling
winter's approach. I arrived here too late to see any
portion of the town, for when the coach stopped at the
Black Bull all was so dark that I could only see it was
a fine, broad, long street.
November 8. I am off to-morrow morning, and perhaps
forever will say farewell to Glasgow. I have been here
four days and have obtained one subscriber. One subscriber
in a city of 150,000 souls, rich, handsome, and with
much learning. Think of 1400 pupils in one college!
Glasgow is a fine city; the Clyde here is a small stream
crossed by three bridges. The shipping consists of about
a hundred brigs and schooners, but I counted eighteen
steam vessels, black, ugly things as ever were built. One
sees few carriages, but thousands of carts.
Edinburgh, November 9. In my old lodgings, after a
journey back from the "City of the West" which was
agreeable enough, all the passengers being men of intellect
and social natures.
November 10. I left this house this morning an hour
and a half before day, and pushed off for the sea-shore,
or, as it is called, The Firth. It was calm and rather cold,
but I enjoyed it, and reached Professor Jameson's a few
minutes before breakfast. I was introduced to the "Lord
of Ireland," an extremely intelligent person and an enthusiast
in zoölogical researches; he had been a great traveller,
and his conversation was highly interesting. In the
afternoon I went to the summit of Arthur's Seat; the day
was then beautiful and the extensive view cheered my
spirits.
November 13. I arrived at Twizel Hall at half-past
four in good time for dinner, having travelled nearly eighty
miles quite alone in the coach, not the Mail but the Union.
Sir William Jardine met me on my arrival. I assure thee
it was a pleasure to spend two days here, — shooting while
it was fair, and painting when rainy. In one of our walks
I shot five Pheasants, one Hare, one Rabbit, and one
Partridge; gladly would I remain here longer, but my
work demands me elsewhere.
York, November 18. I have been here five hours. The
day was so-so, and my companions in the coach of the
dormouse order; eighty-two miles and no conversation is
to me dreadful. Moreover our coachman, having in sight
a coach called the "High-Flyer," felt impelled to keep up
with that vehicle, and so lashed the horses that we kept
close to it all the while. Each time we changed our
animals I saw them quite exhausted, panting for breath,
and covered with sweat and the traces of the blows they
had received; I assure thee my heart ached. How such
conduct agrees with the ideas of humanity I constantly
hear discussed, I leave thee to judge.
Liverpool, November 22. I left Manchester at four this
morning; it was very dark, and bitterly cold, but my
travelling companions were pleasant, so the time passed
quite quickly. At a small village about half-way here,
three felons and a man to guard them mounted the coach,
bound to Botany Bay. These poor wretches were chained
to each other by the legs, had scarcely a rag on, and those
they wore so dirty that no one could have helped feeling
deep pity for them, case-hardened in vice as they seemed
to be. They had some money, for they drank ale and
brandy wherever we stopped. Though cold, the sun rose
in full splendor, but the fickleness of the weather in this
country is wonderful; before reaching here it snowed,
rained, and cleared up again. On arriving I went at once
to the Royal Institution, and on my way met William
Rathbone. I recognized him as far as I could see him, but
could easily have passed him unnoticed, as, shivering with
cold, I was wrapped up in my large cloak. Glad was I to
hold him once more by the hand, and to learn that all my
friends were well. I have seen Dr. Traill, John Chorley,
and many others who were kind to me when I was here
before. All welcomed me warmly.
November 22. This day after my arrival I rose before
day and walked to Green Bank. When half my walk was
over the sun rose, and my pleasure increased every moment
that brought me nearer to my generous, kind "Lady"
Rathbone and her sweet daughter, Miss Hannah. When I
reached the house all was yet silent within, and I rambled
over the frozen grass, watching the birds that are always
about the place, enjoying full peace and security. The
same Black Thrush (probably) that I have often heard
before was perched on a fir-tree announcing the beauty
of this winter morning in his melodious voice; the little
Robins flitted about, making towards those windows that
they knew would soon be opened to them. How I admired
every portion of the work of God. I entered the hot-house
and breathed the fragrance of each flower, yet sighed at
the sight of some that I recognized as offsprings of my
own beloved country. Henry Chorley, who had been
spending the night at Green Bank, now espied me from
his window, so I went in and soon was greeted by that
best of friends, "Lady" Rathbone. After breakfast Miss
Hannah opened the window and her favorite little Robin
hopped about the carpet, quite at home. I returned to
Liverpool with Mr. B.[133] Rathbone, who, much against my
wishes, for I can do better work now, bought my picture of
the Hawk pouncing on the Partridges.
November 26. Visited Dr. Traill, to consult with him
on the best method of procuring subscribers, and we have
decided that I am to call on Mr. W. W. Currie, the president
of the Athenæum, to obtain his leave to show my
work in the Reading Room, and for me to have notes of
invitation printed and sent to each member, for them to
come and inspect the work as far as it goes. I called on
Mr. Currie and obtained his permission at once, so the
matter is en train.
November 30. I have spent the day at Woodcroft with
Richard Rathbone. Mrs. Rathbone wishes me to teach
her how to paint in oils. Now is it not too bad that I
cannot do so, for want of talent? My birds in water-colors
have plumage and soft colors, but in oils — alas! I
walked into town with Richard Rathbone, who rode his
horse. I kept by his side all the way, the horse walking.
I do not rely as much on my activity as I did twenty years
ago, but I still think I could kill any horse in England in
twenty days, taking the travel over rough and level grounds.
This might be looked upon as a boast by many, but, I am
quite satisfied, not by those who have seen me travel at
the rate of five miles an hour all day. Once indeed I
recollect going from Louisville to Shippingport[134] in fourteen
minutes, with as much ease as if I had been on
skates.
December 3. This morning I made sketches of all the
parts of the Platypus[135] for William Gregg, who is to deliver
a lecture on this curious animal. To-day and yesterday
have been rainy, dismal indeed; very dismal is an English
December. I am working very hard, writing constantly.
The greater part of this day was spent at the Athenæum;
many visitors, but no subscribers.
December 4. Again at the library and had one subscriber.
A letter from Charles Bonaparte tells me he has
decided not to reside in America, but in Florence; this I
much regret. I have been reading the "Travels of the
Marquis de Chastelleux" in our country, which contains
very valuable and correct facts.
December 10. Mr. Atherton, a relation of friend Selby's,
took breakfast with me, and then conducted me to see a
very beautiful bird (alive) of the Eagle kind, from the
Andes.[136] It is quite unknown to me; about the size of the
Bird of Washington, much shorter in the wings, larger
talons and longer claws, with erected feathers, in the form
of a fan, on the head. The bill was dark blue, the crest
yellow, upper part of the body dark brown; so was the
whole head and neck, as well as the tail and vent, but the
belly and breast were white. I soon perceived that it was a
young bird; its cry resembled that of almost every Eagle,
but was weaker in sound on account of its tender age,
not exceeding ten months. Were I to give it a name, it
would be the Imperial Crowned Eagle. It was fed on raw
beef, and occasionally a live fowl by way of a treat to the
by-standers, who, it seems, always take much pleasure
in cruel acts. The moment I saw this magnificent bird I
wished to own it, to send it as a present to the Zoölogical
Gardens. I received a letter from Thomas Sully telling
me in the most frank and generous manner that I have
been severely handled in one of the Philadelphia newspapers.
The editor calls all I said in my papers read
before the different societies in Edinburgh "a pack of
lies." Friend Sully is most heartily indignant, but with
me my motto is: "Le temps découvrira la vérité." It is,
however, hard that a poor man like me, who has been so
devotedly intent on bringing forth facts of curious force,
should be brought before the world as a liar by a man
who doubtless knows little of the inhabitants of the forests
on the Schuylkill, much less of those elsewhere. It is
both unjust and ungenerous, but I forgive him. I shall
keep up a good heart, trust to my God, attend to my work
with industry and care, and in time outlive these trifles.
December 13. I went this evening to hear the Tyrolese
Singers, three brothers and their sister. They were all
dressed in the costume of their country, but when they
sang I saw no more; I know not how to express my feelings.
I was in an instant transported into some wild glen
from which arose high mountain crags, which threw back
the melodious echoes. The wild, clear, harmonious music
so entered into my being that for a time I was not sure
that what I heard was a reality. Imagine the warbling of
strong-throated Thrushes, united with the bugle-horn, a
flute, and a hautboy, in full unison. I could have listened
all night.
December 14, 1827. By the advice of our consul, Mr.
Maury, I have presented a copy of my work to the President
of the United States, and another to the House of
Congress through Henry Clay.
December 16, Sunday. I went to the service at my favorite
church, the one at the Blind Asylum; the anthems
were so exquisitely sung that I felt, as all persons ought
to do when at church, full of fervent devotion.
December 18. It was with great regret that I found my
friend Wm. Roscoe very unwell. This noble man has had
a paralytic attack; his mind is fully sensible of the decay
of his body, and he meets this painful trial with patience
and almost contentment. This only can be the case
with those who in their past life have been upright
and virtuous. I finished drawing a little Wren for my
good friend Hannah, as well as artificial light would
allow.
December 20. I have done nothing to-day; I have had
that sort of laziness that occasionally feeds upon my senses
unawares; it is a kind of constitutional disease with me
from time to time, as if to give my body necessary rest,
and enable me to recommence with fresh vigor and alacrity
whatever undertaking I have in hand. When it has
passed, however, I always reproach myself that I have lost
a day. I went to the theatre with John Chorley to see
"The Hypocrite;" it is stolen from Molière's famous
"Tartuffe," — cut and sliced to suit the English market.
I finished my evening by reading the Life of Tasso.
December 24. The whole town appears to be engaged
in purchasing eatables for to-morrow. I saw some people
carrying large nosegays of holly ornamented with flowers in
imitation of white roses, carnations, and others, cut out of
turnips and carrots; but I heard not a single gun fire, no
fireworks going on anywhere, — a very different time to
what we have in Louisiana. I spent my evening with Dr.
Rutter looking at his valuable collection of prints of the
men of the Revolution. Poor Charette,[137] whom I saw shot on
the Place de Viarme at Nantes, was peculiarly good, as were
General Moreau, Napoleon, when Consul, and many others;
and Dr. Rutter knew their lives well.
December 25. At midnight I was awakened by Dr.
Munroe, who came with a bottle of that smoky Scotch
whiskey which I can never like, and who insisted on my
taking a glass with him in honor of the day. Christmas
in my country is very different indeed from what I have
seen here. With us it is a general merry-making, a day
of joy. Our lads have guns, and fire almost all night, and
dance all day and the next night. Invitations are sent to
all friends and acquaintances, and the time passes more
gayly than I can describe. Here, families only join together,
they go to church together, eat a very good dinner
together, I dare say; but all is dull — silent — mournful.
As to myself, I took a walk and dined with Mr. Munroe
and family, and spent a quiet evening with John Chorley.
This is my Christmas day for 1827.
December 28. Immediately after breakfast the box came
containing the fifth number, and three full sets for my new
subscribers here. The work pleased me quite.
December 29. This morning I walked to "Lady" Rathbone's
with my fifth number. It is quite impossible to
approach Green Bank, when the weather is at all fair, without
enjoying the song of some birds; for, Lucy, that sweet
place is sacred, and all the feathered tribe in perfect safety.
A Redwing particularly delighted me to-day; I found something
of the note of our famous Mock-bird in his melody.
January 1, 1828, Manchester. How many times since
daylight reached my eyes, I have wished thee, my Lucy,
our sons, and our friends, a year of comfort, of peace and
enjoyment, I cannot tell, for the day is to me always one
on which to pray for those we love. Now, my Lucy, when
I wished thee a happy New Year this morning I emptied
my snuff box, locked up the box in my trunk, and will take
no more. The habit within a few weeks has grown upon
me, so farewell to it; it is a useless and not very clean
habit, besides being an expensive one. Snuff! farewell to
thee. Thou knowest, Lucy, well that when I will I will. I
came here straight to friend Sergeant's; I need not say I
was welcomed; and Bentley soon came in to spend the
evening with us.
London, January 5, 1828. At six last evening I was in
the coach with three companions; I slept well after we
stopped for supper at nine o'clock, but not long enough.
I cannot sleep in the morning, and was awake four long
hours before day. The moon, that had shone brightly,
sunk in the west as day dawned, the frost appeared thickly
strewn over the earth, and not a cloud was in sight. I saw
a few flocks of Partridges on their roost, which thou knowest
well is on the ground, with their heads all turned to
east, from which a gentle waft of air was felt; the cattle
were lying here and there; a few large flocks of Starlings
were all that interested me. The dawn was clear, but
before we left Northampton it rained, snowed, and blew
as if the elements had gone mad; strange country, to be
sure. The three gentlemen in the coach with me sugested
cards, and asked me to take a hand; of course I said yes,
but only on condition that they did not play for money, a
thing I have never done. They agreed very courteously,
though expressing their surprise, and we played whist all
day, till I was weary. I know little about cards, and never
play unless obliged to by circumstances; I feel no pleasure
in the game, and long for other occupation. Twenty-four
hours after leaving Manchester, we stopped at the Angel
Inn, Islington Road. I missed my snuff all day; whenever
my hands went into my pockets in search of my box,
and I discovered the strength of habit, thus acting without
thought, I blessed myself that my mind was stronger than
my body. I am again in London, but not dejected and
low of spirits and disheartened as I was when I came in
May last; no, indeed! I have now friends in London, and
hope to keep them.
95 Great Russell St., January 6. I took a famous walk
before day, up to Primrose Hill, and was back before anyone
in the house was up. I have spent the whole day
going over my drawings, and decided on the twenty-five
that are to form the numbers for 1828. The new birds I
have named as follows: Children,[138] Vigors,[139] Temminck,
Cuvier.[140] Havell came and saw the drawings; it gave him
an idea of the work to be performed between now and next
January.
January 8. I have ordered one set of my birds to be
colored by Havell himself, for Congress, and the numbers
already out will soon be en route. My frame maker came
in, and the poor man took it for granted that I was an
artist, but, dear me! what a mistake; I can draw, but I
shall never paint well. The weather is extremely dull and
gloomy; during the morning the light was of a deep
yellow cast.
January 9. Had a long letter from John Chorley, and
after some talk with my good friend J. G. Children, have
decided to write nothing more except the biographies of my
birds. It takes too much time to write to this one and that
one, to assure them that what I have written is fact. When
Nature as it is found in my beloved America is better
understood, these things will be known generally, and
when I have been dead twenty years, more or less, my
statements will be accepted everywhere; till then they may
wait.[141] I have a violent cough and sore throat that renders
me heavy and stupid; twenty-five years ago I would
not have paid it the least attention; now I am told that
at my age and in this climate (which, God knows, is indeed
a very bad one), I may have trouble if I do not take some
remedy. I walked out at four this morning, but the air
was thick and I did not enjoy it.
January 10. I am going to surprise thee. I had a
dentist inspect my teeth, as they ached; he thought it was
the effect of my cold, as all are quite perfect and I have
never lost one. My throat continuing very sore, I remained
in my rooms, and have had Havell, Robert Sully, and Mr.
Children for companions.
January 14. I feel now much better, after several feverish
days, but have not moved from the house; every one of
my friends show me much kindness.
January 17. A long morning with Havell settling accounts;
it is difficult work for a man like me to see that I
am neither cheating nor cheated. All is paid for 1827, and
I am well ahead in funds. Had I made such regular settlements
all my life, I should never have been as poor a man
as I have been; but on the other hand I should never
have published the "Birds of America." America! my
country! Oh, to be there!
January 18. Spent the morning with Dr. Lambert and
Mr. Don,[142] the famous botanist; we talked much of the
plants and trees of America and of Mr. Nuttall[143] while
opening and arranging a great parcel of dried plants from
the Indies. This afternoon I took a cab and with my
portfolio went to Mr. Children's. I cannot, he tells me,
take my portfolio on my shoulder in London as I would in
New York, or even tenacious Philadelphia.
January 20. Oh! how dull I feel; how long am I to be
confined in this immense jail? In London, amidst all the
pleasures, I feel unhappy and dull; the days are heavy, the
nights worse. Shall I ever again see and enjoy the vast
forests in their calm purity, the beauties of America? I
wish myself anywhere but in London. Why do I dislike
London? Is it because the constant evidence of the contrast
between the rich and the poor is a torment to me, or
is it because of its size and crowd? I know not, but I long
for sights and sounds of a different nature. Young Green
came to ask me to go with him to see Regent's Park, and
we went accordingly, I rather an indifferent companion, I
fear, till we reached the bridge that crosses the waters
there, where I looked in vain for water-fowl. Failing to
find any I raised my eyes towards the peaceful new moon,
and to my astonishment saw a large flock of Wild Ducks
passing over me; after a few minutes a second flock
passed, which I showed my young friend. Two flocks of
Wild Ducks, of upwards of twenty each! Wonderful indeed!
I thought of the many I have seen when bent
on studying their habits, and grew more homesick than
ever.
January 21. Notwithstanding this constant darkness of
mood, my business must be attended to; therefore soon
after dawn I joined Havell and for many hours superintended
his coloring of the plates for Congress. While I
am not a colorist, and Havell is a very superior one, I
know the birds; would to God I was among them. From
here I went to find a bookseller named Wright, but I
passed the place twice because I looked too high for his
sign; the same occurs to young hunters, who, when first
they tread the woods in search of a Deer, keep looking
high, and far in the distance, and so pass many a one of
these cunning animals, that, squatted in a parcel of dry
brush-wood, sees his enemy quite well, and suffers him to
pass without bouncing from his couch. The same instinct
that leads me through woods struck me in the Haymarket,
and now I found Mr. Wright. Our interview over, I
made for Piccadilly, the weather as mild as summer, and
the crowd innumerable. Piccadilly was filled with carriages
of all sorts, men on horseback, and people everywhere;
what a bustle!
January 22. I was so comfortless last night that I
scarcely closed my eyes, and at last dressed and walked
off in the dark to Regent's Park, led there because there
are some objects in the shape of trees, the grass is green,
and from time to time the sweet notes of a Blackbird strike
my ear and revive my poor heart, as it carries my mind
to the woods around thee, my Lucy. As daylight came a
flock of Starlings swept over my head, and I watched their
motions on the green turf where they had alighted, until
I thought it time to return to breakfast, and I entered my
lodgings quite ready for my usual bowl of bread and milk,
which I still keep to for my morning meal; how often
have I partaken of it in simple cabins, much more to my
taste than all the pomp of London. Drawing all day long.
January 23. How delighted and pleased I have been
this day at the receiving of thy letter of the 1st of November
last. My Lucy, thou art so good to me, and thy
advices are so substantial, that, rest assured, I will follow
them closely.
January 24. To my delight friend Bentley appeared
this evening. I was glad I could give him a room while he
is in London. He brought news of some fresh subscribers,
and a letter from the Rev. D — — to ask to be excused
from continuing the work. Query: how many amongst
my now long list of subscribers will continue the work
throughout?
January 25. I usually leave the house two hours
before day for a long walk; this morning it was again to
Regent's Park; this gives me a long day for my work.
After breakfast Bentley and I paid a long visit to Mr. Leadbeater,
the great stuffer of birds. He was very cordial, and
showed us many beautiful and rare specimens; but they
were all stuffed, and I cannot bear them, no matter how
well mounted they may be. I received to-day a perpetual
ticket of admission to Mr. Cross's exhibition of quadrupeds,
live birds, etc., which pleased me very much, for
there I can look upon Nature, even if confined in iron
cages. Bentley made me a present of a curiosity, — a
"double penny" containing a single one, a half-penny
within that, a farthing in that, and a silver penny within
all. Now, my Lucy, who could have thought to make a
thing like that?
January 26. Of course my early walk. After breakfast,
Bentley being desirous to see Regent's Park, I accompanied
him thither and we walked all round it; I think it
is rather more than a mile in diameter. We saw a squadron
of horse, and as I am fond of military manœuvres, and
as the horses were all handsome, with full tails, well
mounted and managed, it was a fine sight, and we both
admired it. We then went to Mr. Cross, and I had the
honor of riding on a very fine and gentle elephant; I say
"honor," because the immense animal was so well trained
and so obedient as to be an example to many human
beings who are neither. The Duchess of A — — came in
while I was there, — a large, very fat, red-faced woman, but
with a sweet voice, who departed in a coach drawn by
four horses with two riders, and two footmen behind;
almost as much attendance as when she was a queen on
the boards of — — theatre, thirty years ago.
January 28. I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day
announcing to me the loss of four subscribers; but these
things do not damp my spirits half so much as the smoke
of London. I am as dull as a beetle.
January 31. I have been in my room most of this day,
and very dull in this dark town.
February 1, 1828. Another Journal! It has now twenty-six
brothers;[144] some are of French manufacture, some from
Gilpin's "Mills on the Brandywine," some from other parts
of America, but you are positively a Londoner. I bought
you yesterday from a man across the street for fourteen
shillings; and what I write in you is for my wife, Lucy
Audubon, a matchless woman, and for my two Kentucky
lads, whom I do fervently long to press to my heart again.
It has rained all day. Bentley and I paid a visit to the
great anatomist, Dr. J. Brookes,[145] to see his collection of
skeletons of divers objects. He received us with extreme
kindness. I saw in his yard some few rare birds. He was
called away on sudden and important business before we
saw his museum, so we are to go on Monday. Mr. Cross,
of the Exeter Exchange, had invited Bentley and me to
dinner with his quadrupeds and bipeds, and at three o'clock
we took a coach, for the rain was too heavy for Bentley,
and drove to the Menagerie. Mr. Cross by no means
deserves his name, for he is a pleasant man, and we dined
with his wife and himself and the keepers of the
Beasts
(name given by men to quadrupeds). None of the company
were very polished, but all behaved with propriety
and good humor, and I liked it on many accounts. Mr.
Cross conversed very entertainingly. Bentley had two
tickets for Drury Lane Theatre. It was "The Critic"
again; immediately after, as if in spite of that good lesson,
"The Haunted Inn" was performed, and the two gentlemen
called Matthews and Litton so annoyed me with their
low wit that I often thought that, could Shakespeare or
Garrick be raised from their peaceful places of rest, tears of
sorrow would have run down their cheeks to see how
abused their darling theatre was this night. Bentley was
more fortunate than I, he went to sleep. At my rooms I
found a little circular piece of ivory with my name, followed
by "and friends," and a letter stating it was a perpetual
ticket of admission to the Zoölogical Gardens. This
was sent at the request of Mr. Brookes.
February 2. Bentley and I went to the Gardens of the
Zoölogical Society, which are at the opposite end of Regent's
Park from my lodgings. The Gardens are quite
in a state of infancy; I have seen more curiosities in a
swamp in America in one morning than is collected here
since eighteen months; all, however, is well planned, clean,
and what specimens they have are fine and in good condition.
As we were leaving I heard my name called, and
turning saw Mr. Vigors with a companion to whom he introduced
me; it was the famous Captain Sabine,[146] a tall, thin
man, who at once asked me if among the Eagles they had,
any were the young of the White-headed Eagle, or as he
called the bird, the Falco leucocephalus. Strange that such
great men should ask a woodsman questions like that,
which I thought could be solved by either of them at a
glance. I answered in the affirmative, for I have seen
enough of them to know.
February 4. I made a present to Bentley of the first
number of my work, and some loose prints for his brothers.
Then we went to Mr. Brookes, the surgeon, and saw his
immense and wonderful collection of anatomical subjects.
The man has spent about the same number of years at this
work as I have at my own, and now offers it for sale at
£10,000. I then called on Vigors and told him I wished
to name my new bird in No. 6 after him, and he expressed
himself well pleased. This evening I took my portfolio to
Soho Square and entered the rooms of the Linnæan Society,
where I found I was the first arrival. I examined the
various specimens till others came in. The meeting was
called to order, and I was shortly after elected a member;
my drawings were examined, and more than one told me
it was a sad thing they were so little known in London.
February 7. Havell brought me the sets he owed me
for 1827, and I paid him in full. Either through him or
Mr. Lizars I have met with a loss of nearly £100, for I am
charged for fifty numbers more than can be accounted for
by my agents or myself. This seems strange always to me,
that people cannot be honest, but I must bring myself to
believe many are not, from my own experiences. My
evening was spent in Bruton Street, at the Zoölogical Society
rooms, where Lord Stanley accompanied me, with
Lord Auckland and good old General Hardwicke, and my
portfolio was again opened and my work discussed.
February 10. This morning I took one of my drawings
from my portfolio and began to copy it, and intend to
finish it in better style. It is the White-headed Eagle
which I drew on the Mississippi some years ago, feeding
on a Wild Goose; now I shall make it breakfast on a Catfish,
the drawing of which is also with me, with the marks
of the talons of another Eagle, which I disturbed on the
banks of that same river, driving him from his prey. I
worked from seven this morning till dark.
February 11. Precisely the same as yesterday, neither
cross nor dull, therefore, but perfectly happy.
February 12. Still hard at it, and this evening the
objects on my paper look more like a bird and a fish than
like a windmill, as they have done. Three more days and
the drawing will be finished if I have no interruptions.
February 14. No drawing to-day; no, indeed! At nine
this morning I was at the house of friend Hays, No. 21
Queen Street, to meet the Secretary of the Colonial Department.
Mr. Hays showed me a superb figure of a Hercules
in brass, found in France by a peasant while ploughing,
and for which £300 has been refused.
February 16. Yesterday I worked at my drawing all
day, and began this morning at seven, and worked till half-past
four, only ceasing my work to take a glass of milk
brought me by my landlady. I have looked carefully at
the effect and the finishing. Ah! my Lucy, that I could
paint in oils as I can in my own style! How proud I should
be, and what handsome pictures I should soon have on
hand.
February 24. I heard to-day of the death of Mrs. Gregg
of Quarry Bank. I was grieved to know that kind lady, who
had showed me much hospitality, should have died; I have
hesitated to write to her son-in-law, Mr. Rathbone, fearing
to disturb the solemnity of his sorrow. At the Linnæan
Society this evening, my friend Selby's work lay on the
table by mine, and very unfair comparisons were drawn
between the two; I am quite sure that had he had the
same opportunities that my curious life has granted me,
his work would have been far superior to mine; I supported
him to the best of my power. The fact is, I think, that no
man yet has done anything in the way of illustrating the
birds of England comparable to his great work; then
besides, he is an excellent man, devoted to his science, and
if he has committed slight errors, it becomes men of science
not to dwell upon these to the exclusion of all else. I was
to-day elected an original member of the Zoölogical Society.
I also learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence
who prevented the British Museum from subscribing to my
work; he considered the drawing so-so, and the engraving
and coloring bad; when I remember how he praised these
same drawings in my presence, I wonder — that is all.
February 25. A most gloomy day; had I no work what
a miserable life I should lead in London. I receive constantly
many invitations, but all is so formal, so ceremonious,
I care not to go. Thy piano sailed to-day; with
a favorable voyage it may reach New Orleans in sixty days.
I have read the Grand Turk's proclamation and sighed at
the awful thought of a war all over Europe; but there, thou
knowest I am no politician. A fine young man, Mr. J. F.
Ward, a bird-stuffer to the King, came to me this afternoon
to study some of the positions of my birds. I told him I
would lend him anything I had.
February 28. To-day I called by appointment on the
Earl of Kinnoul, a small man, with a face like the caricature
of an owl; he said he had sent for me to tell me
all my birds were alike, and he considered my work a
swindle. He may really think this, his knowledge is
probably small; but it is not the custom to send for a
gentleman to abuse him in one's own house. I heard his
words, bowed, and without speaking, left the rudest man I
have met in this land; but he is only thirty, and let us
hope may yet learn how to behave to a perfect stranger
under his roof.
February 29. A man entered my room this afternoon,
and said: "Sir, I have some prisoners to deliver to
you from the town of York." "Prisoners!" I exclaimed,
"why, who are they?" The good man produced a very
small cage, and I saw two sweet little Wood Larks, full
of vivacity, and as shy as prisoners in custody. Their
eyes sparkled with fear, their little bodies were agitated,
the motions of their breasts showed how their hearts palpitated;
their plumage was shabby, but they were Wood
Larks, and I saw them with a pleasure bordering on
frenzy. Wood Larks! The very word carried me from
this land into woods indeed. These sweet birds were
sent to me from York, by my friend John Backhouse, an
ornithologist of real merit, and with them came a cake of
bread made of a peculiar mixture, for their food. I so
admired the dear captives that for a while I had a strong
desire to open their prison, and suffer them to soar over
London towards the woodlands dearest to them; and yet
the selfishness belonging to man alone made me long to
keep them. Ah! man! what a brute thou art! — so often
senseless of those sweetest feelings that ought to ornament
our species, if indeed we are the "lords of creation."
Cambridge, March 3. I arrived at this famous University
town at half-past four this afternoon, after a tedious
ride of eight and a half hours from London, in a heavy
coach in which I entered at the White Horse, Fetter
Lane, and I am now at the Blue Boar, and blue enough
am I. But never mind, I was up truly early, took a good
walk in Regent's Park, and was back before any one in
the house was up. Sully took breakfast with me, and
took charge of my Larks, and saw me off. I thought we
never would get rid of London, it took just one hour to
get clear of the city. What a place! Yet many persons
live there solely because they like it. At last the refreshing
country air filled my lungs; I saw with pleasure
many tender flowers peeping out of the earth, anxious to
welcome the approaching spring. The driver held confidences
with every grog shop between London and Cambridge,
and his purple face gave powerful evidences that
malt liquor is more enticing to him than water. The
country is flat, but it was country, and I saw a few lambs
gambolling by their timorous dams, a few Rooks digging
the new-ploughed ground for worms, a few Finches on the
budding hedges. On entering Cambridge I was struck
with its cleanliness, the regular shape of the colleges, and
the number of students with floating mantles, flat caps,
and long tassels of silk, hanging sideways. I had a letter
for a lodging house where I expected to stay, but no numbers
are affixed to any doors in Cambridge. I do not
know if it is so in order to teach the students to better
remember things, but I found it very inconvenient; I
hunted and searched in vain, and as the students in their
gay moods have been in the habit of destroying all the
door-bells, I had to knock loudly at any door where I
wished to make inquiries, but not finding the good lady
to whom my letter was addressed, I am still at the inn.
March 4. One of my travelling-companions, Mr. — — ,
an architect, offered to show me some of the Colleges,
and put me in the way of delivering some of my letters; so
we walked through the different courts of Trinity, and I
was amazed at the exquisite arrangement of the buildings,
and when we arrived at the walks I was still more pleased.
I saw beautiful grass-plats, fine trees, around which the
evergreen, dark, creeping ivy, was entwined, and heard
among the birds that enlivened these the shrill notes of
the Variegated Woodpecker, quite enchanting. As I
passed under these trees I tried to recollect how many
illustrious learned men have studied within the compass
of their shade. A little confined, but pure streamlet,
called the Cam, moved slowly on, and the air was delicious.
We went to St. John's, where my companion was
engaged in some work, and here I left him, and continued
on my way alone, to deliver my letters. I called on
the Rev. H. Greenwood, Professor Sedgwick,[147] and Professor
Whewell;[148] all were most kind, as were the Rev.
Thos. Catton, Mr. G. A. Brown, Mr. George Heath, and
Professor Henslow,[149] and I have made several engagements
to dine, etc.
March 5. Since I left Edinburgh, I have not had a
day as brilliant as this in point of being surrounded by
learned men. This morning I took a long walk among
the Colleges, and watched many birds; while thus employed,
a well dressed man handed me a card on which
was written in English, "The bearer desires to meet with
some one who speaks either French, Italian, or Spanish."
I spoke to him in Spanish and French, both of which he
knew well. He showed me a certificate from the consul
of Sweden, at Leith, which affirmed his story, that he
with three sailors had been shipwrecked, and now wished
to return to the Continent, but they had only a few shillings,
and none of them spoke English. I gave him a
sovereign, just as I saw Professor Sedgwick approaching;
he came to my room to see my birds, but could only
give me a short time as he had a lecture to deliver. I
returned to my rooms, and just as I was finishing lunch
the Vice-Chancellor made his appearance, — a small old
man, with hair as white as snow, dressed in a flowing
gown, with two little bits of white muslin in lieu of
cravat. He remained with me upwards of two hours; he
admired my work, and promised to do all he could. I
was delighted with his conversation; he is a man of wide
knowledge, and it seemed to me of sound judgment.
Professor Henslow invited me to dine on Friday, and
just as I finished my note of acceptance, came in with
three gentlemen. At four I went to Mr. Greenwood's to
dine; as I entered I saw with dismay upwards of thirty
gentlemen; I was introduced to one after another, and
then we went to the "Hall," where dinner was set. This
hall resembled the interior of a Gothic church; a short
prayer was said, and we sat down to a sumptuous dinner.
Eating was not precisely my object, it seldom is; I
looked first at the convives. A hundred students sat apart
from our table, and the "Fellows," twelve in number,
with twenty guests constituted our "mess." The dinner,
as I said, was excellent, and I thought these learned
"Fellows" must have read, among other studies, Dr.
Kitchener on the "Art of Cookery." The students gradually
left in parcels, as vultures leave a carcass; we
remained. A fine gilt or gold tankard, containing a very
strong sort of nectar, was handed to me; I handed it,
after tasting, to the next, and so it went round. Now a
young man came, and as we rose, he read a short prayer
from a small board (such as butchers use to kill flies
with). We then went to the room where we had assembled,
and conversation at once began; perhaps the wines
went the rounds for an hour, then tea and coffee, after
which the table was cleared, and I was requested to open
my portfolio. I am proud now to show them, and I saw
with pleasure these gentlemen admired them. I turned
over twenty-five, but before I had finished received the
subscription of the Librarian for the University, and the
assurance of the Secretary of the Philosophical Society
that they would take it. It was late before I was allowed
to come away.
Thursday, March 6. A cold snowy day; I went to the
library of the University and the Philosophical Society
rooms, and dined again in "Hall," with Professor Sedgwick.
There were four hundred students, and forty "Fellows;"
quite a different scene from Corpus College.
Each one devoured his meal in a hurry; in less than half
an hour grace was read again by two students, and Professor
Whewell took me to his own rooms with some
eight or ten others. My book was inspected as a matter
of courtesy. Professor Sedgwick was gay, full of wit
and cleverness; the conversation was very animated, and
I enjoyed it much. Oh! my Lucy, that I also had received
a university education! I listened and admired
for a long time, when suddenly Professor Whewell began
asking me questions about the woods, the birds, the aborigines
of America. The more I rove about, the more I
find how little known the interior of America is; we sat
till late. No subscriber to-day, but I must not despair;
nothing can be done without patience and industry, and,
thank God, I have both.
March 7. The frost was so severe last night that the
ground was white when I took my walk; I saw ice an
eighth of an inch thick. As most of the fruit trees are in
blossom, the gardeners will suffer this year. Inclement
though it was, the birds were courting, and some, such as
Jackdaws and Rooks, forming nests. After breakfast I
went to the library, having received a permit, and looked
at three volumes of Le Vaillant's "Birds of Africa,"
which contain very bad figures. I was called from here
to show my work to the son of Lord Fitzwilliam, who
came with his tutor, Mr. Upton. The latter informed
me the young nobleman wished to own the book. I
showed my drawings, and he, being full of the ardor of
youth, asked where he should write his name. I gave him
my list; his youth, his good looks, his courtesy, his refinement
attracted me much, and made me wish his name
should stand by that of some good friend. There was no
room by Mrs. Rathbone's, so I asked that he write immediately
above the Countess of Morton, and he wrote in a
beautiful hand, which I wish I could equal, "Hon. W. C.
Wentworth Fitzwilliam." He is a charming young man,
and I wish him bon voyage through life. On returning to
my lodgings this evening, my landlord asked me to join
him in what he called "a glass of home-brewed." I accepted,
not to hurt his feelings, a thing I consider almost
criminal; but it is muddy looking stuff, not to my taste.
Saturday, 8th. The weather bad, but my eyes and ears
were greeted by more birds than I have seen yet in this
country. I dined at the Vice-Chancellor's, and found myself
among men of deep research, learning, and knowledge, — mild
in expressions, kind in attentions, and under
whom I fervently wished it had been my lot to have received
such an education as they possess.
Sunday, March 9. Cambridge on a Sunday is a place
where I would suppose the basest mind must relax, for the
time being, from the error of denying the existence of a
Supreme Being; all is calm — silent — solemn — almost
sublime. The beautiful bells fill the air with melody,
and the heart with a wish for prayer. I went to church
with Mr. Whewell at Great St. Mary's, and heard an impressive
sermon on Hope from Mr. Henslow. After that
I went to admire Nature, as the day was beautifully inviting.
Professor Heath of King's College wished me to see
his splendid chapel, and with a ticket of admission I resorted
there at three. We had simple hymns and prayers,
the former softly accompanied by the notes of an immense
organ, standing nearly in the centre of that astonishing
building; the chanters were all young boys in white surplices.
I walked with Mr. Heath to Mr. Whewell's, and
with him went to Trinity Chapel. The charm that had
held me all day was augmented many fold as I entered
an immense interior where were upward of four hundred
collegians in their white robes. The small wax tapers,
the shadowy distances, the slow footfalls of those still
entering, threw my imagination into disorder. A kind
of chilliness almost as of fear came to me, my lips
quivered, my heart throbbed, I fell on my knees and
prayed to be helped and comforted. I shall remember
this sensation forever, my Lucy. When at Liverpool,
I always go to the church for the blind; did I reside
at Cambridge, I would be found each Sunday at Trinity
Chapel.
March 12. I was introduced to Judge — — , on his way
to court, — a monstrously ugly old man, with a wig that
might make a capital bed for an Osage Indian during the
whole of a cold winter on the Arkansas River.
London, March 15. The scene is quite changed, or
better say returned, for I am again in London. I found
my little Larks as lively as ever, but judge of my pleasure
when I found three letters from thee and Victor and
Johnny, dated Nov. 10, Dec. 19, and Jan. 20. What
comfort would it be to see thee. Havell tells me a hundred
sets of No. 6 are in hand for coloring. Mr. David
Lyon called to see my work, and said it had been recommended
to him by Sir Thos. Lawrence. This seems
strange after what I heard before, but like all other men
Sir Thomas has probably his enemies, and falsehoods
have been told about him.
March 20. Called on Havell and saw the plate of the
Parroquets nearly finished; I think it is a beautiful piece
of work. My landlady received a notice that if she did
not pay her rent to-morrow an officer would be put in
possession. I perceived she was in distress when I came
in, and asking her trouble gave her what assistance I
could by writing a cheque for £20, which she has promised
to repay. This evening I went to Covent Garden to
see "Othello;" I had an excellent seat. I saw Kean,
Young, and Kemble; the play was terrifyingly well
performed.
Saturday, March 20. To-day I was with friend Sergeant
most of the time; this evening have paid Havell in
full, and now, thank God, feel free to leave noisy, smoky
London.
Oxford, March 24. I am now in Oxford the clean, and
in comfortable lodgings. I arrived at four o'clock, shrunk
to about one half my usual size by the coldness of the
weather, having ridden on top of the coach, facing the
northern blast, that caused a severe frost last night, and
has, doubtless, nipped much fruit in the bud. As I travelled
I saw Windsor Castle about two miles distant, and
also witnessed the turning out of a Stag from a cart, before
probably a hundred hounds and as many huntsmen.
A curious land, and a curious custom, to catch an animal,
and set it free merely to catch again. We crossed the
Thames twice, near its head; it does not look like the
Ohio, I assure thee; a Sand-hill Crane could easily wade
across it without damping its feathers.
March 25. My feet are positively sore battering the
pavement; I have walked from one house and College to
another all day, but have a new subscriber, and one not
likely to die soon, the Anatomical School, through Dr.
Kidd.[150] He and I ran after each other all day like the
Red-headed Woodpeckers in the spring. I took a walk
along two little streams, bearing of course the appellation
of rivers, the Isis and the Charwell; the former freezes
I am told at the bottom, never at the top. Oxford seems
larger than Cambridge, but is not on the whole so pleasing
to me. I do not think the walks as fine, there are
fewer trees, and the population is more mixed. I have
had some visitors, and lunched with Dr. Williams, who
subscribed for the Radcliffe Library, whither we both
went to inspect the first number. When I saw it, it
drew a sigh from my heart. Ah! Mr. Lizars! was this
the way to use a man who paid you so amply and so
punctually? I rolled it up and took it away with me, for
it was hardly colored at all, and have sent a fair new set
of five numbers. I dined at the Vice-Chancellor's at six;
his niece, Miss Jenkins, did the honors of the table most
gracefully. There were ten gentlemen and four ladies,
and when the latter left, the conversation became more
general. I was spoken to about Wilson and C. Bonaparte,
and could heartily praise both.
March 27. Breakfasted with Mr. Hawkins, Provost of
Oriel College, and went immediately after with him to
the Dean of Trinity. The large salon was filled with
ladies and gentlemen engaged with my work; my drawings
followed, and I showed them, but, oh, Lucy, how
tired I am of doing this. The Dean has, I think, the finest
family of daughters I have ever seen; eight blooming,
interesting young ladies; from here to Dr. Kidd, where
was another room full of company to see my drawings.
Among my visitors was Dr. Ed. Burton,[151] who invited me
to breakfast to-morrow.
March 28. Never since I was at the delightful Green
Bank, or at Twizel House have I had so agreeable a
breakfast as I enjoyed this morning. I was shown into a
neat parlor giving on a garden, and was greeted by a very
beautiful and gracious woman; this was Mrs. Burton. Dr.
Burton came in through the window from the garden; in
a moment we were at table and I felt at once at home, as
if with my good friend "Lady" Rathbone. Dr. and Mrs.
Burton have an astonishing collection of letters, portraits,
etc., and I was asked to write my name and the date of
my birth as well as the present date. The former, I
could not do, except approximately, and Mrs. Burton was
greatly amused that I should not know; what I do know
is that I am no longer a young man. A letter from Mr.
Hawkins told me Dr. Buckland[152] was expected to-morrow,
and I was asked to meet him at dinner at his own house
by Mrs. Buckland. I dined with the Provost of Oriel and
nine other gentlemen, among them the son of the renowned
Mr. Wilberforce.
March 29. To-morrow, probably, I leave here, and
much disappointed. There are here twenty-two colleges
intended to promote science in all its branches; I have
brought here samples of a work acknowledged to be at
least good, and not one of the colleges has subscribed. I
have been most hospitably treated, but with so little encouragement
for my work there is no reason for me to
remain.
London, March 30. Left Oxford at eleven this morning,
the weather still intensely cold. We had a guard
dressed in red with sizable buttons, a good artist on the
bugle, who played in very good style, especially fugues
and anthems, which were harmonious but not cheerful.
I saw a poor man and his wife trudging barefoot this
weather, a sight which drew the rings of my purse asunder.
Almost as soon as I reached my lodgings a gentleman,
Mr. Loudon,[153] called to ask me to write zoölogical
papers for his journal. I declined, for I will never write
anything to call down upon me a second volley of abuse.
I can only write facts, and when I write those the Philadelphians
call me a liar.
April 1, 1828. I have the honor to be a Fellow of the
Linnæan Society of London, quite fresh from the mint,
for the news reached me when the election was not much
more than over. Mr. Vigors tells me Baron Cuvier is to
be here this week. I had some agreeable time with a
gentleman from Ceylon, Bennett[154] by name, who has a
handsome collection of fish from that place.
April 2. Called on Mr. Children, and together we
walked to Mr. Havell's, where he saw the drawings for
No. 7. How slowly my immense work progresses; yet
it goes on apace, and may God grant me life to see it
accomplished and finished. Then, indeed, will I have
left a landmark of my existence.
April 3. I have had many corrections to make to my
Prospectus, which have taken much time. I also examined
many of my drawings, which I thought had suffered
exceedingly from the damp; this quite frightened me.
What a misfortune it would be if they should be spoiled,
for few men would attempt the severe task I have run
through, I think. And as to me, alas! I am growing old,
and although my spirits are as active as ever, my body declines,
and perhaps I never could renew them all. I shall
watch them carefully. Indeed, should I find it necessary,
I will remove them to Edinburgh or Paris, where the
atmosphere is less dangerous.
April 6. I have not written a word for three days,
because, in truth, I have little to mention. Whenever I
am in this London all is alike indifferent to me, and I
in turn indifferent. Ah! my love, on a day like this in
America I could stroll in magnificent woods, I could listen
to sounds fresh and pure, I could look at a blue sky.
Mr. Loudon called and said he was anxious to have a
review of my work in his magazine, and would write to
Mr. Wm. Swainson,[155] a naturalist and friend of Dr.
Traill's, to do so. He again begged me to write an
article for him, for which he would pay eight guineas;
but no, I will write no more for publication except, as
has been urged, to accompany my own pictures.
April 10. I have now only one set on hand; I had fifteen
when I went to Cambridge. I hope soon to hear
from Liverpool; the silence of a friend sometimes terrifies
me; I dread to learn that my venerable, good "Lady"
Rathbone is ill.
April 14. I cannot conceive why, but my spirits have
been much too low for my own comfort. I thought
strongly of returning to America; such a long absence
from thee is dreadful. I sometimes fear we shall never
meet again in this world. I called on Havell, who showed
me the White-headed Eagle, a splendid plate indeed, and
nearly finished.
April 17. I did but little yesterday, I was quite unwell;
in the afternoon I walked to Bruton St. and saw
Mr. Vigors, who assisted me in the nomenclature of the
Hawk for Lord Stanley. This afternoon I received a letter
from Mr. Wm. Swainson, inviting me to go to spend
a day with him. My work continues to be well received,
and as I have a tolerable list of subscribers I hope it will
continue to improve.
April 21. The same feelings still exist this year that
I felt last, during my whole stay in London. I hate it,
yes, I cordially hate London, and yet cannot escape from
it. I neither can write my journal when here, nor draw
well, and if I walk to the fields around, the very voice
of the sweet birds I hear has no longer any charm for
me, the pleasure being too much mingled with the idea
that in another hour all will again be bustle, filth, and
smoke. Last Friday, when about to answer Mr. Swainson's
letter, I suddenly thought that it would be best for
me to go to see him at once. The weather was shocking;
a dog would scarce have turned out to hunt the finest
of game. I dined at two, and went to a coach office,
when, after waiting a long time, the coachman assured me
that unless I had been to Mr. Swainson's before, it
would be madness to go that day, as his house lay
off from the main road fully five miles, and it was a
difficult place to find; moreover, the country, he said,
was swimming. This is the first advice I have ever
had from a coachman to stop me from paying my fare;
I thanked him, and returned home, and wrote to Mr.
Swainson; then walked twice round Kensington Gardens,
most dull and melancholy. Ah! cannot I return
to America?
April 24. I have been so harassed in mind and body,
since ten days, that I am glad to feel partially relieved at
last. All the colorers abandoned the work because I
found one of their number was doing miserable daubing,
and wished him dismissed unless he improved; but now
they are all replaced.
May 1. Mr. Swainson has published a review of my
work in Mr. Loudon's magazine, and how he has raised
my talents. Would that I could do as well as he says I
do; then indeed would my pencil be eager to portray the
delicate and elegant contours of the feathered tribe, the
softness of their plumage, and their gay movements.
Alas, now I must remain in London overlooking engravers,
colorers, and agents. Yet when I close my eyes I
hear the birds warbling, nay, every sound; the shriek of
the Falcon, the coy Doves cooing; the whistling note
of the Grackle seems to fill my ear, again I am in the
cornfield amidst millions of these birds, and then, transported
afar, I must tread lightly and with care, to avoid
the venomous Rattler. I sent the first proof of the
White-headed Eagle to the Marquis of Landsdowne; he
being the president of the Zoölogical Society, I thought
it courteous to do so.
Sunday, May 4. Immediately after breakfast I went
out with George Woodley, and walked to the pretty village
called Hampstead. The rain that fell last night
seemed only sufficient to revive nature's productions; the
trees were lightly covered with foliage of a tender hue;
the hawthorns dispersed along the thickets had opened
their fragrant cups, the rich meadows showed promise of
a fair crop. Here and there a shy Blackbird's note burst
clearly, yet softly, while the modest Blackcap skipped
across our way. I enjoyed it all, but only transiently; I
felt as if I must return to the grand beauties of the Western
World, so strong is the attachment impressed in man
for his own country. I have been summing up the pros
and cons respecting a voyage to America, with an absence
of twelve months. The difficulties are many, but I am
determined to arrange for it, if possible. I should like
to renew about fifty of my drawings; I am sure that now
I could make better compositions, and select better plants
than when I drew merely for amusement, and without the
thought of ever bringing them to public view. To effect
this wish of mine, I must find a true, devoted friend who
will superintend my work and see to its delivery — this is
no trifle in itself. Then I must arrange for the regular
payments of twelve months' work, and that is no trifle;
but when I consider the difficulties I have surmounted,
the privations of all sorts that I have borne, the many
hairbreadth escapes I have had, the times I have been
near sinking under the weight of the enterprise — ah!
such difficulties as even poor Wilson never experienced — what
reasons have I now to suppose, or to make me
think for a moment, that the omnipotent God who gave
me a heart to endure and overcome all these difficulties,
will abandon me now. No! my faith is the same — my
desires are of a pure kind; I only wish to enjoy more of
Him by admiring His works still more than I have ever
done before. He will grant me life, He will support
me in my journeys, and enable me to meet thee again in
America.
May 6. I walked early round the Regent's Park, and
there purchased four beautiful little Redpolls from a
sailor, put them in my pocket, and, when arrived at
home, having examined them to satisfy myself of their
identity with the one found in our country, I gave them
all liberty to go. What pleasure they must have felt rising,
and going off over London; and I felt pleasure too,
to know they had the freedom I so earnestly desired.
May 10. I received a long letter from Charles Bonaparte,
and perceived it had been dipped in vinegar to
prevent it from introducing the plague from Italy to
England.
June 2. I was at Mr. Swainson's from May 28 till yesterday,
and my visit was of the most agreeable nature.
Mr. and Mrs. Swainson have a charming home at Tittenhanger
Green, near St. Albans. Mrs. Swainson plays
well on the piano, is amiable and kind; Mr. Swainson
a superior man indeed; and their children blooming with
health and full of spirit. Such talks on birds we have
had together. Why, Lucy, thou wouldst think that birds
were all that we cared for in this world, but thou knowest
this is not so. Whilst there I began a drawing for Mrs.
Swainson, and showed Mr. Swainson how to put up birds
in my style, which delighted him.
August 9. More than two months have passed since I
have opened my journal — not through idleness, but because,
on the contrary, I have been too busy with my
plates, and in superintending the coloring of them, and
with painting. I wished again to try painting in oil, and
set to with close attention, day after day, and have now
before me eight pictures begun, but not one entirely finished.
I have a great desire to exhibit some of these in
this wonderful London. One of these pictures is from
my sketch of an Eagle pouncing on a Lamb,[156] dost thou
remember it? They are on the top of a dreary mountain;
the sky is dark and stormy, and I am sure the positions
of the bird and his prey are wholly correct. My drawing
is good, but the picture at present shows great coldness
and want of strength. Another is a copy of the very
group of Black Cocks, or Grouse, for which Mr. Gaily
paid me £100, and I copy it with his permission; if it is
better than his, and I think it will be, he must exchange,
for assuredly he should own the superior picture. The
others are smaller and less important. With the exception
of such exercise as has been necessary, and my journeys
(often several times a day) to Havell's, I have not
left my room, and have labored as if not to be painting
was a heinous crime. I have been at work from four
every morning till dark; I have kept up my large correspondence,
my publication goes on well and regularly,
and this very day seventy sets have been distributed; yet
the number of my subscribers has not increased; on the
contrary, I have lost some.
I have met a Mr. Parker, whom I once knew in Natchez;
he asked me to permit him to paint my portrait as a
woodsman, and though it is very tiresome to me, I have
agreed to his request. The return of Captain Basil Hall
to England has rather surprised me; he called on me at
once; he had seen our dear Victor, Mr. Sully, Dr. Harlan,
and many of my friends, to whom I had given him
letters, for which he thanked me heartily. He has seen
much of the United States, but says he is too true an
Englishman to like things there. Time will show his
ideas more fully, as he told me he should publish his
voyage, journeys, and a number of anecdotes.
August 10. My usual long walk before breakfast, after
which meal Mr. Parker took my first sitting, which consisted
merely of the outlines of the head; this was a job
of more than three hours, much to my disgust. We then
went for a walk and turned into the Zoölogical Gardens,
where we remained over an hour. I remarked two large
and beautiful Beavers, seated with the tail as usual under
the body, their forelegs hanging like those of a Squirrel.
August 13. I wrote to Mr. Swainson asking if he could
not accompany me to France, where he said he wished to
go when we were talking together at Tittenhanger.
August 19. My absence from this dusty place has
prevented my writing daily, but I can easily sum up.
Thursday afternoon on returning from Havell's, I found
Mr. Swainson just arrived. He had come to take me to
Tittenhanger Green, where the pure air, the notes of the
birds, the company of his wife and children, revived my
drooping spirits. How very kind this was of him, especially
when I reflect on what a short time I have known
him. We procured some powder and shot, and seated
ourselves in the coach for the journey. Just as we were
leaving London and its smoke, a man begged I would
take a paper bag from him, containing a Carrier Pigeon,
and turn it out about five miles off. The poor bird could
have been put in no better hands, I am sure; when I
opened the bag and launched it in the air, I wished from
my heart I had its powers of flight; I would have ventured
across the ocean to Louisiana. At Tittenhanger Mrs.
Swainson and her darling boy came to meet us, and we
walked slowly to the house; its happy cheer had great influence
on my feelings. Our evening was spent in looking
over Levaillant's[157] work. We discovered, to the
great satisfaction of my friend, two species of Chatterers,
discovered by the famous traveller in Africa; until now
our American species stood by itself, in the mind of the
naturalist. My time afterwards was spent in shooting,
painting, reading, talking, and examining specimens.
But, my Lucy, the most agreeable part of all this is that
we three have decided to go to Paris about the first of
September, from there probably to Brussels, Rotterdam,
and possibly Amsterdam.
August 20. Messrs. Children and Gray[158] of the British
Museum called to see me this afternoon, and we talked
much of that establishment. I was surprised when Mr.
Gray told me £200 per annum was all that was allowed
for the purchase of natural curiosities. We were joined
by Captain Basil Hall. I now feel more and more convinced
that he has not remained in America long enough,
and that his judgment of things there must be only superficial.
Since these gentlemen left I have written to
Charles Bonaparte a long letter, part of which I copy for
thee: "My Sylvia roscoe, is, I assure you, a distinct species
from Vieillot's; my Turdus aquaticus is very different
from Wilson's Water Thrush, as you will see when
both birds are published. Mine never reaches further
south than Savannah, its habits are quite different.
Troglodytes bewickii is a new and rather a rare species,
found only in the lowlands of the Mississippi and Louisiana.
I have killed five or six specimens, and it differs
greatly from Troglodytes ludovicianus; I wish I had a specimen
to send you. I particularly thank you for your
observations, and I hope that you will criticise my work
at all points, as a good friend should do, for how am I to
improve if not instructed by men of superior talents? I
cannot determine at present about 'Stanleii,' because I
never have seen the Falco you mention. My bird is
surely another found in the south and north, but a very
rare species in all my travels; when you see the two figures,
size of life, then you will be able to judge and to
inform me. My journey to the mouth of the Columbia is
always uppermost in my mind, and I look to my return
from that country to this as the most brilliant portion of
my life, as I am confident many new birds and plants
must be there, yet unknown to man. You are extremely
kind to speak so favorably of my work, and to compare it
with your own; it would be more worthy of that comparison,
perhaps, if I had had the advantages of a classical
education; all I deserve, I think, is the degree of encouragement
due to my exertions and perseverance in figuring
exactly the different birds, and the truth respecting their
habits, which will appear in my text. However, I accept
all your kind sayings as coming from a friend, and one
himself devoted to that beautiful department of science,
Ornithology." My subscribers are yet far from enough
to pay my expenses, and my purse suffers severely for
the want of greater patronage. The Zoölogical Gardens
improve daily; they are now building winter quarters for
the animals there. The specimens of skins from all parts
of the world which are presented there are wonderful, but
they have no place for them.
August 25. I have had the pleasure of a long letter
from our Victor, dated July 20; this letter has reached me
more rapidly than any since I have been in England. I
am becoming impatient to start for Paris. I do not expect
much benefit by this trip, but I shall be glad to see
what may be done. Mr. Parker has nearly finished my
portrait, which he considers a good one, and so do I.[159] He
has concluded to go to Paris with us, so we shall be quite
a party. Mr. Vigors wrote asking me to write some papers
for the "Zoölogical Journal," but I have refused him
as all others. No money can pay for abuse. This afternoon
I had a visit from a Mr. Kirkpatrick, who bought
my picture of the Bantams.
August 29. I packed up my clothes early this morning
and had my trunk weighed, as only forty pounds are allowed
to each person. I also put my effects to rights, and
was ready to start for anywhere by seven.
August 30. While Mr. Swainson was sitting with me,
old Bewick and his daughters called on me. Good old
man! how glad I was to see him again. It was, he said,
fifty-one years since he had been in London, which is no
more congenial to him than to me. He is now seventy-eight,
and sees to engrave as well as when he was twenty
years of age.
Dover, September 1, 1828. Now, my dear book, prepare
yourself for a good scratching with my pen, for I have
entered on a journey that I hope will be interesting. I
had breakfast at six with Mr. Parker; we were soon joined
by Mr. and Mrs. Swainson and proceeded to the office in
Piccadilly, where we took our seats in the coach. At the
"Golden Cross" in Charing Cross we took up the rest of
our cargo. Bless me! what a medley! A little, ill-looking
Frenchman — who fastened a gilt balancing-pole under
the coach, and put his wife and little daughter on top, — four
men all foreigners, and a tall, rather good-looking
demoiselle, with a bonnet not wanting in height or breadth
or bows of blue ribbon, so stiff they must have been
starched. She took her seat on top of the coach and
soared aloft, like a Frigate Pelican over the seas. We
started at eight and were soon out of London. The pure
air of the country animated my spirits, and all were gay.
We passed over Black Heath, through Hartford and
Canterbury, the first a poor, dirty-looking place, the latter
quite the contrary. The majestic cathedral rose above
every other object, like one of God's monuments made to
teach us His glory. The country more hilly, on an average,
than any part of this island I have yet seen, but the land
very poor. We saw the Thames several times, and the sea
at a great distance. The river Medway, which we crossed
at Rochester, is influenced by the tides as far as that town.
About six miles from this little seaport we suddenly saw
Dover Castle, which with the sea and the undulating landscape
made a pretty picture. As soon as we arrived we
all went to see the cliffs that rise almost perpendicularly
along the shore, the walks crowded with persons come to
see the regatta to-morrow.
Paris, September 4. I arrived here this morning at
seven o'clock, and I assure thee, my Lucy, that I and all
my companions were pleased to get rid of the diligence,
and the shocking dust that tormented us during our whole
journey. We left Dover at one, on Tuesday, 2d; the wind
blew sharply, and I felt that before long the sea would
have evil effects on me, as it always has. We proceeded
towards Calais at a good rate, going along the shores of
England until opposite the French port, for which we
then made direct, and landed after three and a half hours'
beating against wind and water. As soon as we landed
we left our luggage and passports with a Commissionaire,
and went to dine at Hôtel Robart, where we had been
recommended. Our still sickly bodies were glad to rest,
and there our passports were returned to us. I was much
tickled to read that my complexion was copper red; as the
Monsieur at the office had never seen me, I suppose the
word American suggested that all the natives of our
country were aborigines. We then entered the diligence,
a vehicle ugly and clumsy in the extreme, but tolerably
comfortable unless over-crowded, and it travelled from six
to seven miles an hour, drawn generally by five horses, two
next the coach, and three abreast before those; the driver
rides on the near wheel-horse dressed precisely like the
monkeys in shows of animals. Calais is a decaying fortified
town; the ditches are partly filled with earth, and I cannot
tell why there should exist at this time a drawbridge. As
we proceeded it did not take much time to see already
many differences between France and England. I will
draw no parallel between these countries, I will merely tell
thee what I saw. The country is poorly cultivated, although
the land is good. No divisions exist to the
eye, no cleanly trimmed hedges, no gates, no fences; all
appeared to me like one of the old abandoned cotton
plantations of the South. I remarked that there were more
and taller trees than in England, and nearly the whole
road was planted like the avenue to a gentleman's house.
The road itself was better than I had expected, being
broad, partly macadamized, and partly paved with square
stones; I found it much alike during the whole journey.
Night coming on we lost the means of observation for a
time, and stopped soon after dark for refreshment, and had
some excellent coffee. I assure thee, Lucy, that coffee in
France is certainly better than anywhere else. We passed
through St. Omer, and a little farther on saw the lights of
the fires from an encampment of twelve thousand soldiers.
Breakfast was had at another small village, where we were
sadly annoyed by beggars. The country seems very poor;
the cottages of the peasants are wretched mud huts. We
passed through the Departments of Artois and Picardy,
the country giving now and then agreeable views. We
dined at Amiens, where the cathedral externally is magnificent.
After travelling all night again, we found ourselves
within forty miles of Paris, and now saw patches of
vineyards and found fruit of all kinds cheap, abundant,
and good. We were put down at the Messagerie Royale rue
des Victoires, and I found to my sorrow that my plates
were not among the luggage; so I did what I could about
it, and we went to lodgings to which we had been recommended,
with M. Percez. Mrs. Swainson's brother, Mr.
Parkes, came to see us at once, and we all went to the
Jardin des Plantes, or Jardin du Roi, which fronts on a
very bad bridge, built in great haste in the days of
Napoleon, then called Le pont d'Austerlitz, but now Le pont
Ste. Geneviève. I thought the gardens well laid out, large,
handsome, but not everywhere well kept. We saw everything,
then walked to the entrance of the famous Musée;
it was closed, but we knocked and asked for Baron
Cuvier.[160] He was in, but, we were told, too busy to be
seen. Being determined to look at the Great Man, we
waited, knocked again, and with a certain degree of firmness
sent our names. The messenger returned, bowed, and
led the way upstairs, where in a minute Monsieur le Baron,
like an excellent good man, came to us. He had heard
much of my friend Swainson and greeted him as he deserves
to be greeted; he was polite and kind to me, though my
name had never made its way to his ears. I looked at
him, and here follows the result: age about sixty-five;
size corpulent, five feet five, English measure; head large;
face wrinkled and brownish; eyes gray, brilliant and
sparkling; nose aquiline, large and red; mouth large,
with good lips; teeth few, blunted by age, excepting one
on the lower jaw, measuring nearly three-quarters of an
inch square. Thus, my Lucy, have I described Cuvier
almost as if a new species of man. He has invited us to
dine with him next Saturday at six, and as I hope to have
many opportunities of seeing him I will write more as I
become acquainted with him. After dinner Mr. Parker
and I went roving anywhere and everywhere, but as it
grew dark, and Paris is very badly lighted, little can I
say, more than that we saw the famous Palais Royal, and
walked along each of its four avenues. The place was
crowded, and filled with small shops, themselves filled with
all sorts of bagatelles.
September 5. After breakfast, which was late but good,
consisting of grapes, figs, sardines, and French coffee,
Swainson and I proceeded to Les Jardins des Plantes, by
the side of the famous river Seine, which here, Lucy, is
not so large as the Bayou Sara, where I have often watched
the Alligators while bathing. Walking in Paris is disagreeable
in the extreme; the streets are paved, but with
scarcely a sidewalk, and a large gutter filled with dirty
black water runs through the centre of each, and the people
go about without any kind of order, in the centre, or near
the houses; the carriages, carts, etc., do the same, and I
have wondered that so few accidents take place. We saw a
very ugly bridge of iron called the Pont Neuf, and the
splendid statue of Henri Quatre. We were, however, more
attracted by the sight of the immense numbers of birds
offered for sale along the quays, and some were rare
specimens. A woman took us into her house and showed
us some hundreds from Bengal and Senegal, and I assure
thee that we were surprised. We proceeded to our appointment
with Baron Cuvier, who gave us tickets for the
Musée, and promised all we could wish. At the Musée
M. Valenciennes[161] was equally kind. Having a letter for
M. Geoffroy de St. Hilaire,[162] we went to his house in the
Jardins, and with him we were particularly pleased. He
proved to me that he understood the difference in the ideas
of the French and English perfectly. He repeated the
words of Cuvier and assured us my work had not been heard
of in France. He promised to take us to the Académie
des Sciences on Monday next. I left Swainson at work in
the Musée, and went to the Louvre. There, entering the
first open door, I was shown into the public part of the
King's Appartement, a thing I have never been able to
accomplish in England. I saw the room where the grand
councils are held, and many paintings illustrating the
horrors of the French Revolution. Then to the galleries
of painting and sculpture, where I found Parker, and saw a
number of artists copying in oil the best pictures. This
evening we went to the Thé�tre Français, where I saw the
finest drop curtain I have yet beheld, and a fine tragedy,
Fiésque, which I enjoyed much.
September 6. The strange things one sees in this town
would make a mountain of volumes if closely related; but
I have not time, and can only speak to thee of a few.
After our breakfast of figs and bread and butter, Swainson
and I went down the Boulevard to the Jardins Royaux.
These boulevards are planted with trees to shade them,
and are filled with shops containing more objects of luxury
and of necessity than can well be imagined. The boulevard
we took is a grand promenade, and the seat of great
bargains. I mean to say that a person unacquainted with
the ways of the French petit marchand may be cheated
here, with better grace, probably, than anywhere else in
the world; but one used to their tricks may buy cheap
and good articles. In the afternoon we went again to the
Louvre, and admired the paintings in the splendid gallery,
and lunched on chicken, a bottle of good wine, vegetables
and bread, for thirty-five sous each. Evening coming on,
we proceeded, after dressing, to Baron Cuvier's house to
dine. We were announced by a servant in livery, and
received by the Baron, who presented us to his only remaining
daughter, — a small, well-made, good-looking lady,
with sparkling black eyes, and extremely amiable. As I
seldom go anywhere without meeting some one who has
met me, I found among the guests a Fellow of the Linnæan
Society, who knew me well. The Baroness now
came in — a good-looking, motherly lady, and the company,
amounting to sixteen, went to dinner. The Baroness
led the way with a gentleman, and the Baron took in
his daughter, but made friend Swainson and me precede
them; Swainson sat next mademoiselle, who, fortunately
for him, speaks excellent English. I was opposite to her,
by the side of the Baron. There was not the show of opulence
at this dinner that is seen in the same rank of life in
England, no, not by far, but it was a good dinner, served
à la française. All seemed happy, and went on with
more simplicity than in London. The dinner finished, the
Baroness rose, and we all followed her into the library. I
liked this much; I cannot bear the drinking matches of
wine at the English tables. We had coffee, and the company
increased rapidly; amongst them all I knew only
Captain Parry, M. de Condolleot (?), and Mr. Lesson,[163]
just returned from a voyage round the world. Cuvier
stuck to us, and we talked ornithology; he asked me the
price of my work, and I gave him a prospectus. The
company filled the room, it grew late, and we left well satisfied
with the introductory step among les savans français.
Sunday, September 7. The traveller who visits France
without seeing a fête, such as I have seen this day at St.
Cloud, leaves the country unacquainted with that species
of knowledge best adapted to show the manners of a people.
St. Cloud is a handsome town on the Seine, about
five miles below Paris, built in horseshoe form on the undulating
hills of this part of the country. These hills are
covered with woods, through which villas, cottages, and
chateaux emerge, and give life to the scene. On the west
side of the village, and on its greatest elevation, stands the
Palace of the Kings, the Emperors, and the people. I say
the people, because they are allowed to see the interior
every day. With Parker, I took a cab directly after breakfast
to the barrière des bons hommes, and walked the remaining
distance, say three miles. We had the Seine in
view most of the way, and crossed it on a fine iron bridge,
one end of which forms the entrance to St. Cloud, in front
of which the river winds. We reached the gates of the
palace, and found they were not opened till twelve o'clock;
but a sergeant offered to show us the King's garden, — an
offer we accepted with pleasure. The entrance is by an
avenue of fine trees, their tops meeting over our heads,
and presenting, through the vista they made, a frame for a
beautiful landscape. We passed several pieces of water,
the peaceful abode of numerous fish, basking on the surface;
swans also held their concave wings unfurled to the
light breeze — orange trees of fair size held their golden
fruit pendent — flowers of every hue covered the borders,
and a hundred statues embellished all with their well-modelled
forms. So unmolested are the birds that a Green
Woodpecker suffered my inspection as if in the woods of
our dear, dear America. At the right time we found ourselves
in the King's antechamber, and then passed through
half a dozen rooms glittering with richest ornaments,
painted ceilings, large pictures, and lighted by immense
windows; all, however, too fine for my taste, and we were
annoyed by the gens d'armes watching us as if we were
thieves. It was near two o'clock when we left, the weather
beautiful, and heat such as is usually felt in Baltimore
about this season. The population of Paris appeared now
to flock to St. Cloud; the road was filled with conveyances
of all sorts, and in the principal walk before the
Palace were hundreds of petits marchands, opening and
arranging their wares. Music began in different quarters,
groups lay on the grass, enjoying their repasts; every one
seemed joyous and happy. One thing surprised me: we
were at St. Cloud ten hours, — they told us fifty thousand
(?) were there, and I saw only three women of noticeable
beauty; yet these short brunettes are animated
and apparently thoughtless, and sing and dance as if no
shadow could ever come over them. At four o'clock all
was in full vigor; the sounds of horns and bugles drew us
towards a place where we saw on a platform a party of
musicians, three of whom were Flemish women, and so
handsome that they were surrounded by crowds. We
passed through a sort of turnstile, and in a few minutes an
equestrian performance began, in which the riders showed
great skill, jugglers followed with other shows, and then
we left; the same show in London would have cost three
shillings; here, a franc. We saw people shooting at a target
with a crossbow. When the marksman was successful
in hitting the centre, a spring was touched, and an inflated
silken goldfish, as large as a barrel, rose fifty yards in the
air, — a pretty sight, I assure thee; the fins of gauze moved
with the breeze, he plunged and rose and turned about,
almost as a real fish would do in his element. Shows of
everything were there; such a medley — such crowds — such
seeming pleasure in all around us, I never remarked
anywhere but in France. No word of contention did I
hear; all was peace and joy, and when we left not a disturbance
had taken place. We had an excellent dinner,
with a bottle of Chablis, for three francs each, and returning
to the place we had left, found all the fountains were
playing, and dancing was universal; the musicians were
good and numerous, but I was surprised to remark very
few fine dancers. The woods, which were illuminated,
looked extremely beautiful; the people constantly crossing
and re-crossing them made the lights appear and disappear,
reminding me of fireflies in our own woods in a summer
night. As we passed out of the gates, we perceived
as many persons coming as going, and were told the merriment
would last till day. With difficulty we secured two
seats in a cart, and returned to Paris along a road with a
double line of vehicles of all sorts going both ways. Every
few rods were guards on foot, and gens d'armes on horseback,
to see that all went well; and we at last reached our
hotel, tired and dusty, but pleased with all we had seen,
and at having had such an opportunity to see, to compare,
and to judge of the habits of a people so widely different
from either Americans or English.
September 8. We went to pay our respects to Baron
Cuvier and Geoffroy St. Hilaire;[164] we saw only the first,
who told us to be at the Académie Royale des Sciences in
an hour. I had hired a portfolio, and took my work. As
soon as we entered, Baron Cuvier very politely came to us,
ordered a porter to put my book on a table, and gave me
a seat of honor. The séance was opened by a tedious lecture
on the vision of the Mole; then Cuvier arose, announcing
my friend Swainson and me and spoke of my work; it
was shown and admired as usual, and Cuvier requested to
review it for the "Mémoires of the Academy." Poor Audubon!
here thou art, a simple woodsman, among a crowd
of talented men, yet kindly received by all — so are the
works of God as shown in His birds loved by them. I left
my book, that the librarian might show it to all who wished
to see it.
September 9. Went to the Jardin du Roi, where I met
young Geoffroy, who took me to a man who stuffs birds
for the Prince d'Essling, who, I was told, had a copy of my
work, but after much talk could not make out whether it
was Wilson's, Selby's, or mine. I am to call on him to-morrow.
I took a great walk round the Boulevards, looking
around me and thinking how curious my life has been,
and how wonderful my present situation is. I took Mrs.
Swainson to the Louvre, and as we were about to pass one
of the gates of the Tuileries, the sentinel stopped us, saying
no one could pass with a fur cap; so we went to another
gate, where no such challenge was given, and reached the
Grand Gallery. Here amongst the Raphaels, Correggios,
Titians, Davids, and thousands of others, we feasted our
eyes and enlarged our knowledge. Taking Mrs. Swainson
home, I then made for L'Institut de France by appointment,
and gave my prospectus to the secretary of the
library. Young Geoffroy, an amiable and learned young
man, paid me every attention, and gave me a room for
Swainson and myself to write in and for the inspection of
specimens. How very different from the public societies
in England, where instead of being bowed to, you have to
bow to every one. Now, my Lucy, I have certainly run the
gauntlet of England and Paris, and may feel proud of two
things, that I am considered the first ornithological painter,
and the first practical naturalist of America; may God
grant me life to accomplish my serious and gigantic work.
September 10. Breakfast over, I made for the Boulevards
to present the letters from good friends Rathbone
and Melly. I saw Mr. B — — , the banker, who read the
letter I gave him, and was most polite, but as to ornithology,
all he knew about it was that large feathers were
called quills, and were useful in posting ledgers. From
there to the Jardin du Roi, where I called on Monsieur L.
C. Kiener, bird stuffer to the Prince of Massena (or Essling),[165]
who wished me to call on the Prince with him at
two, the Prince being too ill to leave the house. Mr. and
Mrs. Swainson were to go with me to see the collection he
had made, of many curious and beautiful things, and when
we reached the house we were shown at once to the
museum, which surpasses in magnificence and number of
rare specimens of birds, shells, and books, all I have yet
seen. This for a while, when I was told the Prince would
receive me. I took my pamphlet in my arms and entered
a fine room, where he was lying on a sofa; he rose at once,
bowed, and presented his beautiful wife. As soon as I had
untied my portfolio, and a print was seen, both exclaimed,
"Ah! c'est bien beau!" I was asked if I did not know
Charles Bonaparte, and when I said yes, they again both
exclaimed, "Ah! c'est lui, the gentleman of whom we have
heard so much, the man of the woods, who has made so
many and such wonderful drawings." The Prince regretted
very much there were so few persons in France able to
subscribe to such a work, and said I must not expect more
than six or eight names in Paris. He named all whom he
and his lady knew, and then said it would give him pleasure
to add his name to my list; he wrote it himself, next
under that of the Duke of Rutland. This prince, son of
the famous marshal, is about thirty years of age, apparently
delicate, pale, slender, and yet good-looking, entirely
devoted to Natural History; his wife a beautiful young
woman, not more than twenty, extremely graceful and
polite. They both complimented me on the purity of my
French, and wished me all success. My room at the hotel
being very cramped, I have taken one at L'Hôtel de France,
large, clean, and comfortable, for which I pay twenty-five
sous a day. We are within gun-shot of Les Jardins des
Tuileries. The retraite is just now beating. This means
that a few drummers go through the streets at eight o'clock
in the evening, beating their drums, to give notice to all
soldiers to make for their quarters.
September 12. I went early to Rue Richelieu to see the
librarian of the King, Mr. Van Praët, a small, white-haired
gentleman, who assured me in the politest manner imaginable
that it was out of the question to subscribe for such a
work; he, however, gave me a card of introduction to M.
Barbier, a second librarian, belonging to the King's private
library at the Louvre. On my way I posted my letters for
London; the inland postage of a single letter from Paris
to London is twenty-four sous, and the mail for London
leaves four days in the week. M. Barbier was out, but
when I saw him later he advised me to write to the Baron
de la Bouillerie, intendant of the King's household. So go
my days. — This evening we went to the Italian Opera; it
was not open when we arrived, so we put ourselves in the
line of people desirous to enter, and at seven followed
regularly, with no pushing or crowding (so different from
England), as the arrangements are so perfect. We received
our tickets, the change was counted at leisure, and we were
shown into the pit, which contains three divisions; that
nearest the orchestra contains the most expensive seats.
The theatre is much less in extent than either Drury Lane
or Covent Garden, but is handsome, and splendidly decorated
and lighted. The orchestra contains more than
double the number of musicians, and when the music began,
not another sound was heard, all was silence and attention.
Never having been at the opera since my youth, the music
astounded me. The opera was Semiramis, and well executed,
but I was not much pleased with it; it was too
clamorous, a harmonious storm, and I would have preferred
something more tranquil. I remarked that persons who
left their seats intending to return laid on their seats a hat,
glove, or card, which was quite sufficient to keep the place
for them. In London what a treat for the thieves, who are
everywhere. I walked home; the pure atmosphere of Paris,
the clear sky, the temperature, almost like that of America,
make me light-hearted indeed, yet would that I were again
in the far distant, peaceful retreats of my happiest days.
Europe might whistle for me; I, like a free bird, would sing,
"Never — no, never, will I leave America."
September 13. I had to take my portfolio to Baron
Cuvier, and I went first to Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, who
liked it much, and retracted his first opinion of the work
being too large. Monsieur Dumesnil, a first-rate engraver,
came to see me, sent by Prince de Massena, and we talked
of the work, which he told me honestly could not be published
in France to be delivered in England as cheaply as
if the work were done in London, and probably not so well.
This has ended with me all thoughts of ever removing it
from Havell's hands, unless he should discontinue the
present excellent state of its execution. Copper is dearer
here than in England, and good colorers much scarcer.
I saw Cuvier, who invited us to spend the evening, and
then returned to the Pont des Arts to look for bird-skins.
I found none, but purchased an engraved portrait of Cuvier,
and another of "Phidias and the Thorn." I have just
returned with Swainson from Baron Cuvier's, who gives
public receptions to scientific men every Saturday. My
book was on the table; Cuvier received me with special
kindness, and put me at my ease. Mademoiselle Cuvier
I found remarkably agreeable, as also Monsieur de Condillot.
The first very willingly said he would sit to Parker
for his portrait, and the other told me that if I went to
Italy, I must make his house my home. My work was
seen by many, and Cuvier pronounced it the finest of its
kind in existence.
September 14, Sunday. Versailles, where we have spent
our day, is truly a magnificent place; how long since I have
been here, and how many changes in my life since those
days! We first saw the orangerie, of about two hundred
trees, that to Frenchmen who have never left Paris look
well, but to me far from it, being martyrized by the hand
of man, who has clipped them into stiff ovals. One is
407 years old. They produce no golden fruit, as their
boxes are far too small to supply sufficient nourishment,
and their fragrant blossoms are plucked to make orange-flower
water. From this spot the woods, the hunting-grounds
of the King, are seen circling the gardens, and are
(we are told) filled with all kinds of game. The King's
apartments, through which we afterwards went, are too full
of gilding for my eyes, and I frequently resorted to the
large windows to glance at the green trees. Amongst the
paintings I admired most little Virginia and Paul standing
under a palm-tree with their mothers; Paul inviting the
lovely child to cross a brook. In the stables are a hundred
beautiful horses, the choice of Arabia, Australasia, Normandy,
Limousin, etc., each the model of his race, with
fiery eyes, legs sinewy and slender, tails to the ground, and
manes never curtailed. Among them still remain several
that have borne the great Napoleon. From here we
walked again through woods and gardens; thus, my Lucy,
once more have I been at Versailles, and much have I
enjoyed it.
September 15. France, my dearest friend, is indeed
poor! This day I have attended at the Royal Academy of
Sciences, and had all my plates spread over the different
large tables, and they were viewed by about one hundred
persons. "Beau! bien beau!" issued from every mouth,
but, "Quel ouvrage!" "Quel prix!" as well. I said
that I had thirty subscribers at Manchester; they seemed
surprised, but acknowledged that England, the little isle
of England, alone was able to support poor Audubon.
Poor France! thy fine climate, thy rich vineyards, and the
wishes of the learned avail nothing; thou art a destitute
beggar, and not the powerful friend thou wast represented
to be. Now I see plainly how happy, or lucky, or prudent
I was, not to follow friend Melly's enthusiastic love
of country. Had I come first to France my work never
would have had even a beginning; it would have perished
like a flower in October. It happened that a gentleman
who saw me at Versailles yesterday remembered my face,
and spoke to me; he is the under secretary of this famous
society, and he wrote for me a note to be presented to the
Minister of the Interior, who has, I am told, the power to
subscribe to anything, and for as many copies of any work
as the farmers of France can well pay for through the
enormous levies imposed on them. Cuvier, St. Hilaire,
and many others spoke to me most kindly. I had been
to Cuvier in the morning to talk with him and Parker
about the portrait the latter is to paint, and I believe I
will describe Cuvier's house to thee. The footman asked
us to follow him upstairs, and in the first room we caught
a glimpse of a slight figure dressed all in black, that
glided across the floor like a sylph; it was Mlle. Cuvier,
not quite ready to see gentlemen: off she flew like a Dove
before Falcons. We followed our man, who continually
turned, saying, "This way, gentlemen." Eight rooms we
passed filled with books, and each with a recessed bed,
and at last reached a sort of laboratory, the sanctum sanctorum
of Cuvier; there was nothing in it but books and
skeletons of animals, reptiles, etc. Our conductor, surprised,
bid us sit down, and left us to seek the Baron. My
eyes were fully employed, and I contemplated in imagination
the extent of the great man's knowledge. His books
were in great disorder, and I concluded that he read and
studied them, and owned them for other purposes than
for show. Our man returned and led us back through the
same avenue of bed-chambers, lined with books instead of
satin, and we were conducted through the kitchen to
another laboratory, where the Baron was found. Politeness
in great men is shown differently from the same quality
in fashionable society: a smile suffices to show you
are welcome, without many words, and the work in hand
is continued as if you were one of the family. Ah! how
I delight in this! and how pleased I was to be thus welcomed
by this learned man. Cuvier was looking at a
small lizard in a tiny vial filled with spirit. I see now his
sparkling eye half closed, as if quizzing its qualities, and
as he put it down he wrote its name on a label. He made
an appointment with Mr. Parker, and went on quizzing
lizards. Being desirous of seeing a gambling house, young
Geoffroy took me to one in the Palais Royal, a very notorious
one, containing several roulette tables, and there we
saw a little of the tactics of the gentlemen of the trade.
The play, however, was not on this occasion high. The
banquiers, or head thieves, better call them, are lank and
pale, their countenances as unmoved as their hearts.
From here we went to the establishment of Franconi,
where I saw wonderful feats of horsemanship.
September 17. There is absolutely nothing to be done
here to advance my subscription list, and at two o'clock I
went with Swainson to a marchand naturaliste to see some
drawings of birds of which I had heard. They were not
as well drawn as mine, but much better painted.
September 18. I went to install Parker at Baron Cuvier's.
He had his canvas, etc., all ready and we arrived
at half-past nine, too early quite. At ten, having spent
our time in the apartment of the Giraffe, Parker went in
to take a second breakfast, and I to converse with Mlle.
Cuvier. The Baron came in, and after a few minutes to
arrange about the light, sat down in a comfortable arm-chair,
quite ready. Great men as well as great women
have their share of vanity, and I soon discovered that the
Baron thinks himself a fine-looking man. His daughter
seemed to know this, and remarked more than once that
her father's under lip was swelled more than usual, and
she added that the line of his nose was extremely fine.
I passed my fingers over mine, and, lo! I thought just the
same. I see the Baron now, quite as plainly as I did this
morning; an old green surtout about him, a neck-cloth,
that might well surround his body if unfolded, loosely tied
about his chin, and his silver locks like those of a man
more bent on studying books than on visiting barbers.
His fine eyes shot fire from under his bushy eyebrows,
and he smiled as he conversed with me. Mlle. Cuvier,
asked to read to us, and opening a book, read in a clear,
well accentuated manner a comic play, well arranged to
amuse us for a time, for sitting for a portrait is certainly
a great bore. The Baroness joined us; I thought her
looks not those of a happy person, and her melancholy
affected me. The Baron soon said he was fatigued, rose
and went out, but soon returned, and I advised Parker not
to keep him too long. The time was adjourned to Sunday
next. In Connecticut this would be thought horrible,
in England it would be difficult to effect it, and in Paris it is
considered the best day for such things. Again I went to
the Louvre, and this evening went with young Geoffroy to
the celebrated Frascati. This house is a handsome hôtel,
and we were introduced by two servants in fine livery into
a large wainscoted room, where a roulette table was at
work. Now none but gentlemen gamble here. We saw,
and saw only! In another room rouge et noir was going
on, and the double as well as the single Napoleons easily
changed hands, yet all was smiling and serene. Some
wealthy personage drew gold in handsful from his pockets,
laid it on a favorite spot, and lost it calmly, more than
once. Ladies also resort to this house, and good order is
always preserved; without a white cravat, shoes instead
of boots, etc., no one is admitted. I soon became tired
of watching this and we left.
September 19. Friend Swainson requested me to go
with him this morning to complete a purchase of skins,
and this accomplished I called on M. Milbert, to whom I
had a letter from my old friend Le Sueur,[166] but he was
absent. I now went to the Jardin du Roi, and at the
library saw the so-called fine drawings of Mr. H — — .
Lucy, they were just such drawings as our boy Johnny
made before I left home, stiff and dry as a well-seasoned
fiddle-stick. The weather and the sky are most charming.
This evening M. Cainard, whom I have met several
times, asked me to play billiards with him, but the want
of practice was such that I felt as if I never had played
before. Where is the time gone when I was considered
one of the best of players? To-morrow I will try to see
M. Redouté.[167]
September 20. I had the pleasure of seeing old Redouté
this morning, the flower-painter par excellence. After reading
Le Sueur's note to him, dated five years ago, he looked
at me fixedly, and said, "Well, sir, I am truly glad to become
acquainted with you," and without further ceremony
showed me his best works. His flowers are grouped with
peculiar taste, well drawn and precise in the outlines, and
colored with a pure brilliancy that depicts nature incomparably
better than I ever saw it before. Old Redouté dislikes
all that is not nature alone; he cannot bear either the
drawings of stuffed birds or of quadrupeds, and evinced a
strong desire to see a work wherein nature was delineated
in an animated manner. He said that as he dined every
Friday at the Duke of Orleans', he would take my work
there next week, and procure his subscription, if not also
that of the Duchess, and requested me to give him a prospectus.
I looked over hundreds of his drawings, and found
out that he sold them well; he showed me some worth
two hundred and fifty guineas. On my way to the Comte
de Lasterie, I met the under secretary of the King's private
library, who told me that the Baron de la Bouillerie had
given orders to have my work inspected and if approved of
to subscribe to it. I reached the Comte de Lasterie's
house, found him half dressed, very dirty, and not very
civil. He was at breakfast with several gentlemen, and
told me to call again, which I will take into consideration.
I must not forget that in crossing the city this morning I
passed through the flower market, a beautiful exhibition to
me at all times. This market is abundantly supplied twice
a week with exotics and flowers of all sorts, which are sold
at a cheap rate.
September 21. The weather is still beautiful, and Parker
and I took the omnibus at the Pont des Arts, which vehicle,
being Sunday, was crowded. I left Parker to make a
second sitting with Cuvier, and went to the Jardin du Roi,
already filled with pleasure-seekers. I took a seat beside
a venerable old soldier, and entered into conversation with
him. Soldier during more than thirty years, he had much
to relate. The Moscow campaign was spoken of, and I
heard from the lips of this veteran the sufferings to which
Napoleon's armies had been exposed. He had been taken
prisoner, sent to the interior for two years, fed on musty
bread by the Cossacks, who forced them to march all day.
He had lost his toes and one ear by the frost, and sighed,
as he said, "And to lose the campaign after all this!" I
offered him a franc, and to my surprise he refused it, saying
he had his pension, and was well fed. The garden was
now crowded, children were scrambling for horse-chestnuts,
which were beginning to fall, ladies playing battledore
and shuttlecock, venders of fruit and lemonade were calling
their wares, and I was interested and amused by all.
Now to Baron Cuvier again. I found him sitting in his
arm-chair; a gentleman was translating the dedication of
Linné (Linnæus) to him, as he was anxious that the Latin
should not be misconstrued; he often looked in some
book or other, and I dare say often entirely forgot Parker,
who notwithstanding has laid in a good likeness. The
Baron wishes me to be at the Institute to-morrow at half-past
one.
September 22. I was at the Institute at half-past one — no
Baron there. I sat opposite the clock and counted
minutes one after another; the clock ticked on as if I did
not exist; I began the counting of the numerous volumes
around me, and as my eyes reached the centre of the hall
they rested on the statue of Voltaire; he too had his share
of troubles. Savants entered one after another; many
bowed to me, and passed to their seats. My thoughts
journeyed to America; I passed from the Missouri to the
Roanoke, to the Hudson, to the Great Lakes — then
floated down the gentle Ohio, and met the swift Mississippi
which would carry me to thee. The clock vibrated in my
ears, it struck two, and I saw again that I was in an immense
library, where the number of savants continually increased,
but no Cuvier; I tried to read, but could not; now it was
half-past two; I was asked several times if I was waiting for
the Baron, and was advised to go to his house, but like a
sentinel true to his post I sat firm and waited. All at once
I heard his voice, and saw him advancing, very warm and
apparently fatigued. He met me with many apologies,
and said, "Come with me;" and we walked along, he explaining
all the time why he had been late, while his hand
drove a pencil with great rapidity, and he told me that he
was actually now writing the report on my work!! I
thought of La Fontaine's fable of the Turtle and the Hare;
I was surprised that so great a man should leave till the
last moment the writing of a report to every word of which
the forty critics of France would lend an attentive ear.
For being on such an eminence he has to take more care
of his actions than a common individual, to prevent his fall,
being surrounded, as all great men are more or less, by
envy and malice. My enormous book lay before him, and
I shifted as swift as lightning the different plates that he had
marked for examination. His pencil moved as constantly
and as rapidly. He turned and returned the sheets of his
manuscript with amazing accuracy, and noted as quickly
as he saw, and he saw all. We were both wet with perspiration.
It wanted but a few minutes of three when we
went off to the Council room, Cuvier still writing, and
bowing to every one he met. I left him, and was glad to
get into the pure air. At my lodgings I found a card asking
me to go to the Messageries Royales, and I went at once,
thinking perhaps it was my numbers from London; but no
such thing. My name was asked, and I was told that
orders had been received to remit me ten francs, the coach
having charged me for a seat better than the one I had
had. This is indeed honesty. When I asked the gentleman
how he had found out my lodgings, he smiled, and
answered that he knew every stranger in Paris that had
arrived for the last three months, through his line of employees,
and that any police-officer was able to say how I
spent my time.
September 23. The great Gérard, the pupil of my old
master, David, has written saying he wishes to see my work,
and myself also, and I have promised to go to-morrow
evening at nine. To-day I have been to the King's library,
a fine suite of twelve rooms, filled with elegant and most
valuable copies of all the finest works. I should suppose
that a hundred thousand volumes are contained here, as
well as portfolios filled with valuable originals of the first
masters. The King seldom reads, but he shoots well.
Napoleon read, or was read to, constantly, and hardly knew
how to hold a gun. I was surprised when I spoke of
Charles Bonaparte to notice that no response was made,
and the conversation was abruptly turned from ornithologists
to engraving. I have now been nearly three weeks
in Paris and have two subscribers — almost as bad as Glasgow.
I am curious to see the Baron's report, and should
like to have it in his own handwriting. This is hardly possible;
he seldom writes, Mlle. Cuvier does his writing for
him.
September 24. To have seen me trot about from pillar
to post, across this great town, from back of the Palais
Royal to the Jardin du Luxembourg, in search of M. Le
Médecin Bertrand and a copy of Cuvier's report, would
have amused any one, and yet I did it with great activity.
Such frailty does exist in man, all of whom are by nature
avaricious of praise. Three times did I go in vain to
each place, i. e., to the house in the Rue d'Enfans, and
the Globe Office, three miles asunder. Fatigue at last
brought me to bay, and I gave up the chase. I proceeded
to the King's library. My work had had the
honor to have been inspected by the Committee, who had
passed a favorable judgment on its merits. I was informed
that should the King subscribe, I must leave in
France a man authorized by act of attorney to receive my
dues, without which I might never have a sol. The
librarian, a perfect gentleman, told me this in friendship,
and would have added (had he dared) that Kings are
rarely expected to pay. I, however, cut the matter short,
knowing within myself that, should I not receive my
money, I was quite able to keep the work. In the evening
I dressed to go to M. Gérard's with M. Valenciennes;
but he did not come, so there must have been some
mistake — probably mine.
September 25. Went with Swainson to the Panthéon,
to see if the interior corresponds with the magnificence
of the exterior; it is fine, but still unfinished. All, or
almost all, the public edifices of Paris far surpass those
of London. Then to see Cuvier, who was sitting for his
portrait, while the Baroness was reading to him the life
of Garrick. He had known Mrs. Garrick, and his observations
were interesting. The likeness is good, and Cuvier
is much pleased with it; he gave me a note for M. Vallery
the King's librarian. Parker had received a note from
M. Valenciennes, saying he had forgot my address, and
had spent the evening going from place to place searching
for me, and requested I would go with him to Gérard next
Thursday. Did he forget to question the all-knowing police,
or did the gentleman at the Messageries exaggerate?
September 26. I spent some time in the Louvre examining
very closely the most celebrated pictures of animals,
birds, fruits, and flowers. Afterwards we all went to the
French Opera, or, as it is called here, L'�cole de Musique
Royale. The play was "La Muette," a wonderful piece,
and the whole arrangement of the performance still more
so. There were at one time two hundred persons on the
stage. The scenery was the finest I have ever beheld, — at
the last, Mount Vesuvius in full and terrific eruption; the
lava seemed absolutely to roll in a burning stream down
the sides of the volcano, and the stones which were apparently
cast up from the earth added to the grand representation.
The whole house resounded with the most vociferous
applause, and we enjoyed our evening, I assure thee.
September 27. Found old Redouté at his painting.
The size of my portfolio surprised him, and when I
opened the work, he examined it most carefully, and
spoke highly of it, and wished he could afford it. I proposed,
at last, that we should exchange works, to which
he agreed gladly, and gave me at once nine numbers of
his "Belles fleurs" and promised to send "Les Roses."
Now, my Lucy, this will be a grand treat for thee, fond
of flowers as thou art; when thou seest these, thy eyes
will feast on the finest thou canst imagine. From here
to the Globe office, where I saw the rédacteur who was
glad to have me correct the proof sheets as regarded the
technical names. I did so, and he gave me, to my delight,
the original copy of Cuvier himself. It is a great eulogium
certainly, but not so feelingly written as the one by
Swainson, nevertheless it will give the French an idea of
my work.
September 28. I have lived many years, and have only
seen one horse race. Perhaps I should not have seen
that, which took place to-day at the Champ de Mars,
had I not gone out of curiosity with M. Vallery. The
Champ de Mars is on the south side of the Seine, about
one and one half miles below Paris; we passed through
Les Jardins des Tuileries, followed the river, and crossed the
Pont de Jéna opposite the entrance to l'�cole Militaire,
situated at the farther end of the oval that forms the
Champ de Mars. This is a fine area, and perfectly level,
surrounded by a levee of earth, of which I should suppose
the material was taken from the plain on which the course
is formed. Arriving early, we walked round it; saw with
pleasure the trees that shaded the walks; the booths
erected for the royal family, the prefect, the gentry, and the
canaille, varying greatly in elegance, as you may suppose.
Chairs and benches were to be hired in abundance, and
we each took one. At one o'clock squadrons of gens
d'armes and whole regiments of infantry made their
appearance from different points, and in a few minutes the
whole ground was well protected. The King was expected,
but I saw nothing of him, nor, indeed, of any of
the royal family, and cannot even assert that they came.
At two every seat was filled, and several hundreds of men
on horseback had taken the centre of the plain divided
from the race track by a line of ropes. The horses for
the course made their appearance, — long-legged, slender-bodied,
necks straight, light of foot, and fiery-eyed. They
were soon mounted, and started, but I saw none that
I considered swift; not one could have run half as fast
as a buck in our woods. Five different sets were run, one
after another, but I must say I paid much greater attention
to a Mameluke on a dark Arab steed, which with wonderful
ease leaped over the ground like a Squirrel; going at
times like the wind, then, being suddenly checked by his
rider, almost sat on his haunches, wheeled on his hind legs,
and cut all sorts of mad tricks at a word from his skilful
master. I would rather see him again than all the races
in the world; horse racing, like gambling, can only amuse
people who have nothing better to attend to; however, I
have seen a race!
September 30. I saw Constant, the great engraver, Rue
Percie, No. 12; he was at work, and I thought he worked
well. I told him the purpose of my visit, and he dropped
his work at once to see mine. How he stared! how often
he exclaimed, "Oh, mon Dieu, quel ouvrage!" I showed
him all, and he began calculating, but did so, far too largely
for me, and we concluded no bargain. Old Redouté visited
me and brought me a letter from the Duc d'Orléans, whom
I was to call upon at one o'clock. Now, dearest friend, as
I do not see Dukes every day I will give thee a circumstantial
account of my visit. The Palais of the Duc
d'Orléans is actually the entrance of the Palais-Royal,
where we often go in the evening, and is watched by many
a sentinel. On the right, I saw a large, fat, red-coated
man through the ground window, whom I supposed the
porter of his Royal Highness. I entered and took off my
fur cap, and went on in an unconcerned way towards the
stairs, when he stopped me, and asked my wishes. I told
him I had an engagement with his master at one, and gave
him my card to take up. He said Monseigneur was not
in (a downright lie), but that I might go to the antechamber.
I ordered the fat fellow to have my portfolio
taken upstairs, and proceeded to mount the finest staircase
my feet have ever trod. The stairs parted at bottom in
rounding form of about twenty-four feet in breadth, to
meet on the second floor, on a landing lighted by a skylight,
which permitted me to see the beauties of the surrounding
walls, and on this landing opened three doors,
two of which I tried in vain to open. The third, however,
gave way, and I found myself in the antechamber, with
about twelve servants, who all rose and stood, until I had
seated myself on a soft, red-velvet-covered bench. Not a
word was said to me, and I gazed at all of them with a
strange sensation of awkwardness mingled with my original
pride. This room had bare walls, and a floor of black
and white square marble flags. A man I call a sergeant
d'armes, not knowing whether I am right or wrong, wore
a sword fastened to a belt of embroidered silk, very wide;
and he alone retained his hat. In a few minutes a tall,
thin gentleman made his entrance from another direction
from that by which I had come. The servants were again
all up in a moment, the sergeant took off his hat, and the
gentleman disappeared as if he had not seen me, though I
had risen and bowed. A few minutes elapsed, when the
same thing occurred again. Not knowing how long this
might continue, I accosted the sergeant, told him I came
at the request of the Duke, and wished to see him. A
profound bow was the answer, and I was conducted to
another room, where several gentlemen were seated writing.
I let one of them know my errand, and in a moment was
shown into an immense and superbly furnished apartment,
and my book was ordered to be brought up. In this room
I bowed to two gentlemen whom I knew to be members of
the Légion d'Honneur, and walked about admiring the
fine marble statues and the paintings. A gentleman
soon came to me, and asked if perchance my name
was Audubon? I bowed, and he replied: "Bless me, we
thought that you had gone and left your portfolio; my
uncle has been waiting for you twenty minutes; pray,
sir, follow me." We passed through a file of bowing
domestics, and a door being opened I saw the Duke
coming towards me, to whom I was introduced by the
nephew. Lucy, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama have
furnished the finest men in the world, as regards physical
beauty; I have also seen many a noble-looking Osage
chief; but I do not recollect a finer-looking man, in form,
deportment, and manners, than this Duc d'Orléans. He
had my book brought up, and helped me to untie the
strings and arrange the table, and began by saying that he
felt a great pleasure in subscribing to the work of an
American, for that he had been most kindly treated in the
United States, and should never forget it. The portfolio
was at last opened, and when I held up the plate of the
Baltimore Orioles, with a nest swinging amongst the tender
twigs of the yellow poplar, he said: "This surpasses all I
have seen, and I am not astonished now at the eulogiums
of M. Redouté." He spoke partly English, and partly
French; spoke much of America, of Pittsburgh, the Ohio,
New Orleans, the Mississippi, steamboats, etc., etc., and
added: "You are a great nation, a wonderful nation."
The Duke promised me to write to the Emperor of
Austria, King of Sweden, and other crowned heads, and
asked me to write to-day to the Minister of the Interior. I
remained talking with him more than an hour; I showed
him my list of English subscribers, many of whom he knew.
I asked him for his own signature; he took my list and with
a smile wrote, in very large and legible characters, "Le Duc
d'Orléans." I now felt to remain longer would be an intrusion,
and thanking him respectfully I bowed, shook
hands with him, and retired. He wished to keep the set I
had shown him, but it was soiled, and to such a good man
a good set must go. At the door I asked the fat porter
if he would tell me again his master was out. He tried in
vain to blush.
October 1. Received to-day the note from the Minister
of the Interior asking me to call to-morrow at two. At
eight in the evening I was ready for M. Valenciennes to
call for me to go with him to Gérard. I waited till ten,
when my gentleman came, and off we went; what a time
to pay a visit! But I was told Gérard[168] keeps late hours,
rarely goes to bed before two, but is up and at work by
ten or eleven. When I entered I found the rooms filled
with both sexes, and my name being announced, a small,
well-formed man came to me, took my hand, and said,
"Welcome, Brother in Arts." I liked this much, and was
gratified to have the ice broken so easily. Gérard was all
curiosity to see my drawings, and old Redouté, who was
present, spoke so highly of them before the book was
opened, that I feared to discover Gérard's disappointment.
The book opened accidentally at the plate of the Parrots,
and Gérard, taking it up without speaking, looked at it, I
assure thee, with as keen an eye as my own, for several
minutes; put it down, took up the one of the Mocking-Birds,
and, offering me his hand, said: "Mr. Audubon,
you are the king of ornithological painters; we are all
children in France and in Europe. Who would have expected
such things from the woods of America?" My
heart thrilled with pride at his words. Are not we of
America men? Have we not the same nerves, sinews, and
mental faculties which other nations possess? By Washington!
we have, and may God grant us the peaceable use
of them forever. I received compliments from all around
me; Gérard spoke of nothing but my work, and requested
some prospectuses for Italy. He repeated what Baron
Cuvier had said in the morning, and hoped that the Minister
would order a good, round set of copies for the Government.
I closed the book, and rambled around the rooms
which were all ornamented with superb prints, mostly of
Gérard's own paintings. The ladies were all engaged at
cards, and money did not appear to be scarce in this
portion of Paris.
October 2. Well, my Lucy, this day found me, about
two o'clock, in contemplation of a picture by Gérard in
the salon of the Minister of the Interior. Very different,
is it not, from looking up a large decaying tree, watching
the movements of a Woodpecker? I was one of several
who were waiting, but only one person was there when I
arrived, who entered into conversation with me, — a most
agreeable man and the King's physician, possessed of fine
address and much learning, being also a good botanist.
Half an hour elapsed, when the physician was called; he
was absent only a few minutes, and returning bowed to me
and smiled as my name was called. I found the Minister a
man about my own age, apparently worn out with business;
he wore a long, loose, gray surtout, and said, "Well, sir,
I am glad to see you; where is your great work?" I had
the portfolio brought in, and the plates were exhibited.
"Really, monsieur, it is a very fine thing;" and after some
questions and a little conversation he asked me to write to
him again, and put my terms in writing, and he would
reply as soon as possible. He looked at me very fixedly,
but so courteously I did not mind it. I tied up my
portfolio and soon departed, having taken as much of
the time of M. de Marignac as I felt I could do at this
hour.
October 4. Went with Swainson to the Jardin du Roi
to interpret for him, and afterwards spent some time with
Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, hearing from him some curious
facts respecting the habits and conformation of the Mole.
He gave me a ticket to the distribution of the Grand Prix
at the Institut. I then ascended four of the longest staircases
I know, to reach the cabinet of M. Pascale, the
director of the expenses of S.A.R. the Duc d'Orléans.
What order was here! Different bookcases contained the
papers belonging to the forests — horses — furniture — fine
arts — libraries — fisheries — personal expenses, and so on.
M. Pascale took out M. Redouté's letter, and I perceived
the day of subscription, number of plates per annum, all,
was noted on the margin. M. Pascale sent me to the
private apartments of the Duchesse. Judge of my astonishment
when I found this house connected with the Palais-Royal.
I went through a long train of corridors, and
reached the cabinet of M. Goutard. He took my name
and heard my request and promised to make an appointment
for me through M. Redouté, who is the drawing-master
of the daughters of the Duchesse. With Parker I
went to see the distribution of prizes at L'Institut Français.
The entrance was crowded, and, as in France pushing and
scrambling to get forward is out of the question, and very
properly so, I think, we reached the amphitheatre when it
was already well filled with a brilliant assemblage, but
secured places where all could be seen. The members
dress in black trimmed with rich green laces. The youths
aspiring to rewards were seated round a table, facing the
audience. The reports read, the prizes were given, those
thus favored receiving a crown of laurel with either a gold
or silver medal. We remained here from two till five.
Sunday, October 5. After a wonderful service at Notre
Dame I wandered through Les Jardins des Plantes, and
on to Cuvier's, who had promised me a letter to some one
who would, he thought, subscribe to my book; but with
his usual procrastination it was not ready, and he said he
would write it to-morrow. Oh, cursed to-morrow! Do men
forget, or do they not know how swiftly time moves on?
October 6. Scarce anything to write. No letter yet
from the Minister of the Interior, and I fear he too is a
"To-morrow man." I went to Cuvier for his letter; when
he saw me he laughed, and told me to sit down and see
his specimens for a little while; he was surrounded by
reptiles of all sorts, arranging and labelling them. In half
an hour he rose and wrote the letter for me to the Duke
of Levis, but it was too late to deliver it to-day.
October 7. While with M. Lesson to-day, he spoke of
a Monsieur d'Orbigny[169] of La Rochelle; and on my making
some inquiries I discovered he was the friend of my early
days, my intimate companion during my last voyage from
France to America; that he was still fond of natural
history, and had the management of the Musée at La
Rochelle. His son Charles, now twenty-one, I had held in
my arms many times, and as M. Lesson said he was in
Paris, I went at once to find him; he was out, but shortly
after I had a note from him saying he would call to-morrow
morning.
October 8. This morning I had the great pleasure of
receiving my god-son Charles d'Orbigny. Oh! what past
times were brought to my mind. He told me he had often
heard of me from his father, and appeared delighted to
meet me. He, too, like the rest of his family, is a naturalist,
and I showed him my work with unusual pleasure. His
father was the most intimate friend I have ever had, except
thee, my Lucy, and my father. I think I must have asked
a dozen times to-day if no letter had come for me. Oh,
Ministers! what patience you do teach artists!
October 11. This afternoon, as I was despairing about
the ministers, I received a note from Vicomte Siméon,[170]
desiring I should call on Monday. I may then finish
with these high dignitaries. I saw the King and royal
family get out of their carriages at the Tuileries; bless
us! what a show! Carriages fairly glittering — eight
horses in each, and two hundred hussars and outriders.
A fine band of music announced their arrival. Dined at
Baron Cuvier's, who subscribed to my work; he being the
father of all naturalists, I felt great pleasure at this. I
left at eleven, the streets dark and greasy, and made for
the shortest way to my hotel, which, as Paris is a small
town compared to London, I found no difficulty in doing.
I am astonished to see how early all the shops close here.
October 13. At twelve o'clock I was seated in the
antechamber of the Vicomte Siméon; when the sergeant
perceived me he came to me and said that M. Siméon
desired me to have the first interview. I followed him
and saw a man of ordinary stature, about forty, fresh-looking,
and so used to the courtesy of the great world that
before I had opened my lips he had paid me a very handsome
compliment, which I have forgot. The size of my
work astonished him, as it does every one who sees it for
the first time. He told me that the work had been under
discussion, and that he advised me to see Baron de la
Brouillerie and Baron Vacher, the secretary of the Dauphin.
I told him I wished to return to England to superintend
my work there, and he promised I should have the
decision to-morrow (hated word!) or the next day. I
thought him kind and complaisant. He gave the signal
for my departure by bowing, and I lifted my book, as if
made of feathers, and passed out with swiftness and alacrity.
I ordered the cab at once to the Tuileries, and
after some trouble found the Cabinet of the Baron de
Vacher; there, Lucy, I really waited like a Blue Heron
on the edge of a deep lake, the bottom of which the bird
cannot find, nor even know whether it may turn out to
be good fishing. Many had their turns before me, but I
had my interview. The Baron, a fine young man about
twenty-eight, promised me to do all he could, but that his
master was allowed so much (how much I do not know),
and his expenses swallowed all.
October 14. Accompanied Parker while he was painting
Redouté's portrait, and during the outlining of that
fine head I was looking over the original drawings of the
great man; never have I seen drawings more beautifully
wrought up, and so true to nature. The washy, slack,
imperfect messes of the British artists are nothing in
comparison. I remained here three hours, which I enjoyed
much.
October 15. Not a word from the minister, and the
time goes faster than I like, I assure thee. Could the
minister know how painful it is for an individual like me
to wait nearly a month for a decision that might just as
well have been concluded in one minute, I am sure things
would be different.
October 18. I have seen two ministers this day, but
from both had only promises. But this day has considerably
altered my ideas of ministers. I have had a fair
opportunity of seeing how much trouble they have, and
how necessary it is to be patient with them. I arrived at
Baron de la Brouillerie's at half-past eleven. A soldier
took my portfolio, that weighs nearly a hundred pounds,
and showed me the entrance to a magnificent antechamber.
Four gentlemen and a lady were there, and after
they had been admitted and dismissed, my name was
called. The Baron is about sixty years old; tall, thin,
not handsome, red in the face, and stiff in his manners.
I opened my book, of which he said he had read much in
the papers, and asked me why I had not applied to him
before. I told him I had written some weeks ago. This
he had forgot, but now remembered, somewhat to his
embarrassment. He examined every sheet very closely,
said he would speak to the King, and I must send him a
written and exact memorandum of everything. He expressed
surprise the Duc d'Orléans had taken only one
copy. I walked from here to Vicomte Siméon. It was
his audience day, and in the antechamber twenty-six
were already waiting. My seat was close to the door of
his cabinet, and I could not help hearing some words
during my penance, which lasted one hour and a half.
The Vicomte received every one with the same words,
"Monsieur (or Madame), j'ai l'honneur de vous saluer;"
and when each retired, "Monsieur, je suis votre très
humble serviteur." Conceive, my Lucy, the situation of
this unfortunate being, in his cabinet since eleven, repeating
these sentences to upwards of one hundred persons,
answering questions on as many different subjects.
What brains he must have, and — how long can he keep
them? As soon as I entered he said: "Your business is
being attended to, and I give you my word you shall have
your answer on Tuesday. Have you seen Barons Vacher
and La Brouillerie?" I told him I had, and he wished
me success as I retired.
October 19. About twelve walked to the plains d'Issy
to see the review of the troops by the King in person. It
is about eight miles from that portion of Paris where I
was, and I walked it with extreme swiftness, say five and
a half miles per hour. The plain is on the south bank of
the Seine, and almost level. Some thousands of soldiers
were already ranged in long lines, handsomely dressed,
and armed as if about to be in action. I made for the top
of a high wall, which I reached at the risk of breaking my
neck, and there, like an Eagle on a rock, I surveyed all
around me. The carriage of the Duc d'Orléans came
first at full gallop, all the men in crimson liveries, and
the music struck up like the thunder of war. Then the
King, all his men in white liveries, came driving at full
speed, and followed by other grandees. The King and
these gentry descended from their carriages and mounted
fine horses, which were in readiness for them; they were
immediately surrounded by a brilliant staff, and the review
began, the Duchesses d'Orléans and de Berry having
now arrived in open carriages; from my perch I saw
all. The Swiss troops began, and the manœuvres were
finely gone through; three times I was within twenty-five
yards of the King and his staff, and, as a Kentuckian
would say, "could have closed his eye with a rifle bullet."
He is a man of small stature, pale, not at all handsome,
and rode so bent over his horse that his appearance was
neither kingly nor prepossessing. He wore a three-cornered
hat, trimmed with white feathers, and had a broad
blue sash from the left shoulder under his right arm.
The Duc d'Orléans looked uncommonly well in a hussar
uniform, and is a fine rider; he sat his horse like a
Turk. The staff was too gaudy; I like not so much gold
and silver. None of the ladies were connections of Venus,
except most distantly; few Frenchwomen are handsome.
The review over, the King and his train rode off. I saw
a lady in a carriage point at me on the wall; she doubtless
took me for a large black Crow. The music was uncommonly
fine, especially that by the band belonging to
the Cuirassiers, which was largely composed of trumpets
of various kinds, and aroused my warlike feelings. The
King and staff being now posted at some little distance, a
new movement began, the cannon roared, the horses galloped
madly, the men were enveloped in clouds of dust and
smoke; this was a sham battle. No place of retreat was
here, no cover of dark woods, no deep swamp; there would
have been no escape here. This was no battle of New
Orleans, nor Tippecanoe. I came down from my perch,
leaving behind me about thirty thousand idlers like myself,
and the soldiers, who must have been hot and dusty enough.
October 20. Nothing to do, and tired of sight-seeing.
Four subscriptions in seven weeks. Slow work indeed.
I took a long walk, and watched the Stock Pigeons or
Cushats in the trees of Le Jardin des Tuileries, where they
roost in considerable numbers, arriving about sunset.
They settle at first on the highest trees, and driest, naked
branches, then gradually lower themselves, approach the
trunks of the trees, and thickest parts, remain for the
night, leave at day-break, and fly northerly. Blackbirds
do the same, and are always extremely noisy before dark;
a few Rooks are seen, and two or three Magpies. In the
Jardin, and in the walks of the Palais-Royal, the common
Sparrow is prodigiously plenty, very tame, fed by ladies
and children, killed or missed with blow-guns by mischievous
boys. The Mountain Finch passes in scattered
numbers over Paris at this season, going northerly, and
is caught in nets. Now, my love, wouldst thou not believe
me once more in the woods, hard at it? Alas! I
wish I was; what precious time I am wasting in Europe.
October 21. Redouté told me the young Duchesse
d'Orléans had subscribed, and I would receive a letter to
that effect. Cuvier sent me one hundred printed copies
of his Procès verbal.
October 22. The second day of promise is over, and
not a word from either of the ministers. Now, do those
good gentlemen expect me to remain in Paris all my life?
They are mistaken. Saturday I pack; on Tuesday morning
farewell to Paris. Redouté sent me three volumes of
his beautiful roses, which thou wilt so enjoy, and a compliment
which is beyond all truth, so I will not repeat it.
October 26. I received a letter from Baron de la
Brouillerie announcing that the King had subscribed to
my work for his private library. I was visited by the
secretary of the Duc d'Orléans, who sat with me some time,
a clever and entertaining man with whom I felt quite at
ease. He told me that I might now expect the subscriptions
of most of the royal family, because none of them
liked to be outdone or surpassed by any of the others.[171]
Good God! what a spirit is this; what a world we live in!
I also received a M. Pitois, who came to look at my book,
with a view to becoming my agent here; Baron Cuvier
recommended him strongly, and I have concluded a bargain
with him. He thinks he can procure a good number
of names. His manners are plain, and I hope he will
prove an honest man. He had hardly gone, when I received
a letter from M. Siméon, telling me the Minister
of the Interior would take six copies for various French
towns and universities, and he regretted it was not
twelve. So did I, but I am well contented. I have
now thirteen subscribers in Paris; I have been here two
months, and have expended forty pounds. My adieux
will now be made, and I shall be en route for London
before long.
London, November 4. I travelled from Paris to Boulogne
with two nuns, that might as well be struck off the
calendar of animated beings. They stirred not, they
spoke not, they saw not; they replied neither by word
nor gesture to the few remarks I made. In the woods of
America I have never been in such silence; for in the
most retired places I have had the gentle murmuring
streamlet, or the sound of the Woodpecker tapping, or the
sweet melodious strains of that lovely recluse, my greatest
favorite, the Wood Thrush. The great poverty of
the country struck me everywhere; the peasantry are beggarly
and ignorant, few know the name of the Département
in which they live; their hovels are dirty and uncomfortable,
and appear wretched indeed after Paris. In Paris
alone can the refinements of society, education, and the
fine arts be found. To Paris, or to the large cities, the
country gentleman must go, or have nothing; how unlike
the beautiful country homes of the English. I doubt not
the "New Monthly" would cry out: "Here is Audubon
again, in all his extravagance." This may be true, but I
write as I think I see, and that is enough to render me
contented with my words. The passage from Calais was
short, and I was free from my usual seasickness, and
London was soon reached, where I have been busy with
many letters, many friends, and my work. I have presented
a copy of my birds to the Linnæan Society, and
sold a little picture for ten guineas. And now I must to
work on the pictures that have been ordered in France.
November 7. To-day is of some account, as Mr. Havell
has taken the drawings that are to form the eleventh
number of my work. It will be the first number for the
year 1829. I have as yet had no answer from the Linnæan
Society, but thou knowest how impatient my poor
nature always is.
November 10. I have been painting as much as the
short days will allow, but it is very hard for me to do so,
as my Southern constitution suffers so keenly from the
cold that I am freezing on the side farthest from the fire
at this very instant. I have finished the two pictures for
the Duc d'Orléans; that of the Grouse I regret much to
part with, without a copy; however, I may at some future
time group another still more naturally.
November 15. We have had such dismal fog in this
London that I could scarcely see to write at twelve
o'clock; however, I did write nearly all day. It has been
extremely cold besides, and in the streets in the middle
of the day I saw men carrying torches, so dark it was.
November 17. I anticipated this day sending all my
copies for Paris, but am sadly disappointed. One of the
colorers employed brought a number so shamefully done
that I would not think of forwarding it. It has gone to
be washed, hot pressed, and done over again. Depend
upon it, my work will not fail for the want of my own
very particular attention.
December 23. After so long neglecting thee, my dear
book, it would be difficult to enter a connected account of
my time, but I will trace the prominent parts of the lapse.
Painting every day, and I may well add constantly, has
been the main occupation. I have (what I call) finished
my two large pictures of the Eagle and the Lamb, and
the Dog and the Pheasants, and now, as usual, can scarce
bear to look at either. My friends the Swainsons have
often been to see me, and good Bentley came and lived
with me for a month as a brother would. I parted from
him yesterday with pain and regret. Several artists have
called upon me, and have given me false praises, as I have
heard afterwards, and I hope they will keep aloof. It is
charity to speak the truth to a man who knows the poverty
of his talents and wishes to improve; it is villanous
to mislead him, by praising him to his face, and
laughing at his work as they go down the stairs of his
house. I have, however, applied to one whom I know to
be candid, and who has promised to see them, and to give
his opinion with truth and simplicity; this is no other,
my Lucy, than the president of the Royal Academy, Sir
Thomas Lawrence. The steady work and want of exercise
has reduced me almost to a skeleton; I have not
allowed myself the time even to go to the Zoölogical
Gardens.
December 26. I dined yesterday (another Christmas
day away from my dear country) at a Mr. Goddard's; our
company was formed of Americans, principally sea-captains.
During my absence Sir Thomas Lawrence came
to see my paintings, which were shown to him by Mr.
Havell, who reported as follows. On seeing the Eagle
and Lamb he said, "That is a fine picture." He examined
it closely, and was shown that of the Pheasants,
which I call "Sauve qui peut." He approached it, looked
at it sideways, up and down, and put his face close to the
canvas, had it moved from one situation to two others in
different lights, but gave no opinion. The Otter came
next, and he said that the "animal" was very fine, and
told Havell he would come again to see them in a few
days. I paid him my respects the next morning, and
thought him kinder than usual. He said he would certainly
come to make a choice for me of one to be exhibited
at Somerset House, and would speak to the Council
about it.
The remaining three months before Audubon sailed for
America, April 1, 1829, were passed in preparations for
his absence from his book, and many pages of his fine,
close writing are filled with memoranda for Mr. Havell,
Mr. J. G. Children, and Mr. Pitois. Audubon writes:
"I have made up my mind to go to America, and with
much labor and some trouble have made ready. My business
is as well arranged for as possible; I have given the
agency of my work to my excellent friend Children, of
the British Museum, who kindly offered to see to it during
my absence. I have collected some money, paid all
my debts, and taken my passage in the packet-ship
'Columbia,' Captain Delano. I chose the ship on account
of her name, and paid thirty pounds for my passage.
I am about to leave this smoky city for Portsmouth, and
shall sail on April 1." The voyage was uneventful, and
America was reached on May 1. Almost immediately
began the search for new birds, and those not delineated
already, for the continuation and completion of the "Birds
of America."
|
EAGLE AND LAMB. PAINTED BY AUDUBON, LONDON, 1828. IN THE POSSESSION OF THE FAMILY.
|
THE LABRADOR JOURNAL
1833
INTRODUCTION
THE
Labrador trip, long contemplated, was
made with the usual object, that of procuring
birds and making the drawings of them for the
continuation of the "Birds of America," the publication
of which was being carried on by the
Havells, under the supervision of Victor, the elder
son, who was in London at this time. To him
Audubon writes from Eastport, Maine, under date
of May 31, 1833: —
"We are on the eve of our departure for the
coast of Labrador. Our party consists of young Dr.
George Shattuck of Boston, Thomas Lincoln of
Dennysville, William Ingalls, son of Dr. Ingalls of
Boston, Joseph Coolidge, John, and myself. I have
chartered a schooner called the 'Ripley,' commanded
by Captain Emery, who was at school with
my friend Lincoln; he is reputed to be a gentleman,
as well as a good sailor. Coolidge, too, has been
bred to the sea, and is a fine, active youth of twenty-one.
The schooner is a new vessel, only a year
old, of 106 tons, for which we pay three hundred
and fifty dollars per month for the entire use of
the vessel with the men, but we supply ourselves
with provisions.[172] The hold of the vessel has been
floored, and our great table solidly fixed in a tolerably
good light under the main hatch; it is my
intention to draw whenever possible, and that will
be many hours, for the daylight is with us nearly
all the time in those latitudes, and the fishermen
say you can do with little sleep, the air is so pure.
I have been working hard at the birds from the
Grand Menan, as well as John, who is overcoming
his habit of sleeping late, as I call him every morning
at four, and we have famous long days. We
are well provided as to clothes, and strange figures
indeed do we cut in our dresses, I promise you:
fishermen's boots, the soles of which are all nailed
to enable us to keep our footing on the sea-weeds,
trousers of fearnought so coarse that our legs look
like bears' legs, oiled jackets and over-trousers for
rainy weather, and round, white, wool hats with a
piece of oil cloth dangling on our shoulders to prevent
the rain from running down our necks. A
coarse bag is strapped on the back to carry provisions
on inland journeys, with our guns and hunting-knives;
you can form an idea of us from this.
Edward Harris is not to be with us; this I regret
more than I can say. This day seven vessels sailed
for the fishing-grounds, some of them not more
than thirty tons' burden, for these hardy fishermen
care not in what they go; but I do, and, indeed,
such a boat would be too small for us."
The 1st of June was the day appointed for the
start, but various delays occurred which retarded
this until the 6th, when the journal which follows
tells its own tale.
Of all the members of the party Mr. Joseph
Coolidge, now (1897) living in San Francisco, is the
sole survivor.
M. R. A.
|
AUDUBON From the portrait by George P. A. Healy, London, 1838. Now in the possession of the Boston Society
of Natural History.
|
THE LABRADOR JOURNAL
1833
Eastport, Maine, June 4. Our vessel is being prepared
for our reception and departure, and we have concluded
to hire two extra sailors and a lad; the latter to be
a kind of major-domo, to clean our guns, etc., search for
nests, and assist in skinning birds. Whilst rambling in
the woods this morning, I found a Crow's nest, with five
young, yet small. As I ascended the tree, the parents
came to their offspring crying loudly, and with such perseverance
that in less than fifteen minutes upwards of
fifty pairs of these birds had joined in their vociferations;
yet when first the parents began to cry I would have
supposed them the only pair in the neighborhood.
Wednesday, June 5. This afternoon, when I had concluded
that everything relating to the charter of the
"Ripley" was arranged, some difficulty arose between myself
and Mr. Buck, which nearly put a stop to our having
his vessel. Pressed, however, as I was, by the lateness of
the season, I gave way and suffered myself to be imposed
upon as usual, with a full knowledge that I was so. The
charter was signed, and we hoped to have sailed, but
to-morrow is now the day appointed. Our promised
Hampton boat is not come.
Thursday, June 6. We left the wharf of Eastport about
one o'clock p. m. Every one of the male population came
to see the show, just as if no schooner the size of the
"Ripley" had ever gone from this mighty port to Labrador.
Our numerous friends came with the throng, and we all
shook hands as if never to meet again. The batteries of
the garrison, and the cannon of the revenue cutter, saluted
us, each firing four loud, oft-echoing reports. Captain
Coolidge accompanied us, and indeed was our pilot, until
we had passed Lubec. The wind was light and ahead,
and yet with the assistance of the tide we drifted twenty-five
miles, down to Little River, during the night, and on
rising on the morning of June 7 we were at anchor near
some ugly rocks, the sight of which was not pleasing to
our good captain.
June 7. The whole morning was spent trying to enter
Little River, but in vain; the men were unable to tow us
in. We landed for a few minutes, and shot a Hermit
Thrush, but the appearance of a breeze brought us back,
and we attempted to put to sea. Our position now became
rather dangerous, as we were drawn by the current
nearly upon the rocks; but the wind rose at last, and we
cleared for sea. At three o'clock it became suddenly so
foggy that we could not see the bowsprit. The night was
spent in direful apprehensions of ill luck; at midnight a
smart squall decided in our favor, and when day broke on
the morning of June 8 the wind was from the northeast,
blowing fresh, and we were dancing on the waters, all
shockingly sea-sick, crossing that worst of all dreadful bays,
the Bay of Fundy. We passed between the Seal Islands
and the Mud Islands; in the latter Procellaria wilsonii,
the Stormy Petrel, breeds abundantly; their nests are
dug out of the sand in an oblique direction to the depth
of two, or two and a half feet. At the bottom of these
holes, and on the sand, the birds deposit their pure white
eggs. The holes are perforated, not in the banks like the
Bank Swallow, but are like rat holes over the whole of
the islands. On Seal Islands Larus argentatus, the Herring
Gull, breeds as abundantly as on Grand Menan, but
altogether on trees. As we passed Cape Sable, so called
on account of its being truly a sand-point of some caved-in
elevation, we saw a wrecked ship with many small crafts
about it. I saw there Uria troile, the Foolish Guillemot,
and some Gannets. The sea was dreadful, and scarcely
one of us was able to eat or drink this day. We came
up with the schooner "Caledonia," from Boston for Labrador;
her captain wished to keep in our company,
and we were pretty much together all night and also on
Sunday.
June 9. We now had a splendid breeze, but a horrid
sea, and were scarce able to keep our feet, or sleep. The
"Caledonia" was very near to us for some time, but when
the breeze increased to a gale, and both vessels had to
reef, we showed ourselves superior in point of sailing. So
good was our run that on the next morning, June 10, we
found ourselves not more than thirty miles from Cape
Canseau, ordinarily called Cape Cancer. The wind was
so fair for proceeding directly to Labrador that our captain
spoke of doing so, provided it suited my views; but,
anxious as I am not to suffer any opportunity to escape
of doing all I can to fulfil my engagements, I desired that
we should pass through what is called "The Gut of Canseau,"
and we came into the harbor of that name[173] at
three of the afternoon. Here we found twenty vessels, all
bound to Labrador, and, of course, all fishermen. We
had been in view of the southeastern coast of Nova Scotia
all day, a dreary, poor, and inhospitable-looking country.
As we dropped our anchor we had a snowfall, and the sky
had an appearance such as I never before recollect having
seen. Going on shore we found not a tree in blossom,
though the low plants near the ground were all in bloom;
I saw azaleas, white and blue violets, etc., and in some
situations the grass really looked well. The Robins were
in full song; one nest of that bird was found; the White-throated
Sparrow and Savannah Finch were also in full
song. The Fringilla nivalis[174] was seen, and we were told
that Tetrao canadensis[175] was very abundant, but saw none.
About a dozen houses form this settlement; there was no
Custom House officer, and not an individual who could
give an answer of any value to our many questions. We
returned on board and supped on a fine codfish. The
remainder of our day was spent in catching lobsters, of
which we procured forty. They were secured simply by
striking them in shallow water with a gaff-hook. It snowed
and rained at intervals, and to my surprise we did not
observe a single seabird.
June 11. Larus marinus (the Great Black-backed
Gull) is so superior both in strength and courage to Fulmars,
Lestris, or even Gannets, to say nothing of Gulls of all
sorts, that at its approach they all give way, and until it
has quite satiated itself, none venture to approach the
precious morsel on which it is feeding. In this respect, it
is as the Eagle to the Vultures or Carrion Crows. I
omitted saying that last night, before we retired to rest,
after much cold, snow, rain, and hail, the frogs were piping
in all the pools on the shore, and we all could hear them
clearly, from the deck of the "Ripley." The weather to-day
is beautiful, the wind fair, and when I reached the deck at
four a. m. we were under way in the wake of the whole of
the fleet which last evening graced the Harbor of Canseau,
but which now gave life to the grand bay across which all
were gliding under easy pressure of sail. The land locked
us in, the water was smooth, the sky pure, and the thermometer
was only 46°, quite cold; indeed, it was more
grateful to see the sunshine whilst on deck this morning,
and to feel its warmth, than I can recollect before at this
season. After sailing for twenty-one miles, and passing
one after another every vessel of the fleet, we entered the
Gut of Canseau, so named by the Spanish on account of
the innumerable Wild Geese which, in years long past and
forgotten, resorted to this famed passage. The land rises
on each side in the form of an amphitheatre, and on the
Nova Scotia side, to a considerable height. Many appearances
of dwellings exist, but the country is too poor for
comfort; the timber is small, and the land, very stony.
Here and there a small patch of ploughed land, planted, or
to be planted, with potatoes, was all we could see evincing
cultivation. Near one house we saw a few apple-trees, yet
without leaves. The general appearance of this passage
reminded me of some parts of the Hudson River, and accompanied
as we were by thirty smaller vessels, the time
passed agreeably. Vegetation about as forward as at Eastport;
saw a Chimney Swallow, heard some Blue Jays, saw
some Indians in a bark canoe, passed Cape Porcupine, a
high, rounding hill, and Cape George, after which we entered
the Gulf of St. Lawrence. From this place, on the 20th of
May last year, the sea was a complete sheet of ice as far
as a spy-glass could inform. As we advanced, running
parallel with the western coast of Cape Breton Island, the
country looked well, at the distance we were from it; the
large, undulating hills were scattered with many hamlets,
and here and there a bit of cultivated land was seen. It
being calm when we reached Jestico Island, distant from
Cape Breton about three miles, we left the vessel and made
for it. On landing we found it covered with well grown
grass sprinkled everywhere with the blossoms of the wild
strawberry; the sun shone bright, and the weather was
quite pleasant. Robins, Savannah Finches, Song Sparrows,
Tawny Thrushes, and the American Redstart were
found. The Spotted Sand-piper, Totanus macularius, was
breeding in the grass, and flew slowly with the common
tremor of their wings, uttering their "wheet-wheet-wheet"
note, to invite me to follow them. A Raven had a nest
and three young in it, one standing near it, the old birds
not seen. Uria troile[176] and U. grylle[177] were breeding in the
rocks, and John saw several Ardea herodias[178] flying in pairs,
also a pair of Red-breasted Mergansers that had glutted
themselves with fish so that they were obliged to disgorge
before they could fly off. Amongst the plants the wild
gooseberry, nearly the size of a green pea, was plentiful,
and the black currant, I think of a different species from
the one found in Maine. The wind rose and we returned
on board. John and the sailors almost killed a Seal with
their oars.
June 12. At four this morning we were in sight of the
Magdalene Islands, or, as they are called on the chart,
Amherst Islands; they appeared to be distant about twenty
miles. The weather was dull and quite calm, and I thought
the prospect of reaching these isles this day very doubtful,
and returned to my berth sadly disappointed. After breakfast
a thick fog covered the horizon on our bow, the islands
disappeared from sight, and the wind rose sluggishly, and
dead ahead. Several brigs and ships loaded with lumber
out from Miramichi came near us, beating their way
towards the Atlantic. We are still in a great degree land-locked
by Cape Breton Island, the highlands of which look
dreary and forbidding; it is now nine a. m., and we are
at anchor in four fathoms of water, and within a quarter of
a mile of an island, one of the general group; for our pilot,
who has been here for ten successive years, informs us that
all these islands are connected by dry sand-bars, without
any other ship channel between them than the one
which we have taken, and which is called Entrée Bay,
formed by Entrée Island and a long, sandy, projecting reef
connected with the main island. This latter measures forty-eight
miles in length, by an average of about three in
breadth; Entrée Island contains about fifteen hundred
acres of land, such as it is, of a red, rough, sandy formation,
the northwest side constantly falling into the sea, and exhibiting
a very interesting sight. Guillemots were seen
seated upright along the projecting shelvings in regular
order, resembling so many sentinels on the look-out.
Many Gannets also were seen about the extreme point of
this island. On Amherst Island we saw many houses, a
small church, and on the highest land a large cross, indicating
the Catholic tendency of the inhabitants. Several
small schooners lay in the little harbor called Pleasant
Bay, and we intend to pay them an early visit to-morrow.
The wind is so cold that it feels to us all like the middle
of December at Boston.
Magdalene Islands, June 13. This day week we were
at Eastport, and I am sure not one of our party thought
of being here this day. At four this morning we were
seated at breakfast around our great drawing-table; the
thermometer was at 44°; we blew our fingers and drank
our coffee, feeling as if in the very heart of winter, and
when we landed I felt so chilled that it would have been
quite out of the question to use my hands for any delicate
work. We landed between two great bluffs, that looked
down upon us with apparent anger, the resort of many a
Black Guillemot and noble Raven, and following a tortuous
path, suddenly came plump upon one of God's best finished
jewels, a woman. She saw us first, for women are always
keenest in sight and sympathy, in perseverance and
patience, in fortitude, and love, and sorrow, and faith, and,
for aught I know, much more. At the instant that my
eyes espied her, she was in full run towards her cottage,
holding to her bosom a fine babe, simply covered with a
very short shirt, the very appearance of which set me
shivering. The woman was dressed in coarse French
homespun, a close white cotton cap which entirely surrounded
her face tied under her chin, and I thought her the
wildest-looking woman, both in form and face, I had seen
for many a day. At a venture, I addressed her in French,
and it answered well, for she responded in a wonderful
jargon, about one third of which I understood, and abandoned
the rest to a better linguist, should one ever come
to the island. She was a plain, good woman, I doubt not,
and the wife of an industrious fisherman. We walked
through the woods, and followed the road to the church.
Who would have thought that on these wild islands, among
these impoverished people, we should have found a church;
that we should have been suddenly confronted with a
handsome, youthful, vigorous, black-haired, black-bearded
fellow, in a soutane as black as the Raven's wedding-dress,
and with a heart as light as a bird on the wing? Yet we
met with both church and priest, and our ears were saluted
by the sound of a bell which measures one foot by nine and
a half inches in diameter, and weighs thirty pounds; and this
bell may be heard a full quarter of a mile. It is a festival
day, La Petite Fête de Dieu. The chapel was illuminated
at six o'clock, and the inhabitants, even from a distance,
passed in; among them were many old women, who, staff
in hand, had trudged along the country road. Their backs
were bent by age and toil, their eyes dimmed by time;
they crossed their hands upon their breasts, and knelt
before the sacred images in the church with so much
simplicity and apparent truth of heart that I could not
help exclaiming, "This is indeed religion!" The priest,
Père Brunet, is originally from Quebec. These islands
belong, or are attached, to Lower Canada; he, however, is
under the orders of the Bishop of Halifax. He is a shrewd-looking
fellow, and, if I mistake not, has a dash of the devil
in him. He told me there were no reptiles on the island,
but this was an error; for, while rambling about, Tom
Lincoln, Ingalls, and John saw a snake, and I heard Frogs
a-piping. He also told me that Black and Red Foxes,
and the changeable Hare, with Rats lately imported, were
the only quadrupeds to be found, except cows, horses, and
mules, of which some had been brought over many years
ago, and which had multiplied, but to no great extent. The
land, he assured us, was poor in every respect, — soil,
woods, game; that the Seal fisheries had been less productive
these last years than formerly. On these islands,
about a dozen in number, live one hundred and sixty
families, all of whom make their livelihood by the Cod,
Herring, and Mackerel fisheries. One or two vessels from
Quebec come yearly to collect this produce of the ocean.
Not a bird to be found larger than a Robin, but certainly
thousands of those. Père Brunet said he lived the life of a
recluse, and invited us to accompany him to the house
where he boarded, and take a glass of good French wine.
During our ramble on the island we found the temperature
quite agreeable; indeed, in some situations the sun was
pleasant and warm. Strawberry blossoms were under our
feet at every step, and here and there the grass looked well.
I was surprised to find the woods (by woods I mean land
covered with any sort of trees, from the noblest magnolia
down to dwarf cedars) rich in Warblers, Thrushes, Finches,
Buntings, etc. The Fox-tailed Sparrow breeds here, the
Siskin also. The Hermit and Tawny Thrushes crossed
our path every few yards, the Black-capped Warbler flashed
over the pools, the Winter Wren abounded everywhere.
Among the water-birds we found the Great Tern (Sterna
hirundo) very abundant, and shot four of them on the sand-ridges.
The Piping Plover breeds here — shot two males
and one female; so plaintive is the note of this interesting
species that I feel great aversion to killing them. These
birds certainly are the swiftest of foot of any water-birds
which I know, of their size. We found many land-snails,
and collected some fine specimens of gypsum. This afternoon,
being informed that across the bay where we are
anchored we might, perhaps, purchase some Black Fox
skins, we went there, and found Messieurs Muncey keen
fellows; they asked £5 for Black Fox and $1.50 for Red.
No purchase on our part. Being told that Geese, Brents,
Mergansers, etc., breed eighteen miles from here, at the
eastern extremity of these islands, we go off there to-morrow
in boats. Saw Bank Swallows and House Swallows.
The woods altogether small evergreens, extremely
scrubby, almost impenetrable, and swampy beneath. At
seven this evening the thermometer is at 52°. This morning
it was 44°. After our return to the "Ripley," our
captain, John, Tom Lincoln, and Coolidge went off to
the cliffs opposite our anchorage, in search of Black Guillemots'
eggs. This was found to be quite an undertaking;
these birds, instead of having to jump or hop from one
place to another on the rocks, to find a spot suitable
to deposit their spotted egg, as has been stated, are on
the contrary excellent walkers, at least upon the rocks, and
they can fly from the water to the very entrance of the
holes in the fissures, where the egg is laid. Sometimes
this egg is deposited not more than eight or ten feet above
high-water mark, at other times the fissure in the rock
which has been chosen stands at an elevation of a hundred
feet or more. The egg is laid on the bare rock without
any preparation, but when the formation is sandy, a
certain scoop is indicated on the surface. In one instance,
I found two feathers with the egg; this egg is about the
size of a hen's, and looks extravagantly large, splashed
with black or deep umber, apparently at random, the
markings larger and more frequent towards the great end.
At the barking of a dog from any place where these birds
breed, they immediately fly towards the animal, and will
pass within a few feet of the observer, as if in defiance.
At other times they leave the nest and fall in the water,
diving to an extraordinary distance before they rise again.
John shot a Gannet on the wing; the flesh was black and
unpleasant. The Piping Plover, when missed by the shot,
rises almost perpendicularly, and passes sometimes out of
sight; this is, I am convinced by the many opportunities I
have had to witness the occurrence, a habit of the species.
These islands are well watered by large springs, and rivulets
intersect the country in many directions. We saw large
flocks of Velvet Ducks feeding close to the shores; these
did not appear to be in pairs. The Gannet dives quite
under the water after its prey, and when empty of food
rises easily off the water.
June 14, off the Gannett Rocks. We rose at two
o'clock with a view to proceed to the eastern extremity of
these islands in search of certain ponds, wherein, so we
were told, Wild Geese and Ducks of different kinds are
in the habit of resorting annually to breed. Our informer
added that formerly Brents bred there in abundance, but
that since the erection of several buildings owned by
Nova Scotians, and in the immediate vicinity of these
ponds or lakes, the birds have become gradually very shy,
and most of them now proceed farther north. Some of
these lakes are several miles in circumference, with shallow,
sandy bottoms; most of them are fresh water, the
shores thickly overgrown with rank sedges and grasses,
and on the surface are many water-lilies. It is among
these that the wild fowl, when hid from the sight of man,
deposit their eggs. Our way to these ponds would have
been through a long and narrow bay, formed by what seamen
call sea-walls. In this place these walls are entirely
of light-colored sand, and form connecting points
from one island to another, thus uniting nearly the whole
archipelago. Our journey was abandoned just as we were
about to start, in consequence of the wind changing, and
being fair for our passage to Labrador, the ultimatum of
our desires. Our anchor was raised, and we bid adieu to
the Magdalenes. Our pilot, a Mr. Godwin from Nova
Scotia, put the vessel towards what he called "The Bird
Rocks," where he told us that Gannets (Sula bassana)
bred in great numbers. For several days past we have
met with an increased number of Gannets, and as we
sailed this morning we observed long and numerous files,
all flying in the direction of the rocks. Their flight now
was low above the water, forming easy undulations, flapping
thirty or forty times, and sailing about the same
distance; these were all returning from fishing, and were
gorged with food for their mates or young. About ten
a speck rose on the horizon, which I was told was the
Rock; we sailed well, the breeze increased fast, and we
neared this object apace. At eleven I could distinguish
its top plainly from the deck, and thought it covered with
snow to the depth of several feet; this appearance existed
on every portion of the flat, projecting shelves. Godwin
said, with the coolness of a man who had visited this
Rock for ten successive seasons, that what we saw was
not snow — but Gannets! I rubbed my eyes, took my
spy-glass, and in an instant the strangest picture stood
before me. They were birds we saw, — a mass of birds of
such a size as I never before cast my eyes on. The whole
of my party stood astounded and amazed, and all came to
the conclusion that such a sight was of itself sufficient to
invite any one to come across the Gulf to view it at this
season. The nearer we approached, the greater our surprise
at the enormous number of these birds, all calmly
seated on their eggs or newly hatched brood, their heads
all turned to windward, and towards us. The air above
for a hundred yards, and for some distance around the
whole rock, was filled with Gannets on the wing, which
from our position made it appear as if a heavy fall of
snow was directly above us. Our pilot told us the wind
was too high to permit us to land, and I felt sadly grieved
at this unwelcome news. Anxious as we all were, we decided
to make the attempt; our whale-boat was overboard,
the pilot, two sailors, Tom Lincoln, and John pushed off
with guns and clubs. Our vessel was brought to, but at
that instant the wind increased, and heavy rain began to
fall. Our boat neared the rock, and went to the lee of it,
and was absent nearly an hour, but could not land. The
air was filled with Gannets, but no difference could we
perceive on the surface of the rock. The birds, which we
now could distinctly see, sat almost touching each other
and in regular lines, seated on their nests quite unconcerned.
The discharge of the guns had no effect on those
that were not touched by the shot, for the noise of the
Gulls, Guillemots, etc., deadened the sound of the gun;
but where the shot took effect, the birds scrambled and
flew off in such multitudes, and in such confusion, that
whilst some eight or ten were falling into the water either
dead or wounded, others pushed off their eggs, and these
fell into the sea by hundreds in all directions. The sea
now becoming very rough, the boat was obliged to return,
with some birds and some eggs; but the crew had not
climbed the rock, a great disappointment to me. Godwin
tells me the top of the rock is about a quarter of a
mile wide, north and south, and a little narrower east and
west; its elevation above the sea between three and four
hundred feet. The sea beats round it with great violence,
except after long calms, and it is extremely difficult
to land upon it, and much more so to climb to the
top of it, which is a platform; it is only on the southeast
shore that a landing can be made, and the moment a boat
touches, it must be hauled up on the rocks. The whole
surface is perfectly covered with nests, placed about two
feet apart, in such regular order that you may look
through the lines as you would look through those of a
planted patch of sweet potatoes or cabbages. The fishermen
who kill these birds, to get their flesh for codfish
bait, ascend in parties of six or eight, armed with clubs;
sometimes, indeed, the party comprises the crews of several
vessels. As they reach the top, the birds, alarmed,
rise with a noise like thunder, and fly off in such hurried,
fearful confusion as to throw each other down, often falling
on each other till there is a bank of them many feet
high. The men strike them down and kill them until
fatigued or satisfied. Five hundred and forty have been
thus murdered in one hour by six men. The birds are
skinned with little care, and the flesh cut off in chunks;
it will keep fresh about a fortnight. The nests are made
by scratching down a few inches, and the edges surrounded
with sea-weeds. The eggs are pure white, and
as large as those of a Goose. By the 20th of May the
rock is already covered with birds and eggs; about the
20th of June they begin to hatch. So great is the destruction
of these birds annually that their flesh supplies
the bait for upwards of forty fishing-boats, which lie close
to the Byron Island each season. When the young are
hatched they are black, and for a fortnight or more the
skin looks like that of the dog-fish. They become gradually
downy and white, and when two months old look
much like young lambs. Even while shooting at these
birds, hundreds passed us carrying great masses of weeds
to their nests. The birds were thick above our heads,
and I shot at one to judge of the effect of the report of the
gun; it had none. A great number of Kittiwake Gulls
breed on this rock, with thousands of Foolish Guillemots.
The Kittiwake makes its nest of eel-weeds, several inches
in thickness, and in places too small for a Gannet or a
Guillemot to place itself; in some instances these nests
projected some inches over the edge of the rock. We
could not see any of their eggs. The breeze was now so
stiff that the waves ran high; so much so that the boat
was perched on the comb of the wave one minute, the
next in the trough. John steered, and he told me afterwards
he was nearly exhausted. The boat was very
cleverly hauled on deck by a single effort. The stench
from the rock is insufferable, as it is covered with the
remains of putrid fish, rotten eggs, and dead birds, old and
young. No man who has not seen what we have this day
can form the least idea of the impression the sight made
on our minds. By dark it blew a gale and we are now
most of us rather shaky; rain is falling in torrents, and
the sailors are reefing. I forgot to say that when a man
walks towards the Gannets, they will now and then stand
still, merely opening and shutting their bills; the Gulls
remained on their nests with more confidence than the
Guillemots, all of which flew as we approached. The
feathering of the Gannet is curious, differing from that of
most other birds, inasmuch as each feather is concave, and
divided in its contour from the next. Under the roof of
the mouth and attached to the upper mandible, are two
fleshy appendages like two small wattles.
June 15. All our party except Coolidge were deadly
sick. The thermometer was down to 43°, and every
sailor complained of the cold. It has rained almost all
day. I felt so very sick this morning that I removed
from my berth to a hammock, where I soon felt rather
more easy. We lay to all this time, and at daylight were
in sight of the Island of Anticosti, distant about twenty
miles; but the fog soon after became so thick that nothing
could be observed. At about two we saw the sun, the
wind hauled dead ahead, and we ran under one sail only.
June 16, Sunday. The weather clear, beautiful, and
much warmer; but it was calm, so we fished for cod, of
which we caught a good many; most of them contained
crabs of a curious sort, and some were filled with shrimps.
One cod measured three feet six and a half inches, and
weighed twenty-one pounds. Found two curious insects
fastened to the skin of a cod, which we saved. At about
six o'clock the wind sprang up fair, and we made all sail
for Labrador.
June 17. I was on deck at three this morning; the
sun, although not above the horizon, indicated to the mariner
at the helm one of those doubtful days the result
of which seldom can be truly ascertained until sunset.
The sea was literally covered with Foolish Guillemots,
playing in the very spray of the bow of our vessel, plunging
under it, as if in fun, and rising like spirits close
under our rudder. The breeze was favorable, although
we were hauled to the wind within a point or so. The
helmsman said he saw land from aloft, but the captain
pronounced his assertion must be a mistake, by true calculation.
We breakfasted on the best of fresh codfish,
and I never relished a breakfast more. I looked on our
landing on the coast of Labrador as a matter of great
importance. My thoughts were filled, not with airy
castles, but with expectations of the new knowledge of
birds and quadrupeds which I hoped to acquire. The
"Ripley" ploughed the deep, and proceeded swiftly on
her way; she always sails well, but I thought that now as
the land was expected to appear every moment, she fairly
skipped over the waters. At five o'clock the cry of land
rang in our ears, and my heart bounded with joy; so much
for anticipation. We sailed on, and in less than an hour
the land was in full sight from the deck. We approached,
and saw, as we supposed, many sails, and felt delighted at
having hit the point in view so very closely; but, after
all, the sails proved to be large snow-banks. We proceeded,
however, the wind being so very favorable that we
could either luff or bear away. The air was now filled
with Velvet Ducks; millions of these birds were flying
from the northwest towards the southeast. The Foolish
Guillemots and the Alca torda[179] were in immense
numbers, flying in long files a few yards above the water,
with rather undulating motions, and passing within good
gunshot of the vessel, and now and then rounding to us,
as if about to alight on the very deck. We now saw a
schooner at anchor, and the country looked well at this
distance, and as we neared the shore the thermometer,
which had been standing at 44°, now rose up to nearly
60°; yet the appearance of the great snow-drifts was forbidding.
The shores appeared to be margined with a
broad and handsome sand-beach; our imaginations now
saw Bears, Wolves, and Devils of all sorts scampering away
on the rugged shore. When we reached the schooner we
saw beyond some thirty fishing-boats, fishing for cod, and
to our great pleasure found Captain Billings of Eastport
standing in the bow of his vessel; he bid us welcome, and
we saw the codfish thrown on his deck by thousands. We
were now opposite to the mouth of the Natasquan River,
where the Hudson's Bay Company have a fishing establishment,
but where no American vessels are allowed to
come in. The shore was lined with bark-covered huts,
and some vessels were within the bight, or long point of
land which pushes out from the extreme eastern side of
the entrance of the river. We went on to an American
Harbor, four or five miles distant to the westward, and
after a while came to anchor in a small bay, perfectly secure
from any winds. And now we are positively on the
Labrador coast, latitude 50° and a little more, — farther
north than I ever was before. But what a country! When
we landed and passed the beach, we sank nearly up to our
knees in mosses of various sorts, producing as we moved
through them a curious sensation. These mosses, which
at a distance look like hard rocks, are, under foot, like a
velvet cushion. We scrambled about, and with anxiety
stretched our necks and looked over the country far and
near, but not a square foot of earth could we see. A
poor, rugged, miserable country; the trees like so many
mops of wiry composition, and where the soil is not
rocky it is boggy up to a man's waist. We searched
and searched; but, after all, only shot an adult Pigeon-Hawk,
a summer-plumage Tell-tale Godwit, and an Alca
torda. We visited all the islands about the harbor; they
were all rocky, nothing but rocks. The Larus marinus
was sailing magnificently all about us. The Great Tern
was plunging after shrimps in every pool, and we found
four eggs of the Totanus macularius;[180] the nest was situated
under a rock in the grass, and made of a quantity
of dried grass, forming a very decided nest, at least much
more so than in our Middle States, where the species
breed so very abundantly. Wild Geese were seen by
our party, and these birds also breed here; we saw
Loons and Eider Ducks, Anas obscura[181] and the Fuligula
[Œdemia] americana.[182] We came to our anchorage at
twenty minutes past twelve. Tom Lincoln and John
heard a Ptarmigan. Toads were abundant. We saw
some rare plants, which we preserved, and butterflies and
small bees were among the flowers which we gathered.
We also saw Red-breasted Mergansers. The male and
female Eider Ducks separate as soon as the latter begin
to lay; after this they are seen flying in large flocks, each
sex separately. We found a dead Basking Shark, six
and a half feet long; this fish had been wounded by
a harpoon and ran ashore, or was washed there by the
waves. At Eastport fish of this kind have been killed
thirty feet long.
June 18. I remained on board all day, drawing; our
boats went off to some islands eight or ten miles distant,
after birds and eggs, but the day, although very beautiful,
did not prove valuable to us, as some eggers from
Halifax had robbed the places ere the boats arrived.
We, however, procured about a dozen of Alca torda, Uria
troile, a female Eider Duck, a male Surf Duck, and a Sandpiper,
or Tringa, — which, I cannot ascertain, although
the least[183] I ever saw, not the Pusilla of Bonaparte's
Synopsis. Many nests of the Eider Duck were seen,
some at the edge of the woods, placed under the rampant
boughs of the fir-trees, which in this latitude grow only a
few inches above the surface of the ground, and to find
the nest, these boughs had to be raised. The nests were
scooped a few inches deep in the mossy, rotten substance
that forms here what must be called earth; the eggs are
deposited on a bed of down and covered with the same
material; and so warm are these nests that, although not
a parent bird was seen near them, the eggs were quite
warm to the touch, and the chicks in some actually hatching
in the absence of the mother. Some of the nests had
the eggs uncovered; six eggs was the greatest number
found in a nest. The nests found on grassy islands are
fashioned in the same manner, and generally placed at the
foot of a large tussock of grass. Two female Ducks had
about twelve young on the water, and these they protected
by flapping about the water in such a way as to raise a
spray, whilst the little ones dove off in various directions.
Flocks of thirty to forty males were on the wing without
a single female among them. The young birds procured
were about one week old, of a dark mouse-color, thickly
covered with a soft and warm down, and their feet appeared
to be more perfect, for their age, than any other
portion, because more necessary to secure their safety,
and to enable them to procure food. John found many
nests of the Larus marinus, of which he brought both
eggs and young. The nest of this fine bird is made of
mosses and grasses, raised on the solid rock, and handsomely
formed within; a few feathers are in this lining.
Three eggs, large, hard-shelled, with ground color of
dirty yellowish, splashed and spotted with dark umber and
black. The young, although small, were away from the
nest a few feet, placing themselves to the lee of the nearest
sheltering rock. They did not attempt to escape, but
when taken uttered a cry not unlike that of a young
chicken under the same circumstances. The parents were
so shy and so wary that none could be shot. At the
approach of the boats to the rocks where they breed, a
few standing as sentinels gave the alarm, and the whole
rose immediately in the air to a great elevation. On
another rock, not far distant, a number of Gulls of the
same size, white, and with the same hoarse note, were
to be seen, but they had no nests; these, I am inclined
to think (at present) the bird called Larus argentatus
(Herring Gull), which is simply the immature bird of
Larus marinus.[184] I am the more led to believe this because,
knowing the tyrannical disposition of the L. marinus,
I am sure they would not suffer a species almost as
powerful as themselves in their immediate neighborhood.
They fly altogether, but the white ones do not alight on
the rocks where the Marinus has its nests. John watched
their motion and their cry very closely, and gave me this
information. Two eggs of a Tern,[185] resembling the Cayenne
Tern, were found in a nest on the rocks, made of
moss also, but the birds, although the eggs were nearly
ready to hatch, kept out of gunshot. These eggs measured
one and a half inches in length, very oval, whitish,
spotted and dotted irregularly with brown and black all
over. The cry of those Terns which I saw this afternoon
resembles that of the Cayenne Tern that I met with in
the Floridas, and I could see a large orange bill, but
could not discern the black feet. Many nests of the
Great Tern (Sterna hirundo) were found — two eggs in
each, laid on the short grass scratched out, but no nest.
One Tringa pusilla [minutilla], the smallest I ever saw,
was procured; these small gentry are puzzles indeed; I
do not mean to say in nature, but in Charles's[186] Synopsis.
We went ashore this afternoon and made a Bear trap with
a gun, baited with heads and entrails of codfish, Bruin
having been seen within a few hundred yards of where the
lure now lies in wait. It is truly interesting to see the
activity of the cod-fishermen about us, but I will write of
this when I know more of their filthy business.
June 19. Drawing as much as the disagreeable motion
of the vessel would allow me to do; and although at
anchor and in a good harbor, I could scarcely steady my
pencil, the wind being high from southwest. At three
a. m. I had all the young men up, and they left by four for
some islands where the Larus marinus breeds. The captain
went up the little Natasquan River. When John
returned he brought eight Alca torda and four of their
eggs identified; these eggs measure three inches in
length, one and seven-eighths in breadth, dirty-white
ground, broadly splashed with deep brown and black,
more so towards the greater end. This Alca feeds on
fish of a small size, flies swiftly with a quick beat of the
wings, rounding to and fro at the distance of fifty or more
yards, exhibiting, as it turns, the pure white of its lower
parts, or the jet black of its upper. These birds sit on
the nest in an almost upright position; they are shy and
wary, diving into the water, or taking flight at the least
appearance of danger; if wounded slightly they dive, and
we generally lost them, but if unable to do this, they
throw themselves on their back and defend themselves
fiercely, biting severely whoever attempts to seize them.
They run over and about the rocks with ease, and not
awkwardly, as some have stated. The flesh of this bird
when stewed in a particular manner is good eating, much
better than would be expected from birds of its class and
species. The Larus argentatus breeds on the same islands,
and we found many eggs; the nests were all on the rocks,
made of moss and grasses, and rather neat inwardly. The
Arctic Tern was found breeding abundantly; we took
some of their eggs; there were two in each nest, one and
a quarter inches long, five-eighths broad, rather sharp at
the little end. The ground is light olive, splashed with
dark umber irregularly, and more largely at the greater
end; these were deposited two or three on the rocks,
wherever a little grass grew, no nest of any kind apparent.
In habits this bird resembles the S. hirundo, and
has nearly the same harsh note; it feeds principally on
shrimps, which abound in these waters. Five young L.
marinas were brought alive, small and beautifully spotted
yet over the head and back, somewhat like a Leopard;
they walked well about the deck, and managed to pick up
the food given them; their cry was a "hac, hac, hac,
wheet, wheet, wheet." Frequently, when one was about
to swallow a piece of flesh, a brother or sister would jump
at it, tug, and finally deprive its relative of the morsel in
an instant. John assured me that the old birds were too
shy to be approached at all. John shot a fine male of the
Scoter Duck, which is scarce here. Saw some Wild
Geese (Anser canadensis), which breed here, though they
have not yet formed their nests. The Red-breasted Merganser
(Mergus serrator) breeds also here, but is extremely
shy and wary, flying off as far as they can see us, which
to me in this wonderfully wild country is surprising; indeed,
thus far all the sea-fowl are much wilder than those
of the Floridas. Twenty nests of a species of Cormorant,[187]
not yet ascertained, were found on a small detached,
rocky island; these were built of sticks, sea-weeds, and
grasses, on the naked rock, and about two feet high, as
filthy as those of their relations the Floridians.[188] Three
eggs were found in one nest, which is the complement,
but not a bird could be shot — too shy and vigilant. This
afternoon the captain and I walked to the Little Natasquan
River, and proceeded up it about four miles to the
falls or rapids — a small river, dark, irony waters, sandy
shores, and impenetrable woods along these, except here
and there is a small space overgrown with short wiry
grass unfit for cattle; a thing of little consequence, as no
cattle are to be found here. Returning this evening the
tide had so fallen that we waded a mile and a half to an
island close to our anchorage; the sailors were obliged to
haul the boat that distance in a few inches of water. We
have removed the "Ripley" closer in shore, where I hope
she will be steady enough for my work to-morrow.
June 20. Thermometer 60° at noon. Calm and beautiful.
Drew all day, and finished two Uria troile. I rose
at two this morning, for we have scarcely any darkness
now; about four a man came from Captain Billings to
accompany some of our party to Partridge Bay on a shooting
excursion. John and his party went off by land, or
rather by rock and moss, to some ponds three or four
miles from the sea; they returned at four this afternoon,
and brought only one Scoter Duck, male; saw four, but
could not discover the nests, although they breed here;
saw also about twenty Wild Geese, one pair Red-necked
Divers, one Anas fusca, one Three-toed Woodpecker,
and Tell-tale Godwits. The ponds, although several
miles long, and of good proportion and depth, had no fish
in them that could be discovered, and on the beach no
shells nor grasses; the margins are reddish sand. A few
toads were seen, which John described as "pale-looking
and poor." The country a barren rock as far as the eye
extended; mosses more than a foot deep on the average,
of different varieties but principally the white kind, hard
and crisp. Saw not a quadruped. Our Bear trap was discharged,
but we could not find the animal for want of a
dog. An Eider Duck's nest was found fully one hundred
yards from the water, unsheltered on the rocks, with five
eggs and clean down. In no instance, though I have
tried with all my powers, have I approached nearer than
eight or ten yards of the sitting birds; they fly at the least
appearance of danger. We concluded that the absence of
fish in these ponds was on account of their freezing solidly
every winter, when fish must die. Captain Billings
paid me a visit, and very generously offered to change our
whale-boat for a large one, and his pilot boat for ours;
the industry of this man is extraordinary. The specimen
of Uria troile drawn with a white line round the eye[189] was
a female; the one without this line was a young bird. I
have drawn seventeen and a half hours this day, and my
poor head aches badly enough. One of Captain Billings'
mates told me of the Procellarias breeding in great numbers
in and about Mount Desert Island rocks, in the
months of June and July; there they deposit their one
white egg in the deepest fissures of the rocks, and sit
upon it only during the night. When approached whilst
on the egg, they open their wings and bill, and offer to
defend themselves from the approach of intruders. The
Eider Ducks are seen leaving the islands on which they
breed, at daybreak every fair morning, in congregated
flocks of males or females separately, and proceed to certain
fishing grounds where the water is only a few fathoms
deep, and remain till towards evening, when the
females sit on their eggs for the night, and the males
group on the rocks by themselves. This valuable bird is
extremely abundant here; we find their nests without any
effort every time we go out. So sonorous is the song of
the Fox-colored Sparrow that I can hear it for hours,
most distinctly, from the cabin where I am drawing, and
yet it is distant more than a quarter of a mile. This bird
is in this country what the Towhee Bunting is in the
Middle States.
June 22. I drew all day at an adult Gannet which we
brought from the great rock of which I have spoken; it
was still in good order. Many eggs of the Arctic Tern
were collected to-day, two or three in a nest; these birds
are as shy here as all others, and the moment John and
Coolidge landed, or indeed approached the islands on
which they breed, they all rose in the air, passed high
overhead, screaming and scolding all the time the young
men were on the land. When one is shot the rest
plunge towards it, and can then be easily shot. Sometimes
when wounded in the body, they sail off to extraordinary
distances, and are lost. The same is the case
with the Larus marinus. When our captain returned he
brought about a dozen female Eider Ducks, a great number
of their eggs, and a bag of down; also a fine Wild
Goose, but nothing new for the pencil. In one nest of
the Eider ten eggs were found; this is the most we have
seen as yet in any one nest. The female draws the down
from her abdomen as far towards her breast as her bill
will allow her to do, but the feathers are not pulled, and
on examination of several specimens I found these well
and regularly planted, and cleaned from their original
down, as a forest of trees is cleared of its undergrowth.
In this state the female is still well clothed, and little or
no difference can be seen in the plumage unless examined.
These birds have now nearly all hatched in this
latitude, but we are told that we shall over-reach them in
that, and meet with nests and eggs as we go northeast
until August. So abundant were the nests of these birds
on the islands of Partridge Bay, about forty miles west of
this place, that a boat load of their eggs might have been
collected if they had been fresh; they are then excellent
eating. Our captain called on a half-breed Indian in the
employ of the Northeast Fur and Fish Co., living with
his squaw and two daughters. A potato patch of about
an acre was planted in sand, for not a foot of soil is there
to be found hereabouts. The man told him his potatoes
grew well and were good, ripening in a few weeks, which
he called the summer. The mosquitoes and black gnats
are bad enough on shore. I heard a Wood Pewee. The
Wild Goose is an excellent diver, and when with its
young uses many beautiful stratagems to save its brood,
and elude the hunter. They will dive and lead their
young under the surface of the water, and always in a
contrary direction to the one expected; thus if you row
a boat after one it will dive under it, and now and then
remain under it several minutes, when the hunter with
outstretched neck, is looking, all in vain, in the distance
for the stupid Goose! Every time I read or hear of a stupid
animal in a wild state, I cannot help wishing that the
stupid animal who speaks thus, was half as wise as the
brute he despises, so that he might be able to thank his
Maker for what knowledge he may possess. I found
many small flowers open this day, where none appeared
last evening. All vegetable life here is of the pygmy
order, and so ephemeral that it shoots out of the tangled
mass of ages, blooms, fructifies, and dies, in a few weeks.
We ascertained to-day that a party of four men from Halifax
took last spring nearly forty thousand eggs, which
they sold at Halifax and other towns at twenty-five cents
per dozen, making over $800; this was done in about two
months. Last year upwards of twenty sail were engaged
in "egging;" so some idea may be formed of the birds
that are destroyed in this rascally way. The eggers destroy
all the eggs that are sat upon, to force the birds to
lay again, and by robbing them regularly, they lay till
nature is exhausted, and few young are raised. In less
than half a century these wonderful nurseries will be entirely
destroyed, unless some kind government will interfere
to stop the shameful destruction.
June 22. It was very rainy, and thermometer 54°.
After breakfast dressed in my oilskins and went with the
captain in the whale-boat to the settlement at the entrance
of the true Natasquan, five miles east. On our way we
saw numerous Seals; these rise to the surface of the
water, erect the head to the full length of the neck, snuff
the air, and you also, and sink back to avoid any further
acquaintance with man. We saw a great number of Gulls
of various kinds, but mostly L. marinus and L. tridactylus;
these were on the extreme points of sand-bars, but
could not be approached, and certainly the more numerous
they are, the more wild and wary. On entering the
river we saw several nets set across a portion of the
stream for the purpose of catching salmon; these seines
were fastened in the stream about sixty yards from either
shore, supported by buoys; the net is fastened to the
shore by stakes that hold it perpendicular to the water;
the fish enter these, and entangle themselves until removed
by the fishermen. On going to a house on the
shore, we found it a tolerably good cabin, floored, containing
a good stove, a chimney, and an oven at the bottom
of this, like the ovens of the French peasants, three
beds, and a table whereon the breakfast of the family was
served. This consisted of coffee in large bowls, good
bread, and fried salmon. Three Labrador dogs came and
sniffed about us, and then returned under the table
whence they had issued, with no appearance of anger.
Two men, two women, and a babe formed the group, which
I addressed in French. They were French Canadians
and had been here several years, winter and summer, and
are agents for the Fur and Fish Co., who give them food,
clothes, and about $80 per annum. They have a cow and
an ox, about an acre of potatoes planted in sand, seven
feet of snow in winter, and two-thirds less salmon than
was caught here ten years since. Then three hundred
barrels was a fair season; now one hundred is the maximum;
this is because they will catch the fish both ascending
and descending the river. During winter the men
hunt Foxes, Martens, and Sables, and kill some Bear of
the black kind, but neither Deer nor other game is to be
found without going a great distance in the interior,
where Reindeer are now and then procured. One species
of Grouse and one of Ptarmigan, the latter white
at all seasons; the former I suppose to be the Willow
Grouse. The men would neither sell nor give us a single
salmon, saying that so strict were their orders that,
should they sell one the place might be taken from them.
If this should prove the case everywhere, I shall not purchase
many for my friends. The furs which they collect
are sent off to Quebec at the first opening of the waters
in spring, and not a skin of any sort was here for us to
look at. We met here two large boats containing about
twenty Montagnais Indians, old and young, men and
women. They carried canoes lashed to the sides, like
whale-ships, for the Seal fishery. The men were stout and
good-looking, spoke tolerable French, the skin redder
than any Indians I have ever seen, and more clear; the
women appeared cleaner than usual, their hair braided
and hanging down, jet black, but short. All were dressed
in European costume except the feet, on which coarse
moccasins of sealskin took the place of shoes. I made a
bargain with them for some Grouse, and three young men
were despatched at once. On leaving the harbor this
morning we saw a black man-of-war-like looking vessel
entering it with the French flag; she anchored near us,
and on our return we were told it was the Quebec cutter.
I wrote a note to the officer commanding, enclosing my
card, and requesting an interview. The commander
replied he would receive me in two hours. His name
was Captain Bayfield, the vessel the "Gulnare." The
sailor who had taken my note was asked if I had procured
many birds, and how far I intended to proceed.
After dinner, which consisted of hashed Eider Ducks,
which were very good, the females always being fat when
sitting, I cut off my three weeks' beard, put on clean
linen, and with my credentials in my pocket went to the
"Gulnare." I was received politely, and after talking on
deck for a while, was invited into the cabin, and was
introduced to the doctor, who appeared to be a man of
talents, a student of botany and conchology. Thus men
of the same tastes meet everywhere, yet surely I did not
expect to meet a naturalist on the Labrador coast. The
vessel is on a surveying cruise, and we are likely to be in
company the whole summer. The first lieutenant studies
ornithology and collects. After a while I gave my letter
from the Duke of Sussex to the captain, who read and
returned it without comment. As I was leaving, the rain
poured down, and I was invited to remain, but declined;
the captain promised to do anything for me in his power.
Saw many Siskins, but cannot get a shot at one.
June 23. It was our intention to have left this morning
for another harbor, about fifty miles east, but the
wind being dead ahead we are here still. I have drawn
all day, at the background of the Gannets. John and
party went off about six miles, and returned with half a
dozen Guillemots, and ten or twelve dozen eggs. Coolidge
brought in Arctic Terns and L. marinus; two young
of the latter about three weeks old, having the same voice
and notes as the old ones. When on board they ran about
the deck, and fed themselves with pieces of fish thrown
to them. These young Gulls, as well as young Herons
of every kind, sit on the tarsus when fatigued, with their
feet extended before them in a very awkward-looking
position, but one which to them is no doubt comfortable.
Shattuck and I took a walk over the dreary hills about
noon; the sun shone pleasantly, and we found several
flowers in full bloom, amongst which the Kalmia glauca,
a beautiful small species, was noticeable. The captain
and surgeon from the "Gulnare" called and invited me
to dine with them to-morrow. This evening we have
been visiting the Montagnais Indians' camp, half a mile
from us, and found them skinning Seals, and preparing
the flesh for use. Saw a robe the size of a good blanket
made of seal-skins tanned so soft and beautiful, with the
hair on, that it was as pliant as a kid glove; they would
not sell it. The chief of the party proves to be well informed,
and speaks French so as to be understood. He is
a fine-looking fellow of about forty; has a good-looking
wife and fine babe. His brother is also married, and has
several sons from fourteen to twenty years old. When
we landed the men came to us, and after the first salutations,
to my astonishment offered us some excellent rum.
The women were all seated apart outside of the camp,
engaged in closing up sundry packages of provisions and
accoutrements. We entered a tent, and seated ourselves
round a cheerful fire, the smoke of which escaped through
the summit of the apartment, and over the fire two kettles
boiled. I put many questions to the chief and his
brother, and gained this information. The country from
here to the first settlement of the Hudson's Bay Co. is as
barren and rocky as that about us. Very large lakes of
great depth are met with about two hundred miles from
this seashore; these lakes abound in very large trout, carp,
and white fish, and many mussels, unfit to eat, which they
describe as black outside and purple within, and are no
doubt unios. Not a bush is to be met with, and the
Indians who now and then go across are obliged to carry
their tent poles with them, as well as their canoes; they
burn moss for fuel. So tedious is the travelling said
to be that not more than ten miles on an average per
day can be made, and when the journey is made in two
months it is considered a good one. Wolves and Black
Bear are frequent, no Deer, and not many Caribous; not
a bird of any kind except Wild Geese and Brent about
the lakes, where they breed in perfect peace. When the
journey is undertaken in the winter, which is very seldom
the case, it is performed on snow-shoes, and no canoes
are taken. Fur animals are scarce, yet some few Beavers
and Otters are caught, a few Martens and Sables, and
some Foxes and Lynx, but every year diminishes their
numbers. The Fur Company may be called the exterminating
medium of these wild and almost uninhabitable
climes, where cupidity and the love of gold can alone induce
man to reside for a while. Where can I go now,
and visit nature undisturbed? The Turdus migratorius
[190]
must be the hardiest of the whole genus. I hear it at
this moment, eight o'clock at night, singing most joyously
its "Good-night!" and "All's well!" to the equally
hardy Labradorians. The common Crow and the Raven
are also here, but the Magdalene Islands appear to be the
last outpost of the Warblers, for here the Black-poll
Warbler, the only one we see, is scarce. The White-throated
and the White-crowned Sparrows are the only
tolerably abundant land birds. The Indians brought in
no Grouse. A fine adult specimen of the Larus marinus
killed this day has already changed full half of its primary
feathers next the body; this bird had two young ones,
and was shot as it dove through the air towards John, who
was near the nest; this is the first instance we have seen
of so much attachment being shown to the progeny with
danger at hand. Two male Eider Ducks were shot and
found very much advanced in the moult. No doubt exists
in my mind that male birds are much in advance of
female in their moults; this is very slow, and indeed is
not completed until late in winter, after which the brilliancy
of the bills and the richness of the coloring of the
legs and feet only improve as they depart from the south
for the north.
June 24. Drawing most of this day, no birds procured,
but some few plants. I dined on board the "Gulnare" at
five o'clock, and was obliged to shave and dress — quite
a bore on the coast of Labrador, believe me. I found the
captain, surgeon, and three officers formed our party; the
conversation ranged from botany to politics, from the
Established Church of England to the hatching of eggs
by steam. I saw the maps being made of this coast, and
was struck with the great accuracy of the shape of our
present harbor, which I now know full well. I returned
to our vessel at ten, and am longing to be farther north;
but the wind is so contrary it would be a loss of time to
attempt it now. The weather is growing warmer, and
mosquitoes are abundant and hungry. Coolidge shot a
White-crowned Sparrow, a male, while in the act of carrying
some materials to build a nest with; so they must
breed here.
June 25. Made a drawing of the Arctic Tern, of which
a great number breed here. I am of Temminck's opinion
that the upper plumage of this species is much darker
than that of S. hirundo. The young men, who are always
ready for sport, caught a hundred codfish in half an hour,
and somewhere secured three fine salmon, one of which
we sent to the "Gulnare" with some cod. Our harbor is
called "American Harbor," and also "Little Natasquan;"
it is in latitude 50° 12� north, longitude 23° east of Quebec
and 61° 53� west of Greenwich. The waters of all the
streams which we have seen are of a rusty color, probably
on account of the decomposed mosses, which appear to be
quite of a peaty nature. The rivers appear to be formed
by the drainage of swamps, fed apparently by rain and the
melting snows, and in time of freshets the sand is sifted
out, and carried to the mouth of every stream, where sand-bars
are consequently met with. Below the mouth of
each stream proves to be the best station for cod-fishing,
as there the fish accumulate to feed on the fry which runs
into the river to deposit spawn, and which they follow to
sea after this, as soon as the fry make off from the rivers
to deep water. It is to be remarked that so shy of
strangers are the agents of the Fur and Fish Company
that they will evade all questions respecting the interior
of the country, and indeed will willingly tell you such
untruths as at once disgust and shock you. All this
through the fear that strangers should attempt to settle
here, and divide with them the profits which they enjoy.
Bank Swallows in sight this moment, with the weather
thick, foggy, and an east wind; where are these delicate
pilgrims bound? The Black-poll Warbler is more abundant,
and forever singing, if the noise it makes can be
called a song; it resembles the clicking of small pebbles
together five or six times, and is renewed every few
minutes.
June 26. We have been waiting five days for wind,
and so has the "Gulnare." The fishing fleet of six
or seven sails has made out to beat four miles to other
fishing grounds. It has rained nearly all day, but
we have all been on shore, to be beaten back by the
rain and the mosquitoes. John brought a female White-crowned
Sparrow; the black and white of the head
was as pure as in the male, which is not common. It
rains hard, and is now calm. God send us a fair wind
to-morrow morning, and morning here is about half-past
two.
June 27. It rained quite hard when I awoke this
morning; the fog was so thick the very shores of our harbor,
not distant more than a hundred yards, were enveloped
in gloom. After breakfast we went ashore; the weather
cleared up and the wind blew fresh. We rambled about
the brushwoods till dinner time, shot two Canada Jays,
one old and one young, the former much darker than
those of Maine; the young one was full fledged, but had
no white about its head; the whole of the body and head
was of a deep, very deep blue. It must have been about
three weeks old, and the egg from which it was hatched
must have been laid about the 10th of May, when the
thermometer was below the freezing-point. We shot also
a Ruby-crowned Wren;[191] no person who has not heard
it would believe that the song of this bird is louder,
stronger, and far more melodious than that of the Canary
bird. It sang for a long time ere it was shot, and perched
on the tops of the tallest fir-trees removing from one to
another as we approached. So strange, so beautiful was
that song that I pronounced the musician, ere it was
shot, a new species of Warbler. John shot it; it fell to
the ground, and though the six of us looked for it we
could not find it, and went elsewhere; in the course of
the afternoon we passed by the spot again, and John found
it and gave it to me. We shot a new species of Finch,
which I have named Fringilla lincolnii; it is allied to the
Swamp Sparrow in general appearance, but is considerably
smaller, and may be known at once from all others
thus far described, by the light buff streak which runs
from the base of the lower mandible, until it melts into
the duller buff of the breast, and by the bright ash-streak
over the eye. The note of this bird attracted me at once;
it was loud and sonorous; the bird flew low and forward,
perching on the firs, very shy, and cunningly eluding our
pursuit; we, however, shot three, but lost one. I shall
draw it to-morrow.[192]
June 28. The weather shocking — rainy, foggy, dark
and cold. I began drawing at daylight, and finished one
of my new Finches and outlined another. At noon the
wind suddenly changed and blew hard from the northwest,
with heavy rain, and such a swell that I was almost
sea-sick, and had to abandon drawing. We dined, and
immediately afterward the wind came round to southwest;
all was bustle with us and with the "Gulnare," for we
both were preparing our sails and raising our anchors ere
proceeding to sea. We sailed, and managed so well that
we cleared the outer cape east of our harbor, and went
out to sea in good style. The "Gulnare" was not so fortunate;
she attempted to beat out in vain, and returned to
her anchorage. The sea was so high in consequence of
the late gales that we all took to our berths, and I am
only now able to write.
June 29. At three this morning we were off the land
about fifteen miles, and about fifty from American Harbor.
Wind favorable, but light; at about ten it freshened.
We neared the shore, but as before our would-be
pilot could not recognize the land, and our captain had
to search for the harbor where we now are, himself. We
passed near an island covered with Foolish Guillemots,
and came to, for the purpose of landing; we did so
through a heavy surf, and found two eggers just landed,
and running over the rocks for eggs. We did the same,
and soon collected about a hundred. These men told me
they visited every island in the vicinity every day, and
that, in consequence they had fresh eggs every day. They
had collected eight hundred dozen, and expect to get two
thousand dozen. The number of broken eggs created a
fetid smell on this island, scarcely to be borne. The L.
marinus were here in hundreds, and destroying the eggs of
the Guillemots by thousands. From this island we went
to another, and there found the Mormon arcticus[193] breeding
in great numbers. We caught many in their burrows,
killed some, and collected some of the eggs. On this
island their burrows were dug in the light black loam
formed of decayed moss, three to six feet deep, yet not
more than about a foot under the surface. The burrows
ran in all directions, and in some instances connected;
the end of the burrow is rounded, and there is the pure
white egg. Those caught at the holes bit most furiously
and scratched shockingly with the inner claw, making a
mournful noise all the time. The whole island was perforated
with their burrows. No young were yet hatched,
and the eggers do not collect these eggs, finding them
indifferent. They say the same of the eggs of the Alca
torda, which they call "Tinkers."[194] The Mormon, they
call "Sea Parrots." Each species seems to have its own
island except the Alca torda, which admits the Guillemots.
As we advanced, we passed by a rock literally covered
with Cormorants, of what species I know not yet; their
effluvia could be perceived more than a mile off. We
made the fine anchorage where we now are about four
o'clock. We found some difficulty in entering on account
of our pilot being an ignorant ass; twice did we see the
rocks under our vessel. The appearance of the country
around is quite different from that near American Harbor;
nothing in view here as far as eye can reach, but
bare, high, rugged rocks, grand indeed, but not a shrub
a foot above the ground. The moss is shorter and more
compact, the flowers are fewer, and every plant more
diminutive. No matter which way you glance, the prospect
is cold and forbidding; deep banks of snow appear
here and there, and yet I have found the Shore Lark
(Alauda alpestris[195]) in beautiful summer plumage. I found
the nest of the Brown Lark (Anthus spinoletta[196]) with five
eggs in it; the nest was planted at the foot of a rock,
buried in dark mould, and beautifully made of fine grass,
well and neatly worked in circularly, without any hair or
other lining. We shot a White-crowned Sparrow, two
Savannah Finches, and saw more, and a Red-bellied
Nuthatch; this last bird must have been blown here accidentally,
as not a bush is there for it to alight upon. I
found the tail of an unknown Owl, and a dead Snow-bird
which from its appearance must have died from cold and
famine. John brought a young Cormorant alive from the
nest, but I cannot ascertain its species without the adult,
which we hope to secure to-morrow. At dusk the "Gulnare"
passed us. All my young men are engaged in
skinning the Mormon arcticus.
|
VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON. FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1838.
|
June 30. I have drawn three birds this day since eight
o'clock, one Fringilla lincolnii, one Ruby-crowned Wren,
and a male White-winged Crossbill. Found a nest of the
Savannah Finch with two eggs; it was planted in the
moss, and covered by a rampant branch; it was made of
fine grass, neither hair nor feathers in its composition.
Shot the L. marinus in fine order, all with the wings extending
nearly two inches beyond the tail, and all in the
same state of moult, merely showing in the middle primaries.
These birds suck other birds' eggs like Crows,
Jays, and Ravens. Shot six Phalacrocorax carbo[197] in full
plumage, species well ascertained by their white throat;
found abundance of their eggs and young.
July 1. The weather was so cold that it was painful
for me to draw almost the whole day, yet I have drawn a
White-winged Crossbill[198] and a Mormon arcticus. We
have had three of these latter on board, alive, these three
days past; it is amusing to see them running about the
cabin and the hold with a surprising quickness, watching
our motions, and particularly our eyes. A Pigeon
Hawk's[199] nest was found to-day; it was on the top of a fir-tree
about ten feet high, made of sticks and lined with
moss, and as large as a Crow's nest; it contained two
birds just hatched, and three eggs, which the young inside
had just cracked. The parent birds were anxious about
their newly born ones, and flew close to us. The little
ones were pure white, soft and downy. We found also
three young of the Charadrius semipalmatus,[200] and several
old ones; these birds breed on the margin of a small
lake among the low grasses. Traces have been seen of
Hares or Rabbits, and one island is perforated throughout
its shallow substratum of moss by a species of Rat, but in
such burrows search for them is vain. The "Gulnare"
came in this evening; our captain brought her in as
pilot. We have had an almost complete eclipse of the
moon this evening at half-past seven. The air very
chilly.
July 2. A beautiful day for Labrador. Drew another
M. arcticus. Went on shore, and was most pleased with
what I saw. The country, so wild and grand, is of itself
enough to interest any one in its wonderful dreariness.
Its mossy, gray-clothed rocks, heaped and thrown together
as if by chance, in the most fantastical groups imaginable,
huge masses hanging on minor ones as if about to
roll themselves down from their doubtful-looking situations,
into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays without
end, sprinkled with rocky islands of all shapes and sizes,
where in every fissure a Guillemot, a Cormorant, or
some other wild bird retreats to secure its egg, and
raise its young, or save itself from the hunter's pursuit.
The peculiar cast of the sky, which never seems to be certain,
butterflies flitting over snow-banks, probing beautiful
dwarf flowerets of many hues pushing their tender
stems from the thick bed of moss which everywhere covers
the granite rocks. Then the morasses, wherein you
plunge up to your knees, or the walking over the stubborn,
dwarfish shrubbery, making one think that as he
goes he treads down the forests of Labrador. The unexpected
Bunting, or perhaps Sylvia, which perchance, and
indeed as if by chance alone, you now and then see flying
before you, or hear singing from the creeping plants on
the ground. The beautiful fresh-water lakes, on the
rugged crests of greatly elevated islands, wherein the Red
and Black-necked Divers swim as proudly as swans do in
other latitudes, and where the fish appear to have been
cast as strayed beings from the surplus food of the ocean.
All — all is wonderfully grand, wild — aye, and terrific.
And yet how beautiful it is now, when one sees the wild
bee, moving from one flower to another in search of food,
which doubtless is as sweet to it, as the essence of the
magnolia is to those of favored Louisiana. The little
Ring Plover rearing its delicate and tender young, the
Eider Duck swimming man-of-war-like amid her floating
brood, like the guardship of a most valuable convoy; the
White-crowned Bunting's sonorous note reaching the ear
ever and anon; the crowds of sea-birds in search of places
wherein to repose or to feed — how beautiful is all this in
this wonderful rocky desert at this season, the beginning
of July, compared with the horrid blasts of winter which
here predominate by the will of God, when every rock is
rendered smooth with snows so deep that every step the
traveller takes is as if entering into his grave; for even
should he escape an avalanche, his eye dreads to search
the horizon, for full well does he know that snow — snow — is
all that can be seen. I watched the Ring Plover for
some time; the parents were so intent on saving their
young that they both lay on the rocks as if shot, quivering
their wings and dragging their bodies as if quite
disabled. We left them and their young to the care of
the Creator. I would not have shot one of the old ones,
or taken one of the young for any consideration, and I
was glad my young men were as forbearing. The L.
marinus is extremely abundant here; they are forever harassing
every other bird, sucking their eggs, and devouring
their young; they take here the place of Eagles and
Hawks; not an Eagle have we seen yet, and only two or
three small Hawks, and one small Owl; yet what a harvest
they would have here, were there trees for them to
rest upon.
July 3. We had a regular stiff gale from the eastward
the whole day, accompanied with rain and cold weather,
and the water so rough that I could not go ashore to get
plants to draw. This afternoon, however, the wind and
waves abated, and we landed for a short time. The view
from the topmost rock overlooking the agitated sea was
grand; the small islets were covered with the angry foam.
Thank God! we were not at sea. I had the pleasure of
coming immediately upon a Cormorant's nest, that lay in
a declivity not more than four or five yards below me;
the mother bird was on her nest with three young; I was
unobserved by her for some minutes, and was delighted
to see how kindly attentive she was to her dear brood;
suddenly her keen eye saw me, and she flew off as if to
dive in the sea.
July 4. At four this morning I sent Tom Lincoln on
shore after four plants and a Cormorant's nest for me to
draw. The nest was literally pasted to the rock's edge,
so thick was the decomposed, putrid matter below it, and
to which the upper part of the nest was attached. It was
formed of such sticks as the country affords, sea-moss and
other garbage, and weighed over fifteen pounds. I have
drawn all day, and have finished the plate of the Fringilla
lincolnii, to which I have put three plants of the country,
all new to me and probably never before figured; to us
they are very fitting for the purpose, as Lincoln gathered
them. Our party divided as usual into three bands: John
and Lincoln off after Divers; Coolidge, Shattuck, and
Ingalls to the main land, and our captain and four men
to a pond after fish, which they will catch with a seine.
Captain Bayfield sent us a quarter of mutton, a rarity, I
will venture to say, on this coast even on the Fourth of
July. John and Lincoln returned with a Red-necked
Diver, or Scapegrace, Coolidge and party with the nest
and two eggs of the Colymbus glacialis.[201] This nest was
found on the margin of a pond, and was made of short
grasses, weeds, etc.; well fashioned and fifteen inches in
diameter. After dinner John and I went on shore to release
a Uria grylle that we had confined in the fissure of
a rock; the poor thing was sadly weak, but will soon recover
from this trial of ours.
July 5. John and Lincoln returned at sunset with a
Red-necked Diver, and one egg of that bird, they also
found Uria grylle, whose pebbled nests were placed beneath
large rolling stones on the earth, and not in fissures;
Lincoln thought them a different species, but John
did not. They brought some curious Eels, and an Arctic
Tern, and saw the tracks of Deer and Caribou, also Otter
paths from one pond to another. They saw several Loons
and tolled them by running towards them hallooing and
waving a handkerchief, at which sight and cry the Loon
immediately swam towards them, until within twenty
yards. This "tolling" is curious and wonderful. Many
other species of water-fowl are deceived by these manœuvres,
but none so completely as the Loon. Coolidge's
party was fortunate enough to kill a pair of Ptarmigans,
and to secure seven of the young birds, hatched yesterday
at furthest. They met with these on the dreary, mossy
tops of the hills, over which we tread daily in search of
knowledge. This is the species of Grouse of which we
heard so much at Dennysville last autumn, and glad I am
that it is a resident bird with us. The Larus marinus
was observed trying to catch the young of the Eiders. I
drew from four o'clock this morning till three this afternoon;
finished a figure of the Colymbus septentrionalis.
[202]
Feeling the want of exercise, went off with the captain a
few miles, to a large rough island. To tread over the
spongy moss of Labrador is a task beyond conception
until tried; at every step the foot sinks in a deep, soft
cushion which closes over it, and it requires a good deal
of exertion to pull it up again. Where this moss happens
to be over a marsh, then you sink a couple of feet
deep every step you take; to reach a bare rock is delightful,
and quite a relief. This afternoon I thought the
country looked more terrifyingly wild than ever; the dark
clouds, casting their shadows on the stupendous masses of
rugged rock, lead the imagination into regions impossible
to describe. The Scoter Ducks, of which I have seen
many this day, were partially moulted, and could fly only
a short distance, and must be either barren or the young
bachelors, as I find parents in full plumage, convincing
me that these former moult earlier than the breeding
Ducks. I have observed this strange fact so often now
that I shall say no more about it; I have found it in
nearly all the species of the birds here. I do not know
of any writer on the history of birds having observed this
curious fact before. I have now my hands full of work,
and go to bed delighted that to-morrow I shall draw a
Ptarmigan which I can swear to, as being a United States
species. I am much fatigued and wet to the very skin,
but, oh! we found the nest of a Peregrine Falcon on a
tremendous cliff, with a young one about a week old,
quite white with down; the parents flew fiercely at our
eyes.
July 6. By dint of hard work and rising at three, I
have drawn a Colymbus septentrionalis and a young one,
and nearly finished a Ptarmigan; this afternoon, however,
at half-past five, my fingers could no longer hold my
pencil, and I was forced to abandon my work and go
ashore for exercise. The fact is that I am growing old too
fast; alas! I feel it — and yet work I will, and may God
grant me life to see the last plate of my mammoth work
finished. I have heard the Brown Lark (Anthus spinoletta)
sing many a time this day, both on the wing and whilst
sitting on the ground. When on the wing it sings while
flying very irregularly in zigzags, up and down, etc.; when
on a rock (which it prefers) it stands erect, and sings, I
think, more clearly. John found the nest of a White-crowned
Bunting with five eggs; he was creeping through
some low bushes after a Red-necked Diver, and accidentally
coming upon it, startled the female, which made much
noise and complaint. The nest was like the one Lincoln
found placed in the moss, under a low bough, and formed
of beautiful moss outwardly, dried, fine grass next inside,
and exquisitely lined with fibrous roots of a rich yellow
color; the eggs are light greenish, slightly sprinkled with
reddish-brown, in size about the same as eggs of the Song
Sparrow. This Fringilla[203] is the most abundant in this
part of Labrador. We have seen two Swamp Sparrows
only. We have found two nests of the Peregrine Falcon,
placed high on rocky declivities. Coolidge and party
shot two Oyster Catchers; these are becoming plentiful.
Lieutenant Bowen of the "Gulnare" brought me a Peregrine
Falcon, and two young of the Alca torda, the first
hatched we have seen, and only two or three days old.
July 7. Drawing all day; finished the female Grouse
and five young, and prepared the male bird. The captain,
John, and Lincoln, went off this afternoon with a view to
camp on a bay about ten miles distant. Soon after, we had
a change of weather, and, for a wonder, bright lightning
and something like summer clouds. When fatigued with
drawing I went on shore for exercise, and saw many pretty
flowers, amongst them a flowering Sea-pea, quite rich in
color. Dr. Kelly from the "Gulnare" went with me.
Captain Bayfield and Lieutenant Bowen went off this
morning on a three weeks' expedition in open boats, but
with tents and more comforts than I have ever enjoyed in
hunting excursions. The mosquitoes quite as numerous
as in Louisiana.
July 8. Rainy, dirty weather, wind east. Was at work
at half-past three, but disagreeable indeed is my situation
during bad weather. The rain falls on my drawing-paper,
despite all I can do, and even the fog collects and falls in
large drops from the rigging on my table; now and then
I am obliged to close my skylight, and then may be said
to work almost in darkness. Notwithstanding, I finished
my cock Ptarmigan, and three more young, and now consider
it a handsome large plate. John and party returned,
cold, wet, and hungry. Shot nothing, camp disagreeable,
and nothing to relate but that they heard a Wolf, and found
an island with thousands of the Mormon arcticus breeding
on it. To-morrow I shall draw the beautiful Colymbus
glacialis in most perfect plumage.
July 9. The wind east, of course disagreeable; wet and
foggy besides. The most wonderful climate in the world.
Cold as it is, mosquitoes in profusion, plants blooming by
millions, and at every step you tread on such as would
be looked upon with pleasure in more temperate climes.
I wish I were a better botanist, that I might describe them
as I do birds. Dr. Wm. Kelly has given me the list of
such plants as he has observed on the coast as far as
Macatine Island. I have drawn all day at the Loon, a
most difficult bird to imitate. For my part, I cannot help
smiling at the presumption of some of our authors, who
modestly assert that their figures are "up to nature."
May God forgive them, and teach me to copy His works;
glad and happy shall I then be. Lincoln and Shattuck
brought some fresh-water shells from a large pond inland;
they saw a large bird which they took for an Owl, but
which they could not approach; they also caught a frog,
but lost it out of their game bag.
July 10. Could I describe one of these dismal gales
which blow ever and anon over this desolate country, it
would in all probability be of interest to one unacquainted
with the inclemency of the climate. Nowhere else is the
power of the northeast gale, which blows every week on the
coast of Labrador, so keenly felt as here. I cannot describe
it; all I can say is that whilst we are in as fine and safe a
harbor as could be wished for, and completely land-locked
all round, so strong does the wind blow, and so great its
influence on our vessel, that her motion will not allow me
to draw, and indeed once this day forced me to my berth,
as well as some others of our party. One would imagine
all the powers of Boreas had been put to work to give us a
true idea of what his energies can produce, even in so snug a
harbor. What is felt outside I cannot imagine, but greatly
fear that few vessels could ride safely before these horrid
blasts, that now and then seem strong enough to rend the
very rocks asunder. The rain is driven in sheets which
seem scarcely to fall on sea or land; I can hardly call it
rain, it is rather a mass of water, so thick that all objects
at any distance from us are lost to sight every three or
four minutes, and the waters comb up and beat about us
in our rock-bound harbor as a newly caged bird does
against its imprisoning walls. The Great Black-backed
Gull alone is seen floating through the storm, screaming
loudly and mournfully as it seeks its prey; not another
bird is to be seen abroad; the Cormorants are all settled
in the rocks close to us, the Guillemots are deep in the
fissures, every Eider Duck lays under the lee of some
point, her brood snugly beneath her opened wings, the
Loon and the Diver have crawled among the rankest
weeds, and are patiently waiting for a return of fair weather,
the Grouse is quite hid under the creeping willow, the
Great Gray Owl is perched on the southern declivity of
some stupendous rock, and the gale continues as if it would
never stop. On rambling about the shores of the numerous
bays and inlets of this coast, you cannot but observe
immense beds of round stone of all sizes, some of very large
dimensions rolled side by side and piled one upon another
many deep, cast there by some great force of nature. I
have seen many such places, and never without astonishment
and awe. If those great boulders are brought from
the bottom of the sea, and cast hundreds of yards on
shore, this will give some idea of what a gale on the coast
of Labrador can be, and what the force of the waves. I
tried to finish my drawing of the Loon, but in vain; I
covered my paper to protect it from the rain, with the
exception only of the few inches where I wished to work,
and yet that small space was not spared by the drops that
fell from the rigging on my table; there is no window, and
the only light is admitted through hatches.
July 11. The gale, or hurricane, or whatever else the
weather of yesterday was, subsided about midnight, and at
sunrise this morning it was quite calm, and the horizon
fiery red. It soon became cloudy, and the wind has been
all round the compass. I wished to go a hundred miles
farther north, but the captain says I must be contented
here, so I shall proceed with my drawings. I began a Cormorant
and two young, having sent John and Lincoln for
them before three this morning; and they procured them in
less than half an hour. Many of the young are nearly as
large as their parents, and yet have scarcely a feather, but
are covered with woolly down, of a sooty black. The excursions
brought in nothing new. The Shore Lark has
become abundant, but the nest remains still unknown. A
tail feather of the Red-tailed Hawk, young, was found;
therefore that species exists here. We are the more
surprised that not a Hawk nor an Owl is seen, as
we find hundreds of sea-birds devoured, the wings only
remaining.
July 12. At this very moment it is blowing another
gale from the east, and it has been raining hard ever since
the middle of the day. Of course it has been very difficult
to draw, but I have finished the Cormorant. John and
Lincoln brought in nothing new, except the nest and ten
eggs of a Red-breasted Merganser. The nest was placed
near the edge of a very small fresh-water pond, under the
creeping branches of one of this country's fir-trees, the top
of which would be about a foot above ground; it is like
the Eider's nest, but smaller and better fashioned, of weeds
and mosses, and warmly lined with down. The eggs are
dirty yellow, very smooth shelled, and look like hen's-eggs,
only rather stouter. John lay in wait for the parent
over two hours, but though he saw her glide off the nest,
she was too wary to return. I saw a Black-backed Gull
plunge on a Crab as big as my two fists, in about two feet
of water, seize it and haul it ashore, where it ate it while I
watched it; I could see the Crab torn piece by piece, till
the shell and legs alone remained. The Gull then flew in
a direct line towards her nest, distant about a mile, probably
to disgorge her food in favor of her young. Our two young
Gulls, which we now have had for nearly a month, act
just as Vultures would. We throw them a dead Duck or
even a dead Gull, and they tear it to pieces, drinking the
blood and swallowing the flesh, each constantly trying to
rob the other of the piece of flesh which he has torn from
the carcass. They do not drink water, but frequently
wash the blood off their bills by plunging them in water,
and then violently shaking their heads. They are now
half fledged.
July 13. When I rose this morning at half-past three,
the wind was northeast, and but little of it. The weather
was cloudy and looked bad, as it always does here after a
storm. I thought I would spend the day on board the
"Gulnare," and draw at the ground of my Grouse, which I
had promised to Dr. Kelly. However, at seven the wind
was west, and we immediately prepared to leave our fine
harbor. By eight we passed the "Gulnare," bid her officers
and crew farewell, beat out of the narrow passage beautifully,
and proceeded to sea with the hope of reaching the
harbor of Little Macatine, distant forty-three miles; but
ere the middle of the day it became calm, then rain, then
the wind to the east again, and all were sea-sick as much
as ever. I saw a Lestris[204] near the vessel, but of what kind
I could not tell, — it flew like a Pigeon Hawk, alighting on
the water like a Gull, and fed on some codfish liver which
was thrown overboard for it, — and some Thalassidroma,[205]
but none came within shot, and the sea was too rough to
go after them. About a dozen common Crossbills, and as
many Redpolls (Fringilla [Acanthis] linaria) came and
perched on our top-yards, but I would not have them shot,
and none were caught. Our young men have been fishing
to pass the time, and have caught a number of cod.
July 14. The wind blew cold and sharp from the northeast
this morning, and we found ourselves within twenty miles
of "Little Macatine," the sea beating heavily on our bows,
as we beat to the windward, tack after tack. At noon it
was quite calm, and the wished-for island in sight, but our
captain despairs of reaching it to-day. It looks high and
horribly rugged, the highest land we have yet seen. At
four o'clock, being about a mile and a half distant, we took
the green boat, and went off. As we approached, I was
surprised to see how small some Ducks looked which flew
between us and the rocks, so stupendously high were the
rough shores under which our little bark moved along.
We doubled the cape and came to the entrance of the
Little Macatine harbor, but so small did it appear to me
that I doubted if it was the harbor; the shores were terribly
wild, fearfully high and rugged, and nothing was heard
but the croaking of a pair of Ravens and their half-grown
brood, mingling with the roar of the surf against the rocky
ledges which projected everywhere, and sent the angry
waters foaming into the air. The wind now freshened, the
"Ripley's" sails swelled, and she was gently propelled
through the water and came within sight of the harbor,
on the rocks of which we stood waiting for her, when all of
a sudden she veered, and we saw her topsails hauled in
and bent in a moment; we thought she must have seen a
sunken rock, and had thus wheeled to avoid it, but soon
saw her coming up again and learned that it was merely
because she had nearly passed the entrance of the harbor
ere aware of it. Our harbor is the very representation of
the bottom of a large bowl, in the centre of which our vessel
is now safely at anchor, surrounded by rocks fully a thousand
feet high, and the wildest-looking place I ever was in.
After supper we all went ashore; some scampered up the
steepest hills next to us, but John, Shattuck, and myself
went up the harbor, and after climbing to the top of a
mountain (for I cannot call it a hill) went down a steep
incline, up another hill, and so on till we reached the crest
of the island, and surveyed all beneath us. Nothing but
rocks — barren rocks — wild as the wildest of the Apennines
everywhere; the moss only a few inches deep, and
the soil or decomposed matter beneath it so moist that,
wherever there was an incline, the whole slipped from
under our feet like an avalanche, and down we slid for feet
or yards. The labor was excessive; at the bottom of each
dividing ravine the scrub bushes intercepted our way for
twenty or thirty paces, over which we had to scramble
with great exertion, and on our return we slid down fifty
feet or more into an unknown pit of moss and mire, more
or less deep. We started a female Black-cap Warbler
from her nest, and I found it with four eggs, placed in the
fork of a bush about three feet from the ground; a beautiful
little mansion, and I will describe it to-morrow. I am
wet through, and find the mosquitoes as troublesome as in
the Floridas.
July 15. Our fine weather of yesterday was lost sometime
in the night. As every one was keen to go off and
see the country, we breakfasted at three o'clock this
morning. The weather dubious, wind east. Two boats
with the young men moved off in different directions. I
sat to finishing the ground of my Grouse, and by nine had
to shift my quarters, as it rained hard. By ten John and
Lincoln had returned; these two always go together, being
the strongest and most active, as well as the most experienced
shots, though Coolidge and Ingalls are not far behind
them in this. They brought a Red-necked Diver and
one egg of that bird; the nest was placed on the edge of
a very small pond, not more than ten square yards. Our
harbor had many Larus zonorhynchus[206] (Common Gull);
the captain shot one. I have never seen them so abundant
as here. Their flight is graceful and elevated; when they
descend for food the legs and feet generally drop below
the body. They appear to know gunshot distance with
wonderful precision, and it is seldom indeed that one comes
near enough to be secured. They alight on the water
with great delicacy, and swim beautifully. Coolidge's
party brought a nest of the White-crowned Bunting (Fringilla
leucophyrs) and three specimens of the bird, also two
Charadrius semipalmatus. They found an island with
many nests of the Phalacrocorax dilophus,[207] but only one
egg, and thought the nests were old and abandoned. One
of the young Ravens from the nest flew off at the sight of
one of our men, and fell into the water; it was caught and
brought to me; it was nearly fledged. I trimmed one of
its wings, and turned it loose on the deck, but in attempting
to rejoin its mother, who called most loudly from on
high on the wing, the young one walked to the end of the
bowsprit, jumped into the water, and was drowned; and
soon after I saw the poor mother chased by a Peregrine
Falcon with great fury; she made for her nest, and when
the Falcon saw her alight on the margin of her ledge, it
flew off. I never thought that such a Hawk could chase
with effect so large and so powerful a bird as the Raven.
Some of our men who have been eggers and fishermen
have seen these Ravens here every season for the last
eight or nine years.
July 16. Another day of dirty weather, and all obliged
to remain on board the greater portion of the time. I
managed to draw at my Grouse and put in some handsome
wild peas, Labrador tea-plant, and also one other plant, unknown
to me. This afternoon the young men went off, and
the result has been three White-crowned Buntings, and a
female Black-capped Warbler. Our captain did much
better for me, for in less than an hour he returned on
board with thirty fine codfish, some of which we relished
well at our supper. This evening the fog is so thick that
we cannot see the summit of the rocks around us. The
harbor has been full of Gulls the whole day. The captain
brought me what he called an Esquimau codfish, which
perhaps has never been described, and we have spirited
him. We found a new species of floweret of the genus
Silene,[208] but unknown to us. We have now lost four days
in succession.
July 17. The mosquitoes so annoyed me last night
that I did not even close my eyes. I tried the deck of the
vessel, and though the fog was as thick as fine rain, these
insects attacked me by thousands, and I returned below,
where I continued fighting them till daylight, when I had
a roaring fire made and got rid of them. The fog has
been as thick as ever, and rain has fallen heavily, though
the wind is southwest. I have drawn five eggs of land-birds:
that of Falco columbarius,[209] Fringilla leucophyrs,[210] Anthus
spinoletta,[211] Sylvia striata,[212] and Fringilla savanna.[213] I
also outlined in the mountainous hills near our vessel, as
a background to my Willow Grouse. John and Coolidge
with their companions brought in several specimens, but
nothing new. Coolidge brought two young of the Red-necked
Diver, which he caught at the bottom of a small
pond by putting his gun rod on them, — the little things
diving most admirably, and going about the bottom with
as much apparent ease as fishes would. The captain and
I went to an island where the Phalacrocorax dilophus[214]
were abundant; thousands of young of all sizes, from just
hatched to nearly full-grown, all opening their bills and
squawking most vociferously; the noise was shocking and
the stench intolerable. No doubt exists with us now that
the Shore Lark breeds here; we meet with them very frequently.
A beautiful species of violet was found, and I
have transplanted several for Lucy, but it is doubtful if
they will survive the voyage.
July 18. We all, with the exception of the cook, left
the "Ripley" in three boats immediately after our early
breakfast, and went to the main land, distant some five
miles. The fog was thick enough, but the wind promised
fair weather, and we have had it. As soon as we landed
the captain and I went off over a large extent of marsh
ground, the first we have yet met with in this country;
the earth was wet, our feet sank far in the soil, and
walking was extremely irksome. In crossing what is here
called a wood, we found a nest of Parus hudsonicus[215] containing
four young, able to fly; we procured the parents
also, and I shall have the pleasure of drawing them to-morrow;
this bird has never been figured that I know.
Their manners resemble those of the Black-headed Titmouse,
or Chickadee, and their notes are fully as strong,
and clamorous, and constant as those of either of our own
species. Few birds do I know that possess more active
powers. The nest was dug by the bird out of a dead and
rotten stump, about five feet from the ground; the aperture,
one and a quarter inches in diameter, was as round as
if made by a small Woodpecker, or a Flying-squirrel. The
hole inside was four by six inches; at the bottom a bed
of chips was found, but the nest itself resembled a purse
formed of the most beautiful and softest hair imaginable, — of
Sables, Ermines, Martens, Hares, etc.; a warmer and
snugger apartment no bird could desire, even in this cold
country. On leaving the wood we shot a Spruce Partridge
leading her young. On seeing us she ruffled her
feathers like a barnyard hen, and rounded within a few feet
of us to defend her brood; her very looks claimed our
forbearance and clemency, but the enthusiastic desire to
study nature prompted me to destroy her, and she was
shot, and her brood secured in a few moments; the young
very pretty and able to fly. This bird was so very gray
that she might almost have been pronounced a different
species from those at Dennysville, Me., last autumn; but
this difference is occasioned by its being born so much
farther north; the difference is no greater than in Tetrao
umbellus[216] in Maine, and the same bird in western Pennsylvania.
We crossed a savannah of many miles in extent;
in many places the soil appeared to wave under us, and
we expected at each step to go through the superficial
moss carpet up to our middles in the mire; so wet and so
spongy was it that I think I never labored harder in a
walk of the same extent. In travelling through this quagmire
we met with a small grove of good-sized, fine white-birch
trees, and a few pines full forty feet high, quite a
novelty to us at this juncture. On returning to our boats
the trudging through the great bog was so fatiguing
that we frequently lay down to rest; our sinews became
cramped, and for my part, more than once I thought I
should give up from weariness. One man killed a Falco
columbarius, in the finest plumage I have ever seen. I
heard the delightful song of the Ruby-crowned Wren
again and again; what would I give to find the nest of this
northern Humming-Bird? We found the Fox-colored
Sparrow in full song, and had our captain been up to
birds' ways, he would have found its nest; for one started
from his feet, and doubtless from the eggs, as she fluttered
off with drooping wings, and led him away from the
spot, which could not again be found. John and Co.
found an island with upwards of two hundred nests of the
Larus canus,[217] all with eggs, but not a young one hatched.
The nests were placed on the bare rock; formed of sea-weed,
about six inches in diameter within, and a foot
without; some were much thicker and larger than others;
in many instances only a foot apart, in others a greater
distance was found. The eggs are much smaller than
those of Larus marinus. The eggs of the
Cayenne Tern,[218]
were also found, and a single pair of those remarkable
birds, which could not be approached. Two Ptarmigans
were killed; these birds have no whirring of the wings,
even when surprised; they flew at the gunners in defence
of the young, and one was killed with a gun-rod. The
instant they perceive they are observed, when at a distance,
they squat or lie flat on the moss, when it is almost
impossible to see them unless right under your feet. From
the top of a high rock I had fine view of the most extensive
and the dreariest wilderness I have ever beheld. It
chilled the heart to gaze on these barren lands of Labrador.
Indeed I now dread every change of harbor, so horribly
rugged and dangerous is the whole coast and country,
especially to the inexperienced man either of sea or land.
The mosquitoes, many species of horse-fly, small bees,
and black gnats filled the air; the frogs croaked; and yet
the thermometer was not high, not above 55°. This is
one of the wonders of this extraordinary country. We
have returned to our vessel, wet, shivering with cold, tired,
and very hungry. During our absence the cook caught
some fine lobsters; but fourteen men, each with a gun, six
of which were double-barrelled, searched all day for game,
and have not averaged two birds apiece, nineteen being all
that were shot to-day. We all conclude that no one man
could provide food for himself without extreme difficulty.
Some animal was seen at a great distance, so far indeed
that we could not tell whether it was a Wolf or a Caribou.
July 19. So cold, rainy, and foggy has this day been
that no one went out shooting, and only a ramble on shore
was taken by way of escaping the motion of the vessel,
which pitched very disagreeably, the wind blowing almost
directly in our harbor; and I would not recommend this
anchorage to a painter naturalist, as Charles Bonaparte
calls me. I have drawn two Parus hudsonicus, and this
evening went on shore with the captain for exercise, and
enough have I had. We climbed the rocks and followed
from one to another, crossing fissures, holding to the moss
hand and foot and with difficulty, for about a mile, when
suddenly we came upon the deserted mansion of a
Labrador sealer. It looked snug outside, and we entered
it. It was formed of short slabs, all very well greased with
seal oil; an oven without a pipe, a salt-box hung on a
wooden peg, a three-legged stool, and a wooden box of a
bedstead, with a flour-barrel containing some hundreds of
seine-floats, and an old Seal seine, completed the list of
goods and chattels. Three small windows, with four panes
of glass each, were still in pretty good order, and so was
the low door, which moved on wooden hinges, for which
the maker has received no patent, I'll be bound. This
cabin made of hewn logs, brought from the main, was well
put together, about twelve feet square, well roofed with
bark of birch and spruce, thatched with moss, and every
aperture rendered air-tight with oakum. But it was
deserted and abandoned; the Seals are all caught, and the
sealers have nought to do here now-a-days. We found a
pile of good hard wood close to this abode, which we will
have removed on board our vessel to-morrow. I discovered
that this cabin had been the abode of two French
Canadians; first, because their almanac, written with chalk
on one of the logs, was in French; and next, the writing
was in two very different styles. As we returned to our
vessel I paused several times to contemplate the raging
waves breaking on the stubborn, precipitous rocks beneath
us, and thought how dreadful they would prove to any one
who should be wrecked on so inhospitable a shore. No
vessel, the captain assured me, could stand the sea we
gazed upon at that moment, and I fully believed him, for
the surge dashed forty feet or more high against the
precipitous rocks. The Ravens flew above us, and a few
Gulls beat to windward by dint of superior sailing; the
horizon was hid by fog, so thick there, and on the crest of
the island, that it looked like dense smoke. Though I
wore thick mittens and very heavy clothing, I felt chilly
with the cold. John's violin notes carry my thoughts far,
far from Labrador, I assure thee.
July 20. Labrador deserves credit for one fine day!
To-day has been calm, warm, and actually such a day as
one might expect in the Middle States about the month of
May. I drew from half-past three till ten this morning.
The young men went off early, and the captain and myself
went to the island next to us, but saw few birds: a Brown
Lark, some Gulls, and the two White-crowned Buntings.
In some small bays which we passed we found the stones
thrown up by the sea in immense numbers, and of enormous
size. These stones I now think are probably brought on
shore in the masses of ice during the winter storms. These
icebergs, then melting and breaking up, leave these enormous
pebble-shaped stones, from ten to one hundred feet
deep. When I returned to my drawing the captain went
fishing, and caught thirty-seven cod in less than an hour.
The wind rose towards evening, and the boats did not get
in till nine o'clock, and much anxiety did I feel about
them. Coolidge is an excellent sailor, and John too, for
that matter, but very venturesome; and Lincoln equally so.
The chase, as usual, poor; two Canadian Grouse in moult, — these
do moult earlier than the Willow Grouse,[219] — some
White-throated Sparrows, Yellow-rump Warblers, the
Green Black-cap Flycatcher, the small Wood Pewee (?).
I think this a new species, but cannot swear to it.[220] The
young of the Tawny Thrush were seen with the mother,
almost full-grown. All the party are very tired, especially
Ingalls, who was swamped up to his arm-pits and was
pulled out by his two companions; tired as they are, they
have yet energy to eat tremendously.
July 21. I write now from a harbor which has no name,
for we have mistaken it for the right one, which lies two
miles east of this; but it matters little, for the coast of
Labrador is all alike comfortless, cold and foggy, yet
grand. We left Little Macatine at five this morning,
with a stiff southwest breeze, and by ten our anchor was
dropped here. We passed Captain Bayfield and his two
boats engaged in the survey of the coast. We have been
on shore; no birds but about a hundred Eider Ducks and
Red-breasted Mergansers in the inner bay, with their broods
all affrighted as our boats approached. Returning on
board, found Captain Bayfield and his lieutenants, who
remained to dine with us. They were short of provisions,
and we gave them a barrel of ship-bread, and seventy
pounds of beef. I presented the captain with a ham,
with which he went off to their camp on some rocks not
far distant. This evening we paid him a visit; he and his
men are encamped in great comfort. The tea-things were
yet arranged on the iron-bound bed, the trunks served as
seats, and the sail-cloth clothes-bags as pillows. The moss
was covered with a large tarred cloth, and neither wind
nor damp was admitted. I gazed on the camp with much
pleasure, and it was a great enjoyment to be with men of
education and refined manners, such as are these officers of
the Royal Navy; it was indeed a treat. We talked of the
country where we were, of the beings best fitted to live and
prosper here, not only of our species, but of all species,
and also of the enormous destruction of everything here,
except the rocks; the aborigines themselves melting away
before the encroachments of the white man, who looks
without pity upon the decrease of the devoted Indian, from
whom he rifles home, food, clothing, and life. For as the
Deer, the Caribou, and all other game is killed for the
dollar which its skin brings in, the Indian must search in
vain over the devastated country for that on which he is
accustomed to feed, till, worn out by sorrow, despair, and
want, he either goes far from his early haunts to others,
which in time will be similarly invaded, or he lies on the
rocky seashore and dies. We are often told rum kills the
Indian; I think not; it is oftener the want of food, the loss of
hope as he loses sight of all that was once abundant, before
the white man intruded on his land and killed off the wild
quadrupeds and birds with which he has fed and clothed
himself since his creation. Nature herself seems perishing.
Labrador must shortly be depeopled, not only of
aboriginal man, but of all else having life, owing to man's
cupidity. When no more fish, no more game, no more
birds exist on her hills, along her coasts, and in her rivers,
then she will be abandoned and deserted like a worn-out
field.
July 22. At six this morning, Captain Bayfield and
Lieutenant Bowen came alongside in their respective boats
to bid us farewell, being bound westward to the "Gulnare."
We embarked in three boats and proceeded to examine a
small harbor about a mile east, where we found a whaling
schooner of fifty-five tons from Cape Gaspé in New Brunswick.
When we reached it we found the men employed
at boiling blubber in what, to me, resembled sugar boilers.
The blubber lay heaped on the shore in chunks of six
to twenty pounds, and looked filthy enough. The captain,
or owner, of the vessel appeared to be a good, sensible
man of that class, and cut off for me some strips of
the skin of the whale from under the throat, with large
and curious barnacles attached to it. They had struck
four whales, of which three had sunk and were lost; this,
I was told, was a very rare occurrence. We found at this
place a French Canadian, a Seal-catcher, who gave me
the following information. This portion of Labrador is
free to any one to settle on, and he and another man had
erected a small cabin, have Seal-nets, and traps to catch
Foxes, and guns to shoot Bears and Wolves. They carry
their quarry to Quebec, receive fifty cents per gallon for
Seal oil, and from three to five guineas for Black and
Silver-Fox skins, and other furs in proportion. From
November till spring they kill Seals in great numbers.
Two thousand five hundred were killed by seventeen men
in three days; this great feat was done with short sticks,
each Seal being killed with a single blow on the snout,
while resting on the edges of the field ice. The Seals are
carried to the camp on sledges drawn by Esquimaux dogs,
that are so well trained that on reaching home they push
the Seals off the sledge with their noses, and return to the
hunters with despatch. (Remember, my Lucy, this is
hearsay.) At other times the Seals are driven into nets
one after another, until the poor animals become so hampered
and confined that, the gun being used, they are
easily and quickly despatched. He showed me a spot
within a few yards of his cabin where, last winter, he caught
six Silver-gray Foxes; these had gone to Quebec with his
partner, who was daily expected. Bears and Caribous
abound during winter, as well as Wolves, Hares, and Porcupines.
The Hare (I suppose the Northern one) is brown
at this season, and white in winter; the Wolves are mostly
of a dun color, very ferocious and daring. A pack of
about thirty followed a man to his cabin, and have more
than once killed his dogs at his very door. I was the
more surprised at this, as the dogs he had were as large
as any Wolves I have ever seen. These dogs are extremely
tractable; so much so that, when harnessed to a sledge, the
leader starts at the word of command, and the whole pack
gallops off swiftly enough to convey a man sixty miles in
the course of seven or eight hours. They howl like
Wolves, and are not at all like our common dogs. They
were extremely gentle, came to us, jumped on us, and
caressed us, as if we were old acquaintances. They do
not take to the water, and are only fitted for drawing
sledges and chasing Caribou. They are the only dogs
which at all equal the Caribou in speed. As soon as
winter's storms and thick ice close the harbors and the
spaces between the mainland and the islands, the Caribous
are seen moving in great gangs, first to the islands, where,
the snow being more likely to be drifted, the animal finds
places where the snow has blown away, and he can more
easily reach the moss, which at this season is its only
food. As the season increases in severity, the Caribous
follow a due northwestern direction, and gradually reach
a comparatively milder climate; but nevertheless, on their
return in March and April, which return is as regular as
the migration of birds, they are so poor and emaciated
that the white man himself takes pity on them, and does
not kill them. (Merciful beings, who spare life when the
flesh is off the bones, and no market for the bones is
at hand.) The Otter is tolerably abundant; these are
principally trapped at the foot of the waterfalls to which
they resort, these places being the latest to freeze, and the
first to thaw. The Marten and the Sable are caught, but
are by no means abundant, and every winter makes a
deep impression on beast as well as on man. These
Frenchmen receive their supplies from Quebec, where they
send their furs and oil. At this time, which the man here
calls "the idle time," he lolls about his cabin, lies in the
sunshine like a Seal, eats, drinks, and sleeps his life away,
careless of all the world, and the world, no doubt, careless
of him. His dogs are his only companions until his partner's
return, who, for all I know, is not himself better
company than a dog. They have placed their very small
cabin in a delightful situation, under the protection of an
island, on the southwestern side of the main shore, where I
was surprised to find the atmosphere quite warm, and the
vegetation actually rank; for I saw plants with leaves fully
a foot in breadth, and grasses three feet high. The birds
had observed the natural advantages of this little paradise,
for here we found the musical Winter Wren in full song,
the first time in Labrador, the White-crowned Sparrow,
or Bunting, singing melodiously from every bush, the Fox-tail
Sparrow, the Black-cap Warbler, the Shore Lark nesting,
but too cunning for us; the White-throated Sparrow
and a Peregrine Falcon, besides about half a dozen of
Lincoln's Finch. This afternoon the wind has been blowing
a tremendous gale; our anchors have dragged with
sixty fathoms of chain out. Yet one of the whaler's boats
came to us with six men, who wished to see my drawings,
and I gratified them willingly; they, in return, have promised
to let me see a whale before cut up, if they should
catch one ere we leave this place for Bras d'Or. Crows
are not abundant here; the Ravens equal them in number,
and Peregrine Falcons are more numerous. The horse-flies
are so bad that they drove our young men on board.
July 23. We visited to-day the Seal establishment of
a Scotchman, Samuel Robertson, situated on what he calls
Sparr Point, about six miles east of our anchorage. He
received us politely, addressed me by name, and told me
that he had received intimation of my being on a vessel
bound to this country, through the English and Canadian
newspapers. This man has resided here twenty years,
married a Labrador lady, daughter of a Monsieur Chevalier
of Bras d'Or, a good-looking woman, and has six
children. His house is comfortable, and in a little garden
he raises a few potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables.
He appears to be lord of these parts and quite contented
with his lot. He told me his profits last year amounted
to £600. He will not trade with the Indians, of whom we
saw about twenty, of the Montagnais tribes, and employs
only white serving-men. His Seal-oil tubs were full, and
he was then engaged in loading two schooners for Quebec
with that article. I bought from him the skin of a Cross
Fox for three dollars. He complained of the American
fishermen very much, told us they often acted as badly as
pirates towards the Indians, the white settlers, and the
eggers, all of whom have been more than once obliged to
retaliate, when bloody encounters have been the result.
He assured me he had seen a fisherman's crew kill thousands
of Guillemots in the course of a day, pluck the
feathers from the breasts, and throw the bodies into the
sea. He also told me that during mild winters his little
harbor is covered with pure white Gulls (the Silvery), but
that all leave at the first appearance of spring. The
travelling here is effected altogether on the snow-covered
ice, by means of sledges and Esquimaux dogs, of which
Mr. Robertson keeps a famous pack. With them, at the
rate of about six miles an hour, he proceeds to Bras d'Or
seventy-five miles, with his wife and six children, in one
sledge drawn by ten dogs. Fifteen miles north of this
place, he says, begins a lake represented by the Indians
as four hundred miles long by one hundred broad. This
sea-like lake is at times as rough as the ocean in a storm;
it abounds with Wild Geese, and the water-fowl breed
on its margins by millions. We have had a fine day, but
very windy; Mr. R. says this July has been a remarkable
one for rough weather. The Caribou flies have driven
the hunters on board; Tom Lincoln, who is especially
attacked by them, was actually covered with blood, and
looked as if he had had a gouging fight with some rough
Kentuckians. Mr. R.'s newspapers tell of the ravages of
cholera in the south and west, of the indisposition of
General Jackson at the Tremont House, Boston, etc.; thus
even here the news circulates now and then. The mosquitoes
trouble me so much that in driving them away I
bespatter my paper with ink, as thou seest, God bless
thee! Good-night.
July 24. The Charadrius semipalmatus breeds on the
tops or sides of the high hills, and amid the moss of this
country. I have not found the nest, but have been so
very near the spot where it undoubtedly was, that the
female has moved before me, trailing her wings and
spreading her tail to draw me away; uttering a plaintive
note, the purpose of which I easily conceive. The Shore
Lark has served us the same way; that nest must also be
placed amid the deep mosses, over which these beautiful
birds run as nimbly as can be imagined. They have the
power of giving two notes, so very different from each
other that a person not seeing the bird would be inclined
to believe that two birds of different species were at hand.
Often after these notes comes a sweet trill; all these I
have thought were in intimation of danger, and with the
wish to induce the sitting mate to lie quiet and silent.
Tom Lincoln, John, and I went on shore after two Bears,
which I heard distinctly, but they eluded our pursuit by
swimming from an island to the main land. Coolidge's
party went to the Murre Rocks, where the Guillemots
breed, and brought about fifteen hundred eggs. Shattuck
killed two Gannets with a stick; they could have
done the same with thousands of Guillemots when they
landed; the birds scrambled off in such a hurried, confused,
and frightened manner as to render them what
Charles Bonaparte calls stupid, and they were so terrified
they could scarcely take to wing. The island was
literally covered with eggs, dung, and feathers, and smelt
so shockingly that Ingalls and Coolidge were quite sick.
Coolidge killed a White-winged Crossbill on these Murre
rocks; for several weeks we have seen these birds pass
over us, but have found none anywhere on shore. We
have had a beautiful day, and would have sailed for Bras
d'Or, but our anchor stuck into a rock, and just as we
might have sailed, a heavy fog came on, so here we are.
|
JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON. FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1838.
|
July 26. I did not write last night because we were at
sea and the motion was too disagreeable, and my mind
was as troubled as the ocean. We left Baie de Portage
before five in the morning, with a good breeze, intending
to come to at Chevalier's settlement, forty-seven miles;
but after sailing thirty, the wind failed us, it rained and
blew, with a tremendous sea which almost shook the masts
out of our good vessel, and about eight we were abreast
of Bonne Espérance; but as our pilot knew as much of
this harbor as he did of the others, which means nothing
at all, our captain thought prudent to stand off and proceed
to Bras d'Or. The coast we have followed is like
that we have hitherto seen, crowded with islands of all
sizes and forms, against which the raging waves break in
a frightful manner. We saw few birds, with the exception
of Gannets, which were soaring about us most of the
day feeding on capelings, of which there were myriads. I
had three Uria troile thrown overboard alive to observe
their actions. Two fluttered on top of the water for
twenty yards or so, then dove, and did not rise again for
fully a hundred yards from the vessel. The third went
in head-foremost, like a man diving, and swam under the
surface so smoothly and so rapidly that it looked like a
fish with wings. At daylight we found ourselves at the
mouth of Bras d'Or harbor, where we are snugly moored.
Our pilot not knowing a foot of the ground, we hoisted
our ensign, and Captain Billings came to us in his Hampton
boat and piloted us in. Bras d'Or is the grand rendezvous
of almost all the fishermen that resort to this
coast for codfish. We found here a flotilla of about one
hundred and fifty sail, principally fore-and-aft schooners,
a few pickaxes, etc., mostly from Halifax and the eastern
portions of the United States. There was a life and stir
about this harbor which surprised us after so many weeks
of wilderness and loneliness — the boats moving to and
fro, going after fish, and returning loaded to the gunwales,
others with seines, others with capelings for bait.
A hundred or more were anchored out about a mile from
us, hauling the poor codfish by thousands; hundreds of
men engaged at cleaning and salting, their low jokes and
songs resembling those of the Billingsgate gentry. On
entering the port I observed a large flock of small Gulls,
which species I could not ascertain, also Lestris of two
species, one small and one large. As soon as breakfast
was over, the young men went ashore to visit Mr. Jones,
the owner of the Seal-fishing establishment here. He received
them well — a rough, brown Nova Scotia man, the
lord of this portion of Labrador — and he gave John and
the others a good deal of information. Four or five species
of Grouse, the Velvet Duck, the Anas glacialis,[221] and
Fuligula histrionica,[222] the Wild Goose, and others breed in
the swampy deserts at the head waters of the rivers, and
around the edges of the lakes and ponds which everywhere
abound. He also knew of my coming. John and Coolidge
joined parties and brought me eight Red-polls, Fringilla
linaria, old and young, which I will draw to-morrow.
Query, is it the same which is found in Europe? Their
note resembles that of the Siskin; their flight that of the
Siskin and Linnet combined. The young were as large as
the old, and could fly a mile at a stretch; they resort to
low bushes along the edges of ponds and brooks; the hunters
saw more than they shot. They brought also Savannah
Finches, and White-crowned Sparrows. They saw a fine
female Tetrao canadensis, not quite so gray as the last;
the young flew well and alighted on trees and bushes, and
John would not allow any of them to be shot, they were so
trusting. They saw a Willow Grouse, which at sight of
them, though at some distance, flew off and flew far; on
being started again, flew again to a great distance with
a loud, cackling note, but no whirr of the wings. They
were within three hundred yards of an Eagle, which, from
its dark color and enormous size and extent of wings, they
took to be a female Washington Eagle.[223] I have made
many inquiries, but every one tells me Eagles are most
rare. It sailed away over the hills slowly and like a Vulture.
After drawing two figures of the female White-winged
Crossbill, I paid a visit to the country seat of Mr.
Jones.[224] The snow is still to be seen in patches on every
hill around us; the borders of the water courses are edged
with grasses and weeds as rank of growth as may be seen
in the Middle States in like situations. I saw a small
brook filled with fine trout; but what pleased me best, I
found a nest of the Shore Lark; it was embedded in moss
so much the color of the birds, that when these sit on it,
it is next to impossible to observe them; it was buried to
its full depth, about seven inches, — composed outwardly
of mosses of different sorts; within, fine grass circularly
arranged, and mixed with many large, soft Duck feathers.
These birds breed on high table-lands, one pair to a certain
district. The place where I found the nest was so
arid, poor and rocky that nothing grew there. We see the
high mountains of Newfoundland, the summits, at present,
far above the clouds. Two weeks since, the ice filled the
very harbor where we now are, and not a vessel could
approach; since then the ice has sunk, and none is to be
seen far or near.
July 27. It has blown a tremendous gale the whole
day; fortunately I had two Fringilla linaria to draw.
The adult male alone possesses those rich colors on the
breast; the female has only the front head crimson. They
resemble the Cross-bills, notwithstanding Bonaparte, Nuttall,
and others to the contrary. John kept me company
and skinned fourteen small birds. Mr. Jones dined with
us, after which the captain and the rest of our party went
off through the storm to Blanc Sablons, four miles distant.
This name is turned into "Nancy Belong" by the
fishermen, who certainly tell very strange tales respecting
this country. Mr. Jones entertained us by his account
of travelling with dogs during winter. They are harnessed,
he says, with a leather collar, a belly and back
band, through the upper part of which passes the line of
sealskin, which is attached to the sledge, and acts for a
rein as well as a trace. An odd number of dogs always
form the gang, from seven up, according to the distance of
the journey, or the weight of the load; each dog is estimated
to draw two hundred pounds, at a rate of five or six
miles an hour. The leader is always a well-broken dog,
and is placed ahead of the pack with a draught-line of from
six to ten fathoms' length, and the rest with gradually
shorter ones, to the last, which is about eight feet from
the sledge; they are not, however, coupled, as often represented
in engravings, but are each attached separately, so
that when in motion they are more like a flock of Partridges,
all flying loosely and yet in the same course.
They always travel at a gallop, no matter what the state
of the country may be, and to go down-hill is both difficult
and dangerous; and at times it is necessary for the
driver to guide the sledge with his feet, or with a strong
staff planted in the snow as the sledge proceeds; and when
heavily laden, and the descent great, the dogs are often
taken off, and the sledge glides down alone, the man steering
with his toes, and lying flat on his face, thus descending
head-foremost like boys on their sleds. The dogs
are so well acquainted with the courses and places in the
neighborhood, that they never fail to take their master and
his sledge to their destination, even should a tremendous
snow-storm occur whilst under way; and it is always safer
to leave one's fate to the instinct which these fine animals
possess than to trust to human judgment, for it has been
proved more than once that men who have made their
dogs change their course have been lost, and sometimes
died, in consequence. When travellers meet, both parties
come circuitously, and as slowly as possible towards each
other, which gives the separate packs the opportunity of
observing that their masters are acquainted, when they
meet without fighting, a thing which almost always occurs
if the dogs meet unexpectedly. Mr. Jones lost a son of
fourteen, a few years ago, in a snow-storm, owing to the
servant in whose care he was, imprudently turning the
dogs from their course; the dogs obeyed the command
and struck towards Hudson's Bay; when the weather
cleared the servant perceived his mistake, but alas! too
late; the food was exhausted, and the lad gradually sank,
and died in the arms of the man.
July 28. At daylight this morning the storm had
abated, and although it was almost calm, the sea was
high, and the "Ripley" tossed and rolled in a way which
was extremely unpleasant to me. Breakfast over, we all
proceeded to Mr. Jones' establishment with a view to procuring
more information, and to try to have some of his
men make Esquimaux boots and garments for us. We
received little information, and were told no work could
be done for us; on asking if his son, a youth of about
twenty-three, could be hired to guide some of us into
the interior some forty miles, Mr. Jones said the boy's
mother had become so fearful of accidents since the loss
of the other son that he could not say without asking her
permission, which she would not grant. We proceeded
over the table-lands towards some ponds. I found three
young Shore Larks just out of the nest, and not yet able
to fly; they hopped pretty briskly over the moss, uttering
a soft peep, to which the parent bird responded at every
call. I am glad that it is in my power to make a figure
of these birds in summer, winter, and young plumage.
We also found the breeding-place of the Fuligula histrionica
in the corner of a small pond in some low bushes.
By another pond we found the nest of the Velvet Duck,
called here the White-winged Coot; it was placed on the
moss among the grass, close to the water; it contained
feathers, but no down as others. The female had six
young, five of which we procured. They were about a
week old, and I could readily recognize the male birds;
they all had the white spot under the eye. Four were
killed with one shot; one went on shore and squatted in
the grass, where Lincoln caught it; but I begged for its
life, and we left it to the care of its mother, and of its
Maker. We also found the breeding-place of Fuligula
glacialis by a very large pond; these breed in companies
and are shyer than in the States. The Pied Duck[225] breeds
here on the top of the low bushes, but the season is so far
advanced we have not found its nest. Mr. Jones tells me
the King Duck passes here northwards in the early part
of March, returning in October, flying high, and in lines
like the Canada Goose. The Snow Goose is never seen
here; none, indeed, but oceanic species are seen here.
(I look on Anas fusca[226] as an oceanic species.) Mr. Jones
has never been more than a mile in the interior, and
knows nothing of it. There are two species of Woodpecker
here, and only two, the Three-toed and the Downy.
When I began writing it was calm, now it blows a hurricane,
rains hard, and the sea is as high as ever.
July 29. Another horrid, stormy day. The very fishermen
complain. Five or six vessels left for further east,
but I wish and long to go west. The young men, except
Coolidge, went off this morning after an early breakfast
to a place called Port Eau, eighteen miles distant, to try
to procure some Esquimaux dresses, particularly moccasins.
I felt glad when the boat which took them across
the bay returned, as it assured me they were at least on
terra firma. I do not expect them till to-morrow night,
and I greatly miss them. When all our party is present,
music, anecdotes, and jokes, journalizing and comparing
notes, make the time pass merrily; but this evening the
captain is on deck, Coolidge is skinning a bird, and I am
writing that which is scarcely worth recording, with a
horridly bad patent pen. I have to-day drawn three young
Shore Larks, Alauda alpestris, the first ever portrayed by
man. I did wish to draw an adult male, in full summer
plumage, but could not get a handsome one. In one
month all these birds must leave this coast, or begin to
suffer. The young of many birds are full-fledged, and
scamper over the rocks; the Ducks alone seem backward,
but being more hardy can stay till October, when deep
snows drive them off, ready or not for their laborious
journey. I saw this afternoon two, or a pair, of the
Phalaropus hyperboreus;[227] they were swimming in a small
fresh-water pond, feeding on insects, and no doubt had
their nest close by, as they evinced great anxiety at my
approach. I did not shoot at them, and hope to find the
nest or young; but to find nests in the moss is a difficult
job, for the whole country looks alike. "The Curlews
are coming;" this is as much of a saying here as that
about the Wild Pigeons in Kentucky. What species of
Curlew, I know not yet, for none have been killed, but
one of our men, who started with John and party, broke
down, and was sent back; he assured me that he had seen
some with bills about four inches long, and the body the
size of a Wild Pigeon. The accounts given of these Curlews
border on the miraculous, and I shall say nothing
about them till I have tested the fishermen's stories.[228] It is
now calm, for a wonder, but as cold as vengeance, on deck;
we have a good fire in the stove, and I am roasting on one
side and freezing on the other. The water of our harbor
is actually coated with oil, and the bottom fairly covered
with the refuse of the codfish; the very air I breathe
and smell is impregnated with essence of codfish.
July 30. It was a beautiful morning when I arose, and
such a thing as a beautiful morning in this mournful
country almost amounts to a phenomenon. The captain
and myself went off to an island and searched for an
Alauda alpestris, and found a good number of old and
young, associated, both equally wild. The young were
led off with great care by the adults, and urged to squat
quietly till nearly within gunshot, when at a "tweet"
from the parent they took to the wing and were off.
These birds are very pugnacious, and attack a rival at
once, when both come to the scratch with courage and
tenacity. I saw one beautiful male in full summer dress,
which I secured, and have drawn, with a portion of moss.
I intend to add two drawn in winter plumage. This afternoon
we visited Mr. Jones and his wife, a good motherly
woman, who talked well. Our young men returned from
Port Eau fatigued, and, as usual, hungry; complained, as
I expected, of the country, the climate, and the scarcity
of birds and plants, and not a pair of moccasins to be
bought; so Lincoln and Shattuck are now barefooted.
They brought a Lestris pomarinus,[229] female, a full-grown
young Raven, and some Finches. Coolidge's party had
some Lesser Red-polls, several Swamp Sparrows, three
small Black-cap Green Flycatchers, Black-cap Warblers,
old and young, the last fully grown, a Fringilla lincolnii,
and a Pine Grosbeak. They saw many Gulls of various
species, and also an iceberg of immense size. There is
at Port Eau a large fishing establishment belonging to
fishermen who come annually from the Island of Jersey,
and have a large store with general supplies. Ere I go
to rest let me tell thee that it is now blowing a young
hurricane, and the prospect for to-morrow is a bad one.
A few moments ago the report of a cannon came to our
ears from the sea, and it is supposed that it was from
the "Gulnare." I wish she was at our side and snugly
moored as we are.
July 31. Another horrid hurricane, accompanied with
heavy rain. I could not go on with my drawing either in
the cabin or the hold, though everything was done that
could be thought of, to assist me in the attempt; not a
thing to relate, as not one of us could go on shore.
August 1. Bras d'Or, Coast of Labrador.[230] I have
drawn my Lestris pomarinus, but under difficulties; the
weather has quite changed; instead of a hurricane from
the east, we have had one all day from the southwest, but
no rain. At noon we were visited by an iceberg, which
has been drifting within three miles of us, and is now
grounded at the entrance of the bay; it looks like a large
man-of-war dressed in light green muslin, instead of canvas,
and when the sun strikes it, it glitters with intense
brilliancy. When these transient monuments of the sea
happen to tumble or roll over, the fall is tremendous, and
the sound produced resembles that of loud, distant thunder;
these icebergs are common here all summer, being
wafted south with every gale that blows; as the winds are
usually easterly, the coast of Newfoundland is more free
from them than that of Labrador. I have determined to
make a last thorough search of the mountain tops, plains
and ponds, and if no success ensues, to raise anchor and
sail towards the United States once more; and blessed
will the day be when I land on those dear shores, where
all I long for in the world exists and lives, I hope. We
have been on shore for an hour for exercise, but the wind
blew so fiercely we are glad to return.
August 2. Noon. The thermometer has risen to 58°,
but it has rained hard all day; about dinner time a very
handsome schooner from Boston, the size of ours, called
the "Wizard," commanded by Captain Wilcomb of Ipswich,
arrived, only nine days from Boston; but to our sorrow
and disappointment, not a letter or paper did she
bring, but we learned with pleasure that our great cities
are all healthy, and for this intelligence I thank God.
The "Wizard" brought two young Italian clerks as supercargo,
who are going to purchase fish; they visited us and
complained bitterly of the cold and the general appearance
of the country. The retrograde migration of many
birds has already commenced, more especially that of the
lesser species both of land and water birds.
August 3. I was suddenly awakened last night about
one o'clock by the shock which our vessel received from
the "Wizard," which had broken her stern chain in the
gale, which at that time was raging most furiously. Our
captain was up in a moment, the vessels were parted and
tranquillity was restored, but to John's sorrow, and my
vexation, our beautiful and most comfortable gig had been
struck by the "Wizard," and her bows stove in; at daylight
it rained hard and the gale continued. Lincoln
went on shore and shot some birds, but nothing of importance.
This afternoon we all went ashore, through a
high and frightful sea which drenched us to the skin,
and went to the table-lands; there we found the true
Esquimau Curlew, Numenius borealis, so carelessly described
in Bonaparte's Synopsis. This species here takes
the place of the Migratory Pigeon; it has now arrived; I
have seen many hundreds this afternoon, and shot seven.
They fly in compact bodies, with beautiful evolutions,
overlooking a great extent of country ere they make
choice of a spot on which to alight; this is done wherever
a certain berry, called here "Curlew berry,"[231] proves
to be abundant. Here they balance themselves, call,
whistle, and of common accord come to the ground, as
the top of the country here must be called. They devour
every berry, and if pursued squat in the manner of Partridges.
A single shot starts the whole flock; off they fly,
ramble overhead for a great distance ere they again alight.
This rambling is caused by the scarcity of berries. This
is the same bird of which three specimens were sent to
me by William Oakes, of Ipswich, Mass. The iceberg has
been broken into thousands of pieces by the gale.
August 4. Still raining as steadily as ever; the morning
was calm, and on shore the mosquitoes were shockingly
bad, though the thermometer indicates only 49°. I have
been drawing at the Numenius borealis; I find them difficult
birds to represent. The young men went on shore
and brought me four more; every one of the lads observed
to-day the great tendency these birds have, in squatting to
elude the eye, to turn the tail towards their pursuer, and
to lay the head flat. This habit is common to many of
the Tringas, and some of the Charadrius. This species of
Curlew, the smallest I ever saw, feeds on the berries it
procures, with a rapidity equalled only by that of the
Passenger Pigeon; in an instant all the ripe berries on
the plant are plucked and swallowed, and the whole country
is cleared of these berries as our Western woods are
of the mast. In their evolutions they resemble Pigeons
also, sweeping over the ground, cutting backward and forward
in the most interesting manner, and now and then
poising in the air like a Hawk in sight of quarry. There
is scarcely any difference in the appearance of the adult
and the young. The Alauda alpestris of this season has
now made such progress in its growth that the first
moulting is so forward that the small wing-coverts and
secondaries are already come, and have assumed the beautiful
rosy tints of the adults in patches at these parts; a
most interesting state of their plumage, probably never
seen by any naturalist before. It is quite surprising to
see how quickly the growth is attained of every living
thing in this country, either animal or vegetable. In
six weeks I have seen the eggs laid, the birds hatched,
their first moult half over, their association in flocks,
and preparations begun for their leaving the country.
That the Creator should have commanded millions of
delicate, diminutive, tender creatures to cross immense
spaces of country to all appearance a thousand times more
congenial to them than this, to cause them to people, as
it were, this desolate land for a time, to enliven it by the
songs of the sweet feathered musicians for two months at
most, and by the same command induce them to abandon
it almost suddenly, is as wonderful as it is beautiful.
The fruits are now ripe, yet six weeks ago the whole
country was a sheet of snow, the bays locked in ice, the
air a constant storm. Now the grass is rich in growth,
at every step flowers are met with, insects fill the air, the
snow-banks are melting; now and then an appearance as
of summer does exist, but in thirty days all is over; the
dark northern clouds will enwrap the mountain summits;
the rivulets, the ponds, the rivers, the bays themselves
will begin to freeze; heavy snowfalls will cover all these
shores, and nature will resume her sleeping state, nay,
more than that, one of desolation and death. Wonderful!
Wonderful! But this marvellous country must be left to
an abler pen than mine to describe. The Tringa maritima[232]
and Tringa pusilla[233] were both shot in numbers this day;
the young are now as large as the old, and we see little
flocks everywhere. We heard the "Gulnare" was at
Bonne Espérance, twenty miles west of us; I wish she
was here, I should much like to see her officers again.
August 5. This has been a fine day, no hurricane. I
have finished two Labrador Curlews, but not the ground.
A few Curlews were shot, and a Black-breasted Plover.
John shot a Shore Lark that had almost completed its
moult; it appears to me that northern birds come to
maturity sooner than southern ones, yet the reverse is the
case in our own species. Birds of the Tringa kind are
constantly passing over our heads in small bodies bound
westward, some of the same species which I observed in
the Floridas in October. The migration of birds is perhaps
much more wonderful than that of fishes, almost all
of which go feeling their way along the shores and return
to the very same river, creek, or even hole to deposit
their spawn, as birds do to their former nest; but the
latter do not feel their way, but launching high in air go
at once and correctly too, across vast tracts of country,
yet at once stopping in portions heretofore their own, and
of which they know by previous experiences the comforts
and advantages. We have had several arrivals of vessels,
some so heavily loaded with fish that the water runs
over their decks; others, in ballast, have come to purchase
fish.
August 10. I now sit down to post my poor book,
while a heavy gale is raging furiously around our vessel.
My reason for not writing at night is that I have been
drawing so constantly, often seventeen hours a day, that
the weariness of my body at night has been unprecedented,
by such work at least. At times I felt as if my physical
powers would abandon me; my neck, my shoulders, and,
more than all, my fingers, were almost useless through
actual fatigue at drawing. Who would believe this? — yet
nothing is more true. When at the return of dawn my
spirits called me out of my berth, my body seemed to beg
my mind to suffer it to rest a while longer; and as dark
forced me to lay aside my brushes I immediately went to
rest as if I had walked sixty-five miles that day, as I have
done a few times in my stronger days. Yesternight, when
I rose from my little seat to contemplate my work and to
judge of the effect of it compared with the nature which
I had been attempting to copy, it was the affair of a
moment; and instead of waiting, as I always like to do,
until that hazy darkness which is to me the best time to
judge of the strength of light and shade, I went at once
to rest as if delivered from the heaviest task I ever performed.
The young men think my fatigue is added to
by the fact that I often work in wet clothes, but I have
done that all my life with no ill effects. No! no! it is
that I am no longer young. But I thank God that I did
accomplish my task; my drawings are finished to the best
of my ability, the skins well prepared by John. We have
been to Paroket Island to procure the young of the Mormon
arcticus. As we approached the breeding-place, the
air was filled with these birds, and the water around absolutely
covered with them, while on the rocks were thousands,
like sentinels on the watch. I took a stand, loaded
and shot twenty-seven times, and killed twenty-seven
birds, singly and on the wing, without missing a shot; as
friend Bachman would say, "Pretty fair, Old Jostle!" The
young men laughed, and said the birds were so thick no
one could miss if he tried; however, none of them did
so well. We had more than we wanted, but the young
were all too small to draw with effect. Nearly every bird
I killed had a fish in its beak, closely held by the head,
and the body dangling obliquely in the air. These fish
were all of the kind called here Lints, a long slender fish
now in shoals of millions. How many must the multitude
of Mormons inhabiting this island destroy daily?
Whilst flying they all issue a rough croak, but none
dropped the fish, nor indeed did they let it go when
brought to the earth. The Larus marinus have now
almost all gone south with their young; indeed, very few
Gulls of any sort are now to be seen. Whilst on the
island we saw a Hawk pounce on a Puffin and carry it off.
Curlews have increased in numbers, but during two fair
days we had they could not be approached; indeed, they
appear to be so intent on their passage south that whenever
the weather permits they are seen to strike high in
the air across the harbor. The gale is so severe that our
anchors have dragged forty or fifty yards, but by letting
out still more chain we are now safe. It blows and rains
so hard that it is impossible to stand in the bow of our
vessel. But this is not all, — who, now, will deny the
existence of the Labrador Falcon?[234] Yes, my Lucy, one
more new species is on the list of the "Birds of America,"
and may we have the comfort of seeing its beautiful
figure multiplied by Havell's engraver. This bird (both
male and female) was shot by John whilst on an excursion
with all our party, and on the 6th inst., when I sat
till after twelve o'clock that night to outline one of them
to save daylight the next day to color it, as I have done
hundreds of times before. John shot them on the wing,
whilst they were in company with their two young ones.
The birds, one would be tempted to believe, had never
seen a man before, for these affectionate parents dashed
towards the gunners with fierce velocity, and almost instantly
died from the effects of two well-directed shots.
All efforts to procure the young birds were ineffectual;
they were full grown, and as well as could be seen, exactly
resembled the dead ones. The whole group flew much
like the Peregrine Falcon, which indeed resembles them
much in form, but neither in size nor color. Sometimes
they hover almost high in air like a small Sparrow Hawk
when watching some object fit for prey on the ground, and
now and then cry much like the latter, but louder in proportion
with the difference of size in the two species.
Several times they alighted on stakes in the sandbar at
the entrance of Bras d'Or River, and stood not as Hawks
generally do, uprightly, but horizontally and much like a
Lestris or a Tern. Beneath their nest we found the remains
of Alca torda, Uria troile, and Mormon arcticus — all
of which are within their reach on an island here called
Parocket Island — also the remains of Curlews and Ptarmigans.
The nest was so situated that it could not be
reached, only seen into. Both birds were brought to me
in excellent order. No more is known of this bird, I
believe.
My evening has been enlivened by the two Italians
from the "Wizard," who have been singing many songs
to the accompaniment of John's violin.
August 11. At sea, Gulf of St. Lawrence. We are
now, seven of the evening, fully fifty miles from the coast
of Labrador. We left our harbor at eleven o'clock with
a fair breeze; the storm of last night had died away and
everything looked promising. The boats were sent ashore
for a supply of fresh water; John and Coolidge went after
Curlews; the rest of the crew, assisted by that of the
"Wizard," raised the anchors, and all was soon in readiness.
The bottom of our vessel had been previously
scraped and cleaned from the thousands of barnacles,
which, with a growth of seaweeds, seemed to feed upon
her as they do on the throat of a whale. The two Italians
and Captain Wilcomb came on board to bid us adieu; we
hoisted sail, and came out of the Labrador harbor. Seldom
in my life have I left a country with as little regret
as I do this; the next nearest to this was East Florida,
after my excursions up the St. John's River. As we sailed
away, and I saw, probably for the last time, the high
rugged hills partly immersed in masses of the thick fog
that usually hovers over them, and knew that now the bow
of our truly fine vessel was turned towards the place
where thou, my Lucy, art waiting for me, I felt rejoiced,
although yet far away. Now we are sailing in full sight
of the northwestern coast of Newfoundland, the mountains
of which are high, with drifted snow-banks dotted
over them, and cut horizontally with floating strata of
fogs reaching along the land as far as the eye can see.
The sea is quite smooth; at least I think so, or have become
a better seaman through habit. John and Lincoln
are playing airs on the violin and flute; the other young
men are on deck. It is worth saying that during the two
months we have been on the coast of Labrador, moving
from one harbor to another, or from one rocky isle to
another, only three nights have we spent at sea. Twenty-three
drawings have been executed, or commenced and
nearly completed. Whether this voyage will prove a
fruitful one remains to be proved; but I am content, and
hope the Creator will permit us to reach our country and
find our friends well and happy.
August 13. Harbor of St. George, St. George's Bay,
Newfoundland. We have been running, as the sailors
say, till five this evening, when we anchored here. Our
way here was all in sight of land along the northwest
shores of Newfoundland, the highest land we have yet
seen; in some places the scenery was highly picturesque
and agreeable to the eye, though little more vegetation
appeared than in Labrador. Last night was a boisterous
one, and we were all uncomfortable. This morning we
entered the mouth of St. George's Bay, about thirteen
leagues broad and fully eighteen deep. A more beautiful
and ample basin cannot easily be found; not an obstruction
is within it. The northeast shores are high and
rocky, but the southern ones are sandy, low, and flat. It
took us till five o'clock to ascend it and come to our
present anchorage, in sight of a small village, the only
one we have seen these two months, and on a harbor
wherein more than fifty line-of-battle ships could safely
ride, the bottom being of clay. The village is built on
an elongated point of sand, or natural sea-wall, under
which we now are, and is perfectly secure from every
wind but the northeast. The country as we ascended the
bay became more woody and less rough. The temperature
changed quite suddenly, and this afternoon the
weather was so mild that it was agreeable on deck, and
congenial even to a southerner like myself. We find
here several small vessels engaged in the fisheries, and
an old hulk from Hull, England, called "Charles Tennison";
she was lost near this on her way from Quebec to
Hull some years ago. As we came up the bay, a small
boat with two men approached and boarded us, assisting
as pilots. They had a barrel of fine salmon, which I
bought for ten dollars. As soon as our anchors touched
bottom, our young men went on shore to try to purchase
some fresh provisions, but returned with nothing but two
bottles of milk, though the village is said to contain two
hundred inhabitants. Mackerel are caught all round us,
and sharks of the man-eating kind are said to be abundant
just now, and are extremely troublesome to the fishers'
nets. Some signs of cultivation are to be seen across the
harbor, and many huts of Mic-Mac Indians adorn the
shores. We learn the winter here is not nearly as severe
as at Quebec; the latitude of this place and the low, well-guarded
situation of the little village, at once account for
this; yet not far off I see patches of snow remaining from
last winter. Some tell us birds are abundant, others that
there are none; but we shall soon ascertain which report
is true. I have not slept a minute since we left Labrador.
The ice here did not break up so that the bay could
be navigated till the 17th of May, and I feel confident no
one could enter the harbors of Labrador before the 10th
of June, or possibly even later.
August 14. All ashore in search of birds, plants,
shells, and all the usual et ceteras attached to our vocations;
but we all were driven on board soon, by a severe
storm of wind and rain, showing that Newfoundland has
its share of bad weather. Whilst on shore we found the
country quite rich compared with Labrador, all the vegetable
productions being much larger, more abundant, and
finer. We saw a flock of House Swallows that had bred
about the little village, now on their passage southwest,
and all gay and singing. I forgot to say that two days
since, when about forty miles out at sea, we saw a flock of
the Republican Swallow. I saw here the Blue yellow-eyed
Warbler, the Fish-Hawk, several species of Sparrows,
among them the Lincoln's Finch, the Canada Titmouse,
Black-headed ditto, White-winged Crossbill, Pine
Grosbeak, Maryland Yellow-throat, Pigeon Hawk, Hairy
Woodpecker, Bank Swallow, Tell-tale Godwit, Golden-eyed
Duck, Red-breasted Merganser, three Loons, — of
which two were young and almost able to fly; the Spotted
Sandpiper, and a flock of Tringas, the species of which
could not be ascertained. We spoke to some of the native
Indians to try to engage them to show us the way to
the interior, where we are told the Small, or True Ptarmigan
abounds, but they were too lazy even to earn money.
Among the plants we found two varieties of rose, and the
narrow-leaved kalmia. Few supplies can be obtained, and
a couple of small clearings are all the cultivated land we
have seen since we left the Magdalene Islands. On returning
to our vessel, I was rowed on the roughest sea I
have ever before encountered in an open boat, but our
captain was at the helm and we reached the deck safely
but drenched to the skin. The wind has now abated, and
I hope to draw plants all day. This evening a flock of
Terns, twenty or thirty with their young, travelled due
south; they were very clamorous and beat against the
gale most beautifully. Several Indians came on board
and promised to go to-morrow after Hares.
August 15. We have had a beautiful day; this morning
some Indians came alongside; they had half a Reindeer or
Caribou, and a Hare which I had never seen before. We
took the forty-four pounds of fresh meat and gave in exchange
twenty-one of pork and thirty-three of ship-biscuit,
and paid a quarter of a dollar for the Hare, which plainly
shows that these Indians know full well the value of the
game which they procure. I spent a portion of the day in
adding a plant to my drawing of the Red-necked Diver, after
which we all went on shore to the Indians' camp across the
bay. We found them, as I expected, all lying down pell-mell
in their wigwams. A strong mixture of blood was
apparent in their skins, shape, and deportment; some
indeed were nearly white, and sorry I am to say that the
nearer to our own noble selves, the filthier and lazier they
are; the women and children were particularly disgusting.
Some of the former, from whom I purchased some rough
baskets, were frightfully so. Other women had been out
collecting the fruit called here "baked apple" [Rubus
chamæmorus]. When a little roasted it tastes exactly like
baked apple. The children were engaged in catching
lobsters and eels, of which there are numbers in all the
bays here; at Labrador, lobsters are rare. The young Indians
simply waded out up to their knees, turned the eel grass
over, and secured their prey. After much parley, we engaged
two hunters to go as guides into the interior to procure
Caribou and Hares, for which they were to receive a
dollar a day each. Our men caught ninety-nine lobsters,
all of good size; the shores truly abound in this valuable
shell-fish. The Indians roast them in a fire of brushwood,
and devour them without salt or any other et ceteras. The
Caribous are now "in velvet," and their skins light gray,
the flesh tender, but the animal poor. The average weight
when in good condition, four hundred pounds. In the
early part of March the Caribou leave the hills and come
to the sea-shore to feed on kelp and sea-grasses cut off by
the ice and cast on the shore. Groups of many hundreds
may be seen thus feeding. The flesh here is held in low
estimation; it tastes like poor venison. I saw to-day several
pairs of Cayenne Terns on their way south; they flew high,
and were very noisy. The Great Terns passed also in vast
multitudes. When the weather is stormy, they skim close
over the water; if fair, they rise very high and fly more at
leisure. The Tell-tale Godwit is now extremely fat, extremely
juicy, extremely tender, and extremely good.
The Parus hudsonicus is very abundant; so is the Pine
Grosbeak, but in a shocking state of moult. The Kalmia
angustifolia[235] the natives say, is an antidote for cramp and
rheumatism. I was on the point of bidding thee good-night,
when we all were invited to a ball[236] on shore. I am
going with the rest out of curiosity.
August 16. The people seemed to enjoy themselves well
at the ball, and John played the violin for them till half-past
two. I returned on board before eleven, and slept soundly
till the young men hailed for a boat. This morning has been
spent drawing a kalmia to a bird. The young men went
off with the Indians this morning, but returned this evening
driven back by flies and mosquitoes. Lincoln is really in
great pain. They brought a pair of Willow Grouse, old and
young; the latter had no hairy feathers yet on the legs.
They saw Canada Jays, Crossbills, Pine Grosbeaks, Robins,
one Golden-winged Woodpecker, many Canadian Titmice,
a Martin Swallow, a Kingfisher (none in Labrador), heard
a Squirrel which sounded like the Red Squirrel. The
country was described as being "up and down the whole
way." The moss almost as deep as in Labrador, the
morasses quite as much so; no tall wood, and no hard
wood. The lads were all so fatigued that they are now
sound asleep.
August 17. We would now be "ploughing the deep"
had the wind been fair; but as it was not, here we still are in
statu quo. I have drawn a curious species of alder to my
White-winged Crossbill, and finished it. I had a visit from
an old Frenchman who has resided on this famous island
for fifty years; he assured me that no Red Indians were
now to be found: the last he heard of were seen twenty-two
years ago. These native Indians give no quarter to
anybody; usually, after killing their foes, they cut the
heads off the latter, and leave the body to the wild beasts
of the country. Several flocks of Golden Plovers passed
over the bay this forenoon; two Lestris pomarina came in
this evening. Ravens abound here, but no Crows have
been seen. The Great Tern is passing south by thousands,
and a small flock of Canada Geese was seen. A young
of the Golden-crested Wren was shot, full grown and
fledged, but not a sign of yellow on the head. A Muscicapa
(Flycatcher) was killed which probably is new;
to-morrow will tell. I bought seven Newfoundland dogs
for seventeen dollars; now I shall be able to fulfil my
promises to friends. The American Bittern breeds here,
and leaves in about two weeks hence.
August 18. At daylight the wind was fair, and though
cloudy, we broke our anchorage, and at five were under
way. We coasted Newfoundland till evening, when the
wind blew a gale from the southwest, and a regular
tempest set in. Our vessel was brought to at dusk, and
we danced and kicked over the waves all evening, and will
do so all night.
August 19. The storm still continues, without any sign
of abating; we are still at anchor, tossed hither and thither,
and withal sea-sick.
August 21. To-day the storm ceased, but the wind
is still so adverse that we could make no port of Newfoundland;
towards this island we steered, for none of
us wished to return to Labrador. We tried to enter
the Strait of Canseau, but the wind failed us; while the
vessel lay becalmed we decided to try to reach Pictou
in Nova Scotia and travel by land. We are now beating
about towards that port and hope to reach it early to-morrow
morning. The great desire we all have to see Pictou,
Halifax, and the country between them and Eastport,
is our inducement.
August 22. After in vain attempting to reach Pictou,
we concluded, after dinner, that myself and party should be
put ashore anywhere, and the "Ripley" should sail back
towards the Straits of Canseau, the wind and tide being
favorable. We drank a glass of wine to our wives and
our friends, and our excellent little captain took us to
the shore, while the vessel stood still, with all sails up,
awaiting his return. We happened to land on an island
called Ruy's Island, where, fortunately for us, we found some
men making hay. Two of these we engaged to carry our
trunks and two of the party to this place, Pictou, for two
dollars — truly cheap. Our effects, or rather those we
needed, were soon put up, we all shook hands most heartily
with the captain — to whom we now feel really attached — said
farewell to the crew, and parted, giving three hearty
cheers. We were now, thanks to God, positively on the
mainland of our native country, and after four days' confinement
in our berths, and sick of sea-sickness, the sea
and all its appurtenances, we felt so refreshed that the
thought of walking nine miles seemed like nothing more
than dancing a quadrille. The air felt deliciously warm,
the country, compared with those we have so lately left,
appeared perfectly beautiful, and the smell of the new-mown
grass was the sweetest that ever existed. Even the
music of the crickets was delightful to mine ears, for no
such insect does either Labrador or Newfoundland afford.
The voice of a Blue Jay was melody to me, and the sight
of a Humming-bird quite filled my heart with delight.
We were conveyed a short distance from the island to the
main; Ingalls and Coolidge remained in the boat, and the
rest of us took the road, along which we moved as lightly
as if boys just out of school. The roads were good, or
seemed to be so; the woods were all of tall timber, and the
air that circulated freely was filled with perfume. Almost
every plant we saw brought to mind some portion of the
United States; in a word, all of us felt quite happy. Now
and then, as we crossed a hill and looked back over the
sea, we saw our beautiful vessel sailing freely before the
wind, and as she gradually neared the horizon, she looked
like a white speck, or an Eagle high in air. We wished
our captain a most safe voyage to Quoddy. We arrived
opposite Pictou in two hours and a half, and lay down on
the grass to await the arrival of the boat, enjoying the
scenery around us. A number of American vessels were
in the harbor, loading with coal; the village, placed at
the upper end of a fine bay, looked well, though small.
Three churches rose above the rest of the buildings, all of
which are of wood, and several vessels were on the stocks.
The whole country appeared in a high state of cultivation,
and looked well; the population is about two thousand.
Our boat came, we crossed the bay, and put up at the
"Royal Oak," the best house, and have had what seemed
to be, after our recent fare, a most excellent supper. The
very treading on a carpeted floor was quite wonderful.
This evening we called on Professor McCullough, who
received us very kindly, gave us a glass of wine, showed
his fine collection of well-preserved birds and other things,
and invited us to breakfast to-morrow at eight, when we
are again to inspect his curiosities. The Professor's
mansion is a quarter of a mile out of town, and looks much
like a small English villa.
August 23. We had an excellent Scotch breakfast at
Professor McCullough's. His whole family were present,
four sons and a daughter, besides his wife and her sister.
I became more pleased with the professor the more he
talked. I showed a few Labrador drawings, after which
we went in a body to the University, once more to examine
his fine collection. I found there half a dozen specimens
of birds which I longed for and said so; the Professor had
the cases opened, the specimens taken out, and he offered
them to me with so much apparent good will that I took
them. He then asked me to look around and not to leave
any object which might be of assistance in my publication;
but so generous had he already proved himself that
I remained mute; I saw several I would have liked to have,
but I could not mention them. He offered me all his fresh-water
shells, and any minerals I might choose. I took a
few specimens of iron and copper. I am much surprised
that this valuable collection is not purchased by the
government of the Province; he offered it for £500. I
think it well worth £1,000. Thou wilt say I am an
enthusiast; to this I will reply — True, but there are many
more in the world, particularly in Europe. On our return
to the "Royal Oak" we were called on by Mr. Blanchard,
the deputy consul for the United States, an agreeable man,
who offered to do whatever he could for us; but the coach
was almost ready, our birds were packed, our bill paid, and
the coach rolled off. I walked on ahead with Mr. Blanchard
for about a mile; he spoke much of England, and
knew John Adamson of Newcastle and other friends there.
The coach came up, and we said farewell. The wind had
commenced to blow, and soon rain fell heavily; we went
on smoothly, the road being as good as any in England,
and broader. We passed through a fine tract of country,
well wooded, well cultivated, and a wonderful relief to our
eyes after the barren and desolate regions of rocks, snow,
tempests, and storms. We stopped to dine at four in the
afternoon at a wayside house. The rain poured down; two
ladies and a gentleman — the husband of one of them — had
arrived before us in an open cart, or "jersey," and I,
with all the gallantry of my nature, at once offered to
change vehicles with them. They accepted the exchange
at once, but did not even thank us in return. Shattuck,
Ingalls, and I jumped into the open cart when dinner was
ended. I was seated by a very so-so Irish dame named
Katy; her husband was our driver. Our exchange proved
a most excellent one: the weather cleared up; we saw the
country much better than we could have done in the coach.
To our surprise we were suddenly passed by Professor
McCullough, who said he would see us at Truro. Towards
sunset we arrived in view of this pretty, scattered village,
in sight of the head waters of the Bay of Fundy.
What a delightful sensation at that moment ran through
my frame, as I realized that I was within a few days of
home! We reached the tavern, or hotel, or whatever
else the house of stoppage might be called, but as only
three of us could be accommodated there we went across
the street to another. Professor McCullough came in and
introduced us to several members of the Assembly of this
Province, and I was handed several pinches of snuff by the
Professor, who loves it. We tried in vain to obtain a conveyance
for ourselves to-morrow morning instead of going
by coach to-night; it could not be done. Professor McCullough
then took me to the house of Samuel George Archibald,
Esq., Speaker of the Assembly, who introduced me
to his wife and handsome young daughter. I showed
them a few drawings, and received a letter from Mr.
Archibald to the Chief Justice of Halifax, and now we are
waiting for the mail coach to proceed to that place.
The village of Truro demands a few words. It is situated
in the middle of a most beautiful valley, of great extent
and well cultivated; several brooks water this valley, and
empty into the Bay of Fundy, the broad expanse of which
we see to the westward. The buildings, though principally
of wood, are good-looking, and as cleanly as those in our
pretty eastern villages, white, with green shutters. The
style of the people, be it loyal or otherwise, is extremely
genteel, and I was more than pleased with all those whom
I saw. The coach is at the door, the cover of my trunk is
gaping to receive this poor book, and therefore once more,
good-night.
August 24. Wind due east, hauling to the northeast,
good for the "Ripley." We are now at Halifax in Nova
Scotia, but let me tell thee how and in what manner we
reached it. It was eleven last night when we seated ourselves
in the coach; the night was beautiful, and the moon
shone brightly. We could only partially observe the
country until the morning broke; but the road we can
swear was hilly, and our horses lazy, or more probably
very poor. After riding twenty miles, we stopped a good
hour to change horses and warm ourselves. John went to
sleep, but the rest of us had some supper, served by a
very handsome country girl. At the call, "Coach ready!"
we jumped in, and had advanced perhaps a mile and a half
when the linch-pin broke, and there we were at a stand-still.
Ingalls took charge of the horses, and responded
with great energy to the calls of the owls that came from
the depths of the woods, where they were engaged either
at praying to Diana or at calling to their parents, friends,
and distant relations. John, Lincoln, and Shattuck, always
ready for a nap, made this night no exception; Coolidge
and I, not trusting altogether to Ingalls' wakefulness, kept
awake and prayed to be shortly delivered from this most
disagreeable of travelling experiences, detention — at all
times to be avoided if possible, and certainly to be dreaded
on a chilly night in this latitude. Looking up the road, the
vacillating glimmer of the flame intended to assist the coachman
in the recovery of the lost linch-pin was all that could
be distinguished, for by this the time was what is called
"wolfy." The man returned, put out the pine-knot — the
linch-pin could not be found — and another quarter of
an hour was spent in repairing with all sorts of odds and
ends. How much longer Ingalls could, or would, have
held the horses, we never asked him, as from different
exclamations we heard him utter we thought it well to be
silent on that subject. The day dawned fair and beautiful.
I ran a mile or so ahead of the coach to warm my feet, and
afterwards sat by the driver to obtain, if possible, some
information about the country, which became poorer and
poorer as our journey proceeded. We were all very
hungry, and were told the "stand" stood twenty-five miles
from the lost linch-pin. I asked our driver to stop wherever
he thought we could procure a dozen or so of hard-boiled
eggs and some coffee, or indeed anything eatable;
so he drew up at a house where the owner looked us over,
and said it would be quite impossible to provide a breakfast
for six persons of our appearance. We passed on and
soon came on the track of a tolerably large bear, in the
road, and at last reached the breakfast ground at a house
on the margin of Green Lake, a place where fish and game,
in the season, abound. This lake forms part of the channel
which was intended to be cut for connecting by canal the
Atlantic, the Baie of Fundy, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
at Bay Verte. Ninety thousand pounds have been expended,
but the canal is not finished, and probably never
will be; for we are told the government will not assist the
company by which it was undertaken, and private spirit is
slumbering. We had an excellent breakfast at this house,
seventeen miles from Halifax; this place would be a most
delightful summer residence. The road was now level, but
narrow; the flag of the Halifax garrison was seen when two
miles distant. Suddenly we turned short, and stopped at a
gate fronting a wharf, where was a small ferry-boat. Here
we were detained nearly an hour; how would this work in
the States? Why did Mrs. Trollope not visit Halifax?
The number of beggarly-looking negroes and negresses
would have afforded her ample scope for contemplation
and description. We crossed the harbor, in which rode a
sixty-four-gun flag-ship, and arrived at the house of one
Mr. Paul. This was the best hotel in Halifax, yet with
great difficulty we obtained one room with four beds, but
no private parlor — which we thought necessary. With a
population of eighteen thousand souls, and just now two
thousand soldiers added to these, Halifax has not one
good hotel, for here the attendance is miserable, and the
table far from good. We have walked about to see the
town, and all have aching feet and leg-bones in consequence
of walking on hard ground after tramping only
on the softest, deepest mosses for two months.
August 25. I rose at four and wrote to thee and Dr.
Parkman;[237] Shattuck wrote to his father, and he and I took
these letters to an English schooner bound to Boston. I
was surprised to find every wharf gated, the gates locked
and barred, and sentinels at every point. I searched everywhere
for a barber; they do not here shave on Sunday;
finally, by dint of begging, and assuring the man that I
was utterly unacquainted with the laws of Halifax, being a
stranger, my long beard was cut at last. Four of us went
to church where the Bishop read and preached; the soldiers
are divided up among the different churches and attend in
full uniform. This afternoon we saw a military burial; this
was a grand sight. The soldiers walked far apart, with
arms reversed; an excellent band executed the most solemn
marches and a fine anthem. I gave my letters from Boston
to Mr. Tremaine, an amiable gentleman.
August 26. This day has been spent in writing letters
to thyself, Nicholas Berthoud, John Bachman, and Edward
Harris; to the last I have written a long letter describing
all our voyage. I took the letters to the "Cordelia" packet,
which sails on Wednesday, and may reach Boston before
we do. I delivered my letters to Bishop Inglis and the
Chief-Justice, but were assured both were out. John and
Ingalls spent their evening very agreeably with Commissary
Hewitson.
August 27. Breakfast eaten and bill paid, we entered
the coach at nine o'clock, which would only contain five, so
though it rained one of us sat with the driver. The road
between Halifax and Windsor, where we now are, is macadamized
and good, over hills and through valleys, and
though the distance is forty-five miles, we had only one
pair of horses, which nevertheless travelled about six and
a half miles an hour. Nine miles of our road lay along
the Bay of Halifax, and was very pleasant. Here and there
a country home came in sight. Our driver told us that a
French squadron was pursued by an English fleet to the
head of this bay, and the seven French vessels were compelled
to strike their colors; but the French commodore or
admiral sunk all his vessels, preferring this to surrendering
them to the British. So deep was the water that the very
tops of the masts sank far out of sight, and once only
since that time, twenty years ago, have they been seen;
this was on an unusually calm, clear day seven years past.
We saw en passant the abandoned lodge of Prince Edward,
who spent a million pounds on the building, grounds, etc.
The whole now is in the greatest state of ruin; thirty years
have gone by since it was in its splendor. On leaving the
bay, we followed the Salmon River, a small rivulet of swift
water, which abounds in salmon, trout, and other fish. The
whole country is miserably poor, yet much cultivation is
seen all the way. Much game and good fishing was to be
had round the inn where we dined; the landlord said his
terms were five dollars a week, and it would be a pleasant
summer residence. We passed the seat of Mr. Jeffries,
President of the Assembly, now Acting Governor. The
house is large and the grounds in fine order. It is between
two handsome fresh-water lakes; indeed, the country is
covered with lakes, all of which are well supplied with trout.
We saw the college and the common school, built of freestone,
both handsome buildings. We crossed the head of
the St. Croix River, which rolls its impetuous waters into
the Bay of Fundy. From here to Windsor the country improved
rapidly and the crops looked well. Windsor is a
neat, pretty village; the vast banks of plaster of Paris all
about it give employment to the inhabitants and bring
wealth to the place; it is shipped from here in large quantities.
Our coach stopped at the best boarding-house here,
for nowhere in the Provinces have we heard of hotels; the
house was full and we were conveyed to another, where,
after more than two hours' delay, we had a very indifferent
supper. Meantime we walked to see the Windsor River,
on the east bank of which the village is situated. The
view was indeed novel; the bed of the river, nearly a
mile wide and quite bare as far as eye could reach, — about
ten miles. Scarcely any water to be seen, and yet
the spot where we stood, sixty-five feet above the river bed,
showed that at high tide this wonderful basin must be filled
to the brim. Opposite to us, indeed, the country is diked
in, and vessels left dry at the wharves had a strange appearance.
We are told that there have been instances when
vessels have slid sidewise from the top of the bank to the
level of the gravelly bed of the river. The shores are
covered for a hundred yards with mud of a reddish color.
This conveys more the idea of a flood or great freshet
than the result of tide, and I long to see the waters of the
ocean advancing at the rate of four knots an hour to
fill this extraordinary basin; this sight I hope to enjoy
to-morrow.
August 28. I can now say that I have seen the tide
waters of the Bay of Fundy rise sixty-five feet.[238] We were
seated on one of the wharves and saw the mass of water
accumulating with a rapidity I cannot describe. At half-flow
the water rose three feet in ten minutes, but it is even
more rapid than this. A few minutes after its greatest
height is attained it begins to recede, and in a few hours
the whole bed of the river is again emptied. We rambled
over the beautiful meadows and fields, and John shot two
Marsh Hawks, one of each sex, and we saw many more.
These birds here are much darker above and much deeper
rufous below, than any I ever procured in the Middle
States or farther south. Indeed, it may be said that the
farther north I have been, the deeper in tint have I found
the birds. The steamboat has just arrived, and the young
men have been on board to secure our passage. No news
from the States.
Eastport, Maine, August 31. We arrived here yesterday
afternoon in the steamer "Maid of the Mist." We left
Windsor shortly before twelve noon, and reached St.
John's, New Brunswick, at two o'clock at night. Passed
"Cape Blow-me-down," "Cape Split," and "Cape d'Or."
We were very comfortable, as there were few passengers,
but the price was sufficient for all we had, and more. We
perambulated the streets of St. John's by moonlight, and
when the shops opened I purchased two suits of excellent
stuff for shooting garments. At the wharf, just as the
steamer was about to leave, I had the great pleasure of
meeting my most excellent friend Edward Harris, who gave
me a letter from thee, and the first intelligence from the
big world we have left for two months. Here we were
kindly received by all our acquaintance; our trunks were
not opened, and the new clothes paid no duties; this ought
to be the case with poor students of nature all over the
world. We gave up the "Ripley" to Messrs. Buck and
Tinkham, took up our quarters with good Mr. Weston, and
all began packing immediately.
We reached New York on Saturday morning, the 7th of
September, and, thank God, found all well. Whilst at
Boston I wrote several letters, one very long one to
Thomas Nuttall, in which I gave him some account of
the habits of water-birds with which he was unacquainted;
he sent me an extremely kind letter in answer.
THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS
1843
INTRODUCTION
THIS
journey, which occupied within a few days
of eight months, — from March 11, 1843, to
November 6 of the same year, — was undertaken in
the interest of the "Quadrupeds of North America,"
in which the three Audubons and Dr. Bachman
were then deeply engaged. The journey has been
only briefly touched upon in former publications,
and the entire record from August 16 until the
return home was lost in the back of an old secretary
from the time of Audubon's return in November,
1843, until August, 1896, when two of his granddaughters
found it. Mrs. Audubon states in her
narrative that no record of this part of the trip
was known to exist, and none of the family now
living had ever seen it until the date mentioned.
Not only is the diary most valuable from the
point of view of the naturalist, but also from that
of the historian interested in the frontier life of
those days.
M. R. A.
As the only account of the journey from New
York to St. Louis which can now be found is
contained in a letter to my uncle Mr. James Hall,
dated St. Louis, March 29, 1843, the following
extract is given: —
"The weather has been bad ever since we left Baltimore.
There we encountered a snow-storm that accompanied us
all the way to this very spot, and at this moment the
country is whitened with this precious, semi-congealed,
heavenly dew. As to ice! — I wish it were all in your icehouse
when summer does come, should summer show her
bright features in the year of our Lord 1843. We first
encountered ice at Wheeling, and it has floated down the
Ohio all around us, as well as up the Mississippi to pleasant
St. Louis. And such a steamer as we have come in
from Louisville here! — the very filthiest of all filthy old
rat-traps I ever travelled in; and the fare worse, certainly
much worse, and so scanty withal that our worthy commander
could not have given us another meal had we been
detained a night longer. I wrote a famous long letter to
my Lucy on the subject, and as I know you will hear it,
will not repeat the account of our situation on board the
'Gallant' — a pretty name, too, but alas! her name, like
mine, is only a shadow, for as she struck a sawyer[239] one
night we all ran like mad to make ready to leap overboard;
but as God would have it, our lives and the 'Gallant,'
were spared — she from sinking, and we from swimming
amid rolling and crashing hard ice. The ladies
screamed, the babies squalled, the dogs yelled, the steam
roared, the captain (who, by the way, is a very gallant
man) swore — not like an angel, but like the very devil — and
all was confusion and uproar, just as if Miller's
prophecy had actually been nigh. Luckily, we had had
our supper, as the thing was called on board the 'Gallant,'
and every man appeared to feel resolute, if not resolved
to die.
"I would have given much at that moment for a picture
of the whole. Our compagnons de voyage, about one hundred
and fifty, were composed of Buckeyes, Wolverines,
Suckers, Hoosiers, and gamblers, with drunkards of each
and every denomination, their ladies and babies of the
same nature, and specifically the dirtiest of the dirty. We
had to dip the water for washing from the river in tin
basins, soap ourselves all from the same cake, and wipe
the one hundred and fifty with the same solitary one towel
rolling over a pin, until it would have been difficult to say,
even with your keen eyes, whether it was manufactured of
hemp, tow, flax, or cotton. My bed had two sheets, of
course, measuring seven-eighths of a yard wide; my pillow
was filled with corn-shucks. Harris fared even worse than
I, and our 'state-room' was evidently better fitted for the
smoking of hams than the smoking of Christians. When
it rained outside, it rained also within, and on one particular
morning, when the snow melted on the upper deck,
or roof, it was a lively scene to see each person seeking
for a spot free from the many spouts overhead.
"We are at the Glasgow Hotel, and will leave it the day
after to-morrow, as it is too good for our purses. We intended
to have gone twenty miles in Illinois to Edwardsville,
but have changed our plans, and will go northwest
sixteen miles to Florissant, where we are assured game is
plenty, and the living quite cheap. We do not expect to
leave this till the 20th or 22d of April, and should you feel
inclined to write to me, do so by return of mail, if possible,
and I may get your letter before I leave this for the
Yellowstone.
"The markets here abound with all the good things of
the land, and of nature's creation. To give you an idea
of this, read the following items: Grouse, two for a York
shilling; three chickens for the same; Turkeys, wild or
tame, 25 cents; flour $2.00 a barrel; butter, sixpence for
the best — fresh, and really good. Beef, 3 to 4 cents;
veal, the same; pork, 2 cents; venison hams, large and
dried, 15 cents each; potatoes, 10 cents a bushel; Ducks,
three for a shilling; Wild Geese, 10 cents each; Canvas-back
Ducks, a shilling a pair; vegetables for the asking,
as it were; and only think, in the midst of this abundance
and cheapness, we are paying at the rate of $9.00 per
week at our hotel, the Glasgow, and at the Planters we
were asked $10.00.
"I have been extremely kindly received and treated by
Mr. Chouteau and partners. Mr. Sire, the gentleman who
will command the steamer we go in, is one of the finest-looking
men I have seen for many a day, and the accounts
I hear of him correspond with his noble face and general
appearance."
THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS
1843
I LEFT
home at ten o'clock of the morning, on Saturday
the 11th of March, 1843, accompanied by my son
Victor. I left all well, and I trust in God for the privilege
and happiness of rejoining them all some time next autumn,
when I hope to return from the Yellowstone River, an
expedition undertaken solely for the sake of our work on
the Quadrupeds of North America. The day was cold, but
the sun was shining, and after having visited a few friends
in the city of New York, we departed for Philadelphia in
the cars, and reached that place at eleven of the night.
As I was about landing, I was touched on the shoulder by
a tall, robust-looking man, whom I knew not to be a sheriff,
but in fact my good friend Jediah Irish,[240] of the Great
Pine Swamp. I also met my friend Edward Harris, who,
with old John G. Bell,[241] Isaac Sprague, and young Lewis
Squires, are to be my companions for this campaign. We
all put up at Mr. Sanderson's. Sunday was spent in
visits to Mr. Bowen,[242] Dr. Morton,[243] and others, and we had
many calls made upon us at the hotel. On Monday morning
we took the cars for Baltimore, and Victor returned
home to Minniesland. The weather was rainy, blustery,
cold, but we reached Baltimore in time to eat our dinner
there, and we there spent the afternoon and the night.
I saw Gideon B. Smith and a few other friends, and on the
next morning we entered the cars for Cumberland, which
we reached the same evening about six. Here we had all
our effects weighed, and were charged thirty dollars additional
weight — a first-rate piece of robbery. We went on
now by coaches, entering the gap, and ascending the Alleghanies
amid a storm of snow, which kept us company for
about forty hours, when we reached Wheeling, which we
left on the 16th of March, and went on board the steamer,
that brought us to Cincinnati all safe.
We saw much game on our way, such as Geese, Ducks,
etc., but no Turkeys as in times of yore. We left for
Louisville in the U.S. mail steamer, and arrived there before
daylight on the 19th inst. My companions went to
the Scott House, and I to William G. Bakewell's, whose
home I reached before the family were up. I remained
there four days, and was, of course, most kindly treated;
and, indeed, during my whole stay in this city of my youth
I did enjoy myself famously well, with dancing, dinner-parties,
etc. We left for St. Louis on board the ever-to-be-remembered
steamer "Gallant," and after having
been struck by a log which did not send us to the bottom,
arrived on the 28th of March.
On the 4th of April, Harris went off to Edwardsville,
with the rest of my companions, and I went to Nicholas
Berthoud, who began housekeeping here that day, though
Eliza was not yet arrived from Pittsburgh. My time at
St. Louis would have been agreeable to any one fond of
company, dinners, and parties; but of these matters I am
not, though I did dine at three different houses, bon gré,
mal gré. In fact, my time was spent procuring, arranging,
and superintending the necessary objects for the comfort
and utility of the party attached to my undertaking. The
Chouteaux supplied us with most things, and, let it be said
to their honor, at little or no profit. Captain Sire took me
in a light wagon to see old Mr. Chouteau one afternoon,
and I found the worthy old gentleman so kind and so full
of information about the countries of the Indians that I
returned to him a few days afterwards, not only for the
sake of the pleasure I enjoyed in his conversation, but also
with the view to procure, both dead and alive, a species of
Pouched Rat (Pseudostoma bursarius)[244] wonderfully abundant
in this section of country. One day our friend Harris
came back, and brought with him the prepared skins
of birds and quadrupeds they had collected, and informed
me that they had removed their quarters to B — — 's. He
left the next day, after we had made an arrangement for
the party to return the Friday following, which they did.
I drew four figures of Pouched Rats, and outlined two figures
of Sciurus capistratus,[245] which is here called "Fox
Squirrel."
|
AUDUBON. FROM THE PORTRAIT BY JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON (ABOUT 1841).
|
The 25th of April at last made its appearance, the rivers
were now opened, the weather was growing warm, and
every object in nature proved to us that at last the singularly
lingering winter of 1842 and 1843 was over. Having
conveyed the whole of our effects on board the steamer,
and being supplied with excellent letters, we left St. Louis
at 11.30 a. m., with Mr. Sarpy on board, and a hundred and
one trappers of all descriptions and nearly a dozen different
nationalities, though the greater number were French
Canadians, or Creoles of this State. Some were drunk,
and many in that stupid mood which follows a state of nervousness
produced by drinking and over-excitement. Here
is the scene that took place on board the "Omega" at our
departure, and what followed when the roll was called.
First the general embarkation, when the men came in
pushing and squeezing each other, so as to make the
boards they walked upon fairly tremble. The Indians,
poor souls, were more quiet, and had already seated or
squatted themselves on the highest parts of the steamer,
and were tranquil lookers-on. After about three quarters
of an hour, the crew and all the trappers (these are called
engagés)[246] were on board, and we at once pushed off and
up the stream, thick and muddy as it was. The whole of
the effects and the baggage of the engagés was arranged in
the main cabin, and presently was seen Mr. Sarpy, book in
hand, with the list before him, wherefrom he gave the
names of these attachés. The men whose names were
called nearly filled the fore part of the cabin, where stood
Mr. Sarpy, our captain, and one of the clerks. All awaited
orders from Mr. Sarpy. As each man was called, and
answered to his name, a blanket containing the apparel for
the trip was handed to him, and he was ordered at once
to retire and make room for the next. The outfit, by the
way, was somewhat scanty, and of indifferent quality.
Four men were missing, and some appeared rather reluctant;
however, the roll was ended, and one hundred and
one were found. In many instances their bundles were
thrown to them, and they were ordered off as if slaves. I
forgot to say that as the boat pushed off from the shore,
where stood a crowd of loafers, the men on board had
congregated upon the hurricane deck with their rifles and
guns of various sorts, all loaded, and began to fire what I
should call a very disorganized sort of a salute, which
lasted for something like an hour, and which has been
renewed at intervals, though in a more desultory manner,
at every village we have passed. However, we now find
them passably good, quiet, and regularly sobered men.
We have of course a motley set, even to Italians. We
passed the mouth of the Missouri, and moved very slowly
against the current, for it was not less than twenty minutes
after four the next morning, when we reached St. Charles,[247]
distant forty-two miles. Here we stopped till half-past
five, when Mr. Sarpy, to whom I gave my letters home,
left us in a wagon.
April 26. A rainy day, and the heat we had experienced
yesterday was now all gone. We saw a Wild Goose
running on the shore, and it was killed by Bell; but our
captain did not stop to pick it up, and I was sorry to see
the poor bird dead, uselessly. We now had found out
that our berths were too thickly inhabited for us to sleep
in; so I rolled myself in my blanket, lay down on deck,
and slept very sound.
27th. A fine clear day, cool this morning. Cleaned
our boilers last night, landing where the "Emily Christian"
is sunk, for a few moments; saw a few Gray Squirrels, and
an abundance of our common Partridges in flocks of fifteen
to twenty, very gentle indeed. About four this afternoon
we passed the mouth of the Gasconade River, a
stream coming from the westward, valuable for its yellow-pine
lumber. At a woodyard above us we saw a White
Pelican[248] that had been captured there, and which, had it
been clean, I should have bought. I saw that its legs and
feet were red, and not yellow, as they are during autumn
and winter. Marmots are quite abundant, and here they
perforate their holes in the loose, sandy soil of the river
banks, as well as the same soil wherever it is somewhat
elevated. We do not know yet if it is Arctomys monax, or
a new species.[249] The weather being fine, and the night
clear, we ran all night and on the morning of the 28th,
thermometer 69° to 78° at sunrise, we were in sight of
the seat of government, Jefferson. The State House
stands prominent, with a view from it up and down the
stream of about ten miles; but, with the exception of the
State House and the Penitentiary, Jefferson is a poor place,
the land round being sterile and broken. This is said to be
160 or 170 miles above St. Louis.[250] We saw many Gray
Squirrels this morning. Yesterday we passed under long
lines of elevated shore, surmounted by stupendous rocks
of limestone, with many curious holes in them, where we
saw Vultures and Eagles[251] enter towards dusk. Harris saw
a Peregrine Falcon; the whole of these rocky shores are
ornamented with a species of white cedar quite satisfactorily
known to us. We took wood at several places; at
one I was told that Wild Turkeys were abundant and
Squirrels also, but as the squatter observed, "Game is very
scarce, especially Bears." Wolves begin to be troublesome
to the settlers who have sheep; they are obliged
to drive the latter home, and herd them each night.
This evening the weather became cloudy and looked
like rain; the weather has been very warm, the thermometer
being at 78° at three this afternoon. We saw a
pair of Peregrine Falcons, one of them with a bird in its
talons; also a few White-fronted Geese, some Blue-winged
Teal, and some Cormorants,[252] but none with the head,
neck, and breast pure white, as the one I saw two days ago.
The strength of the current seemed to increase; in some
places our boat merely kept her own, and in one instance
fell back nearly half a mile to where we had
taken in wood. At about ten this evening we came
into such strong water that nothing could be done
against it; we laid up for the night at the lower end of a
willow island, and then cleaned the boilers and took in
200 fence-rails, which the French Canadians call "perches."
Now a perche in French means a pole; therefore this must
be patois.
29th. We were off at five this rainy morning, and at 9
a. m. reached Booneville,[253] distant from St. Louis about 204
miles. We bought at this place an axe, a saw, three files,
and some wafers; also some chickens, at one dollar a
dozen. We found here some of the Santa Fé traders with
whom we had crossed the Alleghanies. They were awaiting
the arrival of their goods, and then would immediately
start. I saw a Rabbit sitting under the shelf of a
rock, and also a Gray Squirrel. It appears to me that
Sciurus macrourus[254] of Say relishes the bottom lands in
preference to the hilly or rocky portions which alternately
present themselves along these shores. On looking along
the banks of the river, one cannot help observing the half-drowned
young willows, and cotton trees of the same age,
trembling and shaking sideways against the current; and
methought, as I gazed upon them, of the danger they were
in of being immersed over their very tops and thus dying,
not through the influence of fire, the natural enemy of
wood, but from the force of the mighty stream on the
margin of which they grew, and which appeared as if in
its wrath it was determined to overwhelm, and undo all
that the Creator in His bountifulness had granted us to
enjoy. The banks themselves, along with perhaps millions
of trees, are ever tumbling, falling, and washing away from
the spots where they may have stood and grown for centuries
past. If this be not an awful exemplification of the
real course of Natures intention, that all should and must
live and die, then, indeed, the philosophy of our learned
men cannot be much relied upon!
This afternoon the steamer "John Auld" came up near
us, but stopped to put off passengers. She had troops on
board and a good number of travellers. We passed the
city of Glasgow[255] without stopping there, and the blackguards
on shore were so greatly disappointed that they
actually fired at us with rifles; but whether with balls or
not, they did us no harm, for the current proved so strong
that we had to make over to the opposite side of the river.
We did not run far; the weather was still bad, raining
hard, and at ten o'clock, with wood nearly exhausted, we
stopped on the west shore, and there remained all the
night, cleaning boilers, etc.
Sunday 30th. This morning was cold, and it blew a
gale from the north. We started, however, for a wooding-place,
but the "John Auld" had the advantage of us, and
took what there was; the wind increased so much that
the waves were actually running pretty high down-stream,
and we stopped until one o'clock. You may depend
my party was not sorry for this; and as I had had no
exercise since we left St. Louis, as soon as breakfast was
over we started — Bell, Harris, Squires, and myself, with
our guns — and had quite a frolic of it, for we killed a
good deal of game, and lost some. Unfortunately we
landed at a place where the water had overflowed the
country between the shores and the hills, which are distant
about one mile and a half. We started a couple of Deer,
which Bell and I shot at, and a female Turkey flying fast;
at my shot it extended its legs downwards as if badly
wounded, but it sailed on, and must have fallen across
the muddy waters. Bell, Harris, and myself shot running
exactly twenty-eight Rabbits, Lepus sylvaticus, and two
Bachmans, two Sciurus macrourus of Say, two Arctomys
monax, and a pair of Tetrao [Bonasa] umbellus. The
woods were alive with the Rabbits, but they were very
wild; the Ground-hogs, Marmots, or Arctomys, were in
great numbers, judging from the innumerable burrows we
saw, and had the weather been calm, I have no doubt we
would have seen many more. Bell wounded a Turkey hen
so badly that the poor thing could not fly; but Harris
frightened it, and it was off, and was lost. Harris shot an
Arctomys without pouches, that had been forced out of its
burrow by the water entering it; it stood motionless until
he was within ten paces of it; when, ascertaining what it
was, he retired a few yards, and shot it with No. 10 shot,
and it fell dead on the spot. We found the woods filled
with birds — all known, however, to us: Golden-crowned
Thrush, Cerulean Warblers, Woodpeckers of various kinds,
etc.; but not a Duck in the bayou, to my surprise. At
one the wind lulled somewhat, and as we had taken all
the fence-rails and a quantity of dry stuff of all sorts, we
were ready to attempt our ascent, and did so. It was
curious to see sixty or seventy men carrying logs forty or
fifty feet long, some well dried and some green, on their
shoulders, all of which were wanted by our captain, for
some purpose or other. In a great number of instances
the squatters, farmers, or planters, as they may be called,
are found to abandon their dwellings or make towards
higher grounds, which fortunately are here no farther off
than from one to three miles. After we left, we met with
the strength of the current, but with our stakes, fence-rails,
and our dry wood, we made good headway. At one
place we passed a couple of houses, with women and children,
perfectly surrounded by the flood; these houses
stood apparently on the margin of a river[256] coming in from
the eastward. The whole farm was under water, and all
around was the very perfection of disaster and misfortune.
It appeared to us as if the men had gone to procure assistance,
and I was grieved that we could not offer them
any. We saw several trees falling in, and beautiful, though
painful, was the sight. As they fell, the spray which rose
along their whole length was exquisite; but alas! these
magnificent trees had reached the day of oblivion.
A few miles above New Brunswick we stopped to take
in wood, and landed three of our Indians, who, belonging
to the Iowa tribe, had to travel up La Grande Rivière.
The wind lulled away, and we ran all night, touching, for
a few minutes, on a bar in the middle of the river.
May 1. This morning was a beautiful one; our run
last night was about thirty miles, but as we have just
begun this fine day, I will copy here the habits of the
Pouched Rats, from my notes on the spot at old Mr.
Chouteau's, and again at St. Louis, where I kept several
alive for four or five days: —
Plantation of Pierre Chouteau, Sen., four miles west of
St. Louis, April 13, 1843. I came here last evening in
the company of Mr. Sarpy, for the express purpose of procuring
some Pouched Rats, and as I have been fortunate
enough to secure several of these strange creatures, and
also to have seen and heard much connected with their
habits and habitats, I write on the spot, with the wish
that no recollection of facts be passed over. The present
species is uncommonly abundant throughout this neighborhood,
and is even found in the gardens of the city of St.
Louis, upon the outskirts. They are extremely pernicious
animals to the planter and to the gardener, as they devour
every root, grass, or vegetable within their reach, and
burrow both day and night in every direction imaginable,
wherever they know their insatiable appetites can be
recompensed for their labor. They bring forth from five
to seven young, about the 25th of March, and these are
rather large at birth. The nest, or place of deposit, is
usually rounded, and about eight inches in diameter, being
globular, and well lined with the hair of the female. This
nest is not placed at the end of a burrow, or in any particular
one of their long galleries, but oftentimes in the
road that may lead to hundreds of yards distant. From
immediately around the nest, however, many galleries
branch off in divers directions, all tending towards such
spots as are well known to the parents to afford an abundance
of food. I cannot ascertain how long the young
remain under the care of the mother. Having observed
several freshly thrown-up mounds in Mr. Chouteau's garden,
this excellent gentleman called to some negroes to
bring spades, and to dig for the animals with the hope I
might procure one alive. All hands went to work with
alacrity, in the presence of Dr. Trudeau of St. Louis, my
friends the father and son Chouteau, and myself. We
observed that the "Muloë"[257] (the name given these animals
by the creoles of this country) had worked in two or more
opposite directions, and that the main gallery was about a
foot beneath the surface of the ground, except where it
had crossed the walks, when the burrow was sunk a few
inches deeper. The work led the negroes across a large
square and two of the walks, on one side of which we
found large bunches of carnations, from which the roots
had been cut off obliquely, close to the surface of the
ground, thereby killing the plants. The roots measured
7/8 of an inch, and immediately next to them was a rosebush,
where ended the burrow. The other side was now
followed, and ended amidst the roots of a fine large peach-tree;
these roots were more or less gashed and lacerated,
but no animal was there, and on returning on our tracks,
we found that several galleries, probably leading outside
the garden, existed, and we gave up the chase.
This species throws up the earth in mounds rarely higher
than twelve to fifteen inches, and these mounds are thrown
up at extremely irregular distances, being at times near
to each other, and elsewhere ten to twenty, or even thirty,
paces apart, yet generally leading to particular spots, well
covered with grapes or vegetables of different kinds.
This species remains under ground during the whole
winter, inactive, and probably dormant, as they never
raise or work the earth at this time. The earth thrown
up is as if pulverized, and as soon as the animal has
finished his labors, which are for no other purpose than to
convey him securely from one spot to another, he closes
the aperture, which is sometimes on the top, though more
usually on the side towards the sun, leaving a kind of ring
nearly one inch in breadth, and about the diameter of the
body of the animal. Possessed of an exquisite sense of
hearing and of feeling the external pressure of objects
travelling on the ground, they stop their labors instantaneously
on the least alarm; but if you retire from fifteen to
twenty paces to the windward of the hole, and wait for a
quarter of an hour or so, you see the "Gopher" (the name
given to it by the Missourians — Americans) raising the
earth with its back and shoulders, and forcing it out forward,
leaving the aperture open during the process, and
from which it at times issues a few steps, cuts the grasses
around, with which it fills its pouches, and then retires to
its hole to feed upon its spoils; or it sometimes sits up on
its haunches and enjoys the sun, and it may then be shot,
provided you are quick. If missed you see it no more,
as it will prefer altering the course of its burrow and
continuing its labors in quite a different direction. They
may be caught in common steel-traps, and two of them
were thus procured to-day; but they then injure the foot,
the hind one. They are also not uncommonly thrown
up by the plough, and one was caught in this manner.
They have been known to destroy the roots of hundreds
of young fruit-trees in the course of a few days and nights,
and will cut roots of grown trees of the most valued kinds,
such as apple, pear, peach, plum, etc. They differ greatly
in their size and also in their colors, according to age, but
not in the sexes. The young are usually gray, the old of
a dark chestnut, glossy and shining brown, very difficult
to represent in a drawing. The opinion commonly received
and entertained, that these Pouched Rats fill their
pouches with the earth of their burrows, and empty them
when at the entrance, is, I think, quite erroneous; about
a dozen which were shot in the act of raising their mounds,
and killed at the very mouth of their burrows, had no
earth in any of these sacs; the fore feet, teeth, nose, and
the anterior portion of the head were found covered with
adhesive earth, and most of them had their pouches filled
either with blades of grass or roots of different sizes; and
I think their being hairy rather corroborates the fact that
these pouches are only used for food. In a word, they
appear to me to raise the earth precisely in the manner
employed by the Mole.
When travelling the tail drags on the ground, and they
hobble along with their long front claws drawn underneath;
at other times, they move by slow leaping movements,
and can travel backwards almost as fast as forwards.
When turned over they have much difficulty in replacing
themselves in their natural position, and you may see
them kicking with their legs and claws for a minute or
two before they are right. They bite severely, and do not
hesitate to make towards their enemies or assailants with
open mouth, squealing like a rat. When they fight among
themselves they make great use of the nose in the manner
of hogs. They cannot travel faster than the slow walk of a
man. They feed frequently while seated on the rump, using
their fore paws and long claws somewhat like a squirrel.
When sleeping they place the head beneath the breast, and
become round, and look like a ball of earth. They clean
their whiskers and body in the manner of Rats, Squirrels, etc.
The four which I kept alive never drank anything,
though water was given to them. I fed them on potatoes,
cabbages, carrots, etc. They tried constantly to make
their escape by gnawing at the floor, but in vain. They
slept wherever they found clothing, etc., and the rascals
cut the lining of my hunting-coat all to bits, so that I was
obliged to have it patched and mended. In one instance
I had some clothes rolled up for the washerwoman, and,
on opening the bundle to count the pieces, one of the
fellows caught hold of my right thumb, with fortunately
a single one of its upper incisors, and hung on till I shook
it off, violently throwing it on the floor, where it lay as if
dead; but it recovered, and was as well as ever in less
than half an hour. They gnawed the leather straps of my
trunks during the night, and although I rose frequently to
stop their work, they would begin anew as soon as I was
in bed again. I wrote and sent most of the above to
John Bachman from St. Louis, after I had finished my
drawing of four figures of these most strange and most
interesting creatures.
And now to return to this day: When we reached
Glasgow, we came in under the stern of the "John Auld."
As I saw several officers of the United States army I
bowed to them, and as they all knew that I was bound
towards the mighty Rocky Mountains, they not only returned
my salutations, but came on board, as well as
Father de Smet.[258] They all of them came to my room
and saw specimens and skins. Among them was Captain
Clark,[259] who married the sister of Major Sandford, whom
you all know. They had lost a soldier overboard, two
had deserted, and a fourth was missing. We proceeded
on until about ten o'clock, and it was not until the 2d of
May that we actually reached Independence.
May 2. It stopped raining in the night while I was
sound asleep, and at about one o'clock we did arrive at
Independence, distant about 379 miles from St. Louis.[260]
Here again was the "John Auld," putting out freight for
the Santa Fé traders, and we saw many of their wagons.
Of course I exchanged a hand-shake with Father de
Smet and many of the officers I had seen yesterday.
Mr. Meeks, the agent of Colonel Veras, had 148 pounds
of tow in readiness for us, and I drew on the Chouteaux
for $30.20, for we were charged no less than 12� to 25
cts. per pound; but this tow might have passed for fine
flax, and I was well contented. We left the "Auld,"
proceeded on our way, and stopped at Madame Chouteau's
plantation, where we put out some freight for Sir William
Stuart. The water had been two feet deep in her house,
but the river has now suddenly fallen about six feet. At
Madame Chouteau's I saw a brother of our friend Pierre
Chouteau, Senr., now at New York, and he gave me some
news respecting the murder of Mr. Jarvis. About twenty
picked men of the neighborhood had left in pursuit of the
remainder of the marauders, and had sent one of their
number back, with the information that they had remained
not two miles from the rascally thieves and murderers.
I hope they will overtake them all, and shoot them on
the spot. We saw a few Squirrels, and Bell killed two
Parrakeets.
May 3. We ran all last night and reached Fort Leavenworth
at six this morning. We had an early breakfast,
as we had intended to walk across the Bend; but
we found that the ground was overflowed, and that the
bridges across two creeks had been carried away, and
reluctantly we gave up our trip. I saw two officers who
came on board, also a Mr. Ritchie. The situation of the
fort is elevated and fine, and one has a view of the river
up and down for some distance. Seeing a great number
of Parrakeets, we went after them; Bell killed one. Unfortunately
my gun snapped twice, or I should have killed
several more. We saw several Turkeys on the ground
and in the trees early this morning. On our reaching
the landing, a sentinel dragoon came to watch that no
one tried to escape.
After leaving this place we fairly entered the Indian
country on the west side of the river, for the State of Missouri,
by the purchase of the Platte River country, continues
for about 250 miles further on the east side, where
now we see the only settlements. We saw a good number
of Indians in the woods and on the banks, gazing at us
as we passed; these are, however, partly civilized, and are
miserable enough. Major Mason, who commands here at
present, is ill, and I could not see him. We saw several
fine horses belonging to different officers. We soon passed
Watson, which is considered the head of steam navigation.
In attempting to pass over a shallow, but a short, cut,
we grounded on a bar at five o'clock; got off, tried again,
and again grounded broadside; and now that it is past six
o'clock all hands are busily engaged in trying to get the
boat off, but with what success I cannot say. To me the
situation is a bad one, as I conceive that as we remain
here, the washings of the muddy sands as they float down
a powerful current will augment the bar on the weather
side (if I may so express myself) of the boat. We have
seen another Turkey and many Parrakeets, as well as a
great number of burrows formed by the "Siffleurs," as
our French Canadians call all and every species of Marmots;
Bell and I have concluded that there must be not
less than twenty to thirty of these animals for one in any
portion of the Atlantic States. We saw them even around
the open grounds immediately about Fort Leavenworth.
About half-past seven we fortunately removed our boat
into somewhat deeper water, by straightening her bows
against the stream, and this was effected by fastening our
very long cable to a snag above us, about 200 yards; and
now, if we can go backwards and reach the deep waters
along shore a few hundred yards below, we shall be able
to make fast there for the night. Unfortunately it is now
raining hard, the lightning is vivid, and the appearance
of the night forbidding.
Thursday, May 4. We had constant rain, lightning
and thunder last night. This morning, at the dawn of
day, the captain and all hands were at work, and succeeded
in removing the boat several hundred yards below
where she had struck; but unfortunately we got fast again
before we could reach deep water, and all the exertions to
get off were renewed, and at this moment, almost nine,
we have a line fastened to the shore and expect to be
afloat in a short time. But I fear that we shall lose most
of the day before we leave this shallow, intricate, and
dangerous channel.
At ten o'clock we found ourselves in deep water, near
the shore on the west side. We at once had the men at
work cutting wood, which was principally that of ash-trees
of moderate size, which wood was brought on board
in great quantities and lengths. Thank Heaven, we are
off in a few minutes, and I hope will have better luck. I
saw on the shore many "Gopher" hills, in all probability
the same as I have drawn. Bell shot a Gray Squirrel
which I believe to be the same as our Sciurus carolinensis.
Friend Harris shot two or three birds, which we have not
yet fully established, and Bell shot one Lincoln's Finch[261] — strange
place for it, when it breeds so very far north
as Labrador. Caught a Woodpecker, and killed a Cat-bird,
Water-thrush, seventeen Parrakeets, a Yellow Chat, a
new Finch,[262] and very curious, two White-throated Finches,
one White-crown, a Yellow-rump Warbler, a Gray Squirrel,
a Loon, and two Rough-winged Swallows. We saw
Cerulean Warblers, Hooded Flycatchers, Kentucky Warblers,
Nashville ditto, Blue-winged ditto, Red-eyed
and White-eyed Flycatchers, Great-crested and Common
Pewees, Redstarts, Towhee Buntings, Ferruginous
Thrushes, Wood Thrush, Golden-crowned Thrush, Blue-gray
Flycatcher, Blue-eyed Warbler, Blue Yellow-back,
Chestnut-sided, Black-and-White Creepers, Nuthatch,
Kingbirds, Red Tanagers, Cardinal Grosbeaks, common
House Wren, Blue-winged Teals, Swans, large Blue Herons,
Crows, Turkey-buzzards, and a Peregrine Falcon,
Red-tailed Hawks, Red-headed, Red-bellied, and Golden-winged
Woodpeckers, and Partridges. Also, innumerable
"Gopher" hills, one Ground-hog, one Rabbit, two
Wild Turkeys, one Whippoorwill, one Maryland Yellow-throat,
and Swifts. We left the shore with a strong gale
of wind, and after having returned to our proper channel,
and rounded the island below our troublesome situation
of last night, we were forced to come to under the main
shore. Here we killed and saw all that is enumerated
above, as well as two nests of the White-headed Eagle.
We are now for the night at a wooding-place, where we
expect to purchase some fresh provisions, if any there are;
and as it is nine o'clock I am off to bed.
Friday, May 5. The appearance of the weather this
morning was rather bad; it was cloudy and lowering, but
instead of rain we have had a strong southwesterly wind
to contend with, and on this account our day's work does
not amount to much. At this moment, not eight o'clock,
we have stopped through its influence.
At half-past twelve we reached the Black Snake Hills[263]
settlement, and I was delighted to see this truly beautiful
site for a town or city, as will be no doubt some fifty
years hence. The hills themselves are about 200 feet
above the river, and slope down gently into the beautiful
prairie that extends over some thousands of acres, of the
richest land imaginable. Five of our trappers did not
come on board at the ringing of the bell, and had to walk
several miles across a bend to join us and be taken on
again. We have not seen much game this day, probably
on account of the high wind. We saw, however, a large
flock of Willets, two Gulls, one Grebe, many Blue-winged
Teals, Wood Ducks, and Coots, and one pair of mated
Wild Geese. This afternoon a Black Squirrel was seen.
This morning I saw a Marmot; and Sprague, a Sciurus
macrourus of Say. On examination of the Finch killed by
Harris yesterday, I found it to be a new species, and I have
taken its measurements across this sheet of paper.[264] It
was first seen on the ground, then on low bushes, then on
large trees; no note was heard. Two others, that were
females to all appearance, could not be procured on account
of their extreme shyness. We saw the Indigo-bird,
Barn Swallows, Purple Martin, and Greenbacks;[265] also, a
Rabbit at the Black Snake Hills. The general aspect of
the river is materially altered for the worse; it has become
much more crooked or tortuous, in some places very
wide with sand-banks naked and dried, so that the wind
blows the sand quite high. In one place we came to a
narrow and swift chute, four miles above the Black Snake
Hills, that in time of extreme high water must be very
difficult of ascent. During these high winds it is very
hard to steer the boat, and also to land her. The settlers
on the Missouri side of the river appear to relish the
sight of a steamer greatly, for they all come to look at
this one as we pass the different settlements. The thermometer
has fallen sixteen degrees since two o'clock,
and it feels now very chilly.
Saturday, May 6. High wind all night and cold this
morning, with the wind still blowing so hard that at half-past
seven we stopped on the western shore, under a range
of high hills, but on the weather side of them. We took
our guns and went off, but the wind was so high we saw
but little; I shot a Wild Pigeon and a Whippoorwill,
female, that gave me great trouble, as I never saw one so
remarkably wild before. Bell shot two Gray Squirrels
and several Vireos, and Sprague, a Kentucky Warbler.
Traces of Turkeys and of Deer were seen. We also saw
three White Pelicans, but no birds to be added to our
previous lot, and I have no wish to keep a strict account
of the number of the same species we daily see. It is
now half-past twelve; the wind is still very high, but our
captain is anxious to try to proceed. We have cut some
green wood, and a considerable quantity of hickory for axe-handles.
In cutting down a tree we caught two young
Gray Squirrels. A Pewee Flycatcher, of some species or
other, was caught by the steward, who ran down the poor
thing, which was starved on account of the cold and
windy weather. Harris shot another of the new Finches,
a male also, and I saw what I believe is the female, but
it flew upwards of 200 yards without stopping. Bell also
shot a small Vireo, which is in all probability a new species[266]
(to me at least). We saw a Goshawk, a Marsh
Hawk, and a great number of Blackbirds, but could not
ascertain the species.[267] The wind was still high when we
left our stopping place, but we progressed, and this afternoon
came alongside of a beautiful prairie of some thousands
of acres, reaching to the hills. Here we stopped
to put out our Iowa Indians, and also to land the goods
we had for Mr. Richardson, the Indian agent. The goods
were landed, but at the wrong place, as the Agent's agent
would not receive them there, on account of a creek above,
which cannot at present be crossed with wagons. Our
Sac Indian chief started at once across the prairie towards
the hills, on his way to his wigwam, and we saw Indians
on their way towards us, running on foot, and many on
horseback, generally riding double on skins or on Spanish
saddles. Even the squaws rode, and rode well too! We
counted about eighty, amongst whom were a great number
of youths of different ages. I was heartily glad that
our own squad of them left us here. I observed that
though they had been absent from their friends and relatives,
they never shook hands, or paid any attention to
them. When the freight was taken in we proceeded, and
the whole of the Indians followed along the shore at a
good round run; those on horseback at times struck into
a gallop. I saw more of these poor beings when we approached
the landing, perched and seated on the promontories
about, and many followed the boat to the landing.
Here the goods were received, and Major Richardson
came on board, and paid freight. He told us we were
now in the country of the Fox Indians as well as that of
the Iowas, that the number about him is over 1200, and
that his district extends about seventy miles up the river.
He appears to be a pleasant man; told us that Hares[268]
were very abundant — by the way, Harris saw one to-day.
We are now landed on the Missouri side of the river, and
taking in wood. We saw a Pigeon Hawk, found Partridges
paired, and some also in flocks. When we landed
during the high wind we saw a fine sugar camp belonging
to Indians. I was pleased to see that many of the troughs
they make are formed of bark, and that both ends are
puckered and tied so as to resemble a sort of basket or
canoe. They had killed many Wild Turkeys, Geese, and
Crows, all of which they eat. We also procured a White-eyed
and a Warbling Vireo, and shot a male Wild Pigeon.
Saw a Gopher throwing out the dirt with his fore feet
and not from his pouches. I was within four or five feet
of it. Shot a Humming-bird, saw a Mourning Warbler,
and Cedar-birds.
|
COLUMBA PASSERINA, GROUND DOVE. (Now Columbigallina passerina terrestri.)
FROM THE UNPUBLISHED DRAWING BY J. J. AUDUBON, 1838.
|
May 7, Sunday. Fine weather, but cool. Saw several
Gray Squirrels and one Black. I am told by one of our
pilots, who has killed seven or eight, that they are much
larger than Sciurus macrourus, that the hair is coarse,
that they are clumsy in their motions, and that they are
found from the Black Snake Hills to some distance
above the Council Bluffs.
We landed to cut wood at eleven, and we went ashore.
Harris killed another of the new Finches, a male also; the
scarcity of the females goes on, proving how much earlier
the males sally forth on their migrations towards the
breeding grounds. We saw five Sand-hill Cranes, some
Goldfinches, Yellowshanks, Tell-tale Godwits, Solitary
Snipes, and the woods were filled with House Wrens
singing their merry songs. The place, however, was a
bad one, for it was a piece of bottom land that had overflowed,
and was sadly muddy and sticky. At twelve the
bell rang for Harris, Bell, and me to return, which we did
at once, as dinner was preparing for the table. Talking
of dinner makes me think of giving you the hours, usually,
of our meals. Breakfast at half-past six, dinner at
half-past twelve, tea or supper at seven or later as the
case may be. We have not taken much wood here; it is
ash, but quite green. We saw Orchard Orioles, Blue-gray
Flycatchers, Great-crested and Common Pewees,
Mallards, Pileated Woodpeckers, Blue Jays, and Bluebirds;
heard a Marsh Wren, saw a Crow, a Wood Thrush,
and Water Thrush. Indigo-birds and Parrakeets plentiful.
This afternoon we went into the pocket of a sand
bar, got aground, and had to back out for almost a mile.
We saw an abundance of Ducks, some White Pelicans,
and an animal that we guessed was a Skunk. We have
run about fifty miles, and therefore have done a good
day's journey. We have passed the mouths of several
small rivers, and also some very fine prairie land, extending
miles towards the hills. It is now nine o'clock,
a beautiful night with the moon shining. We have
seen several Ravens, and White-headed Eagles on their
nests.
May 8, Monday. A beautiful calm day; the country
we saw was much the same as that we passed yesterday,
and nothing of great importance took place except that
at a wooding-place on the very verge of the State of
Missouri (the northwest corner) Bell killed a Black
Squirrel which friend Bachman has honored with the
name of my son John, Sciurus Audubonii.[269] We are told
that this species is not uncommon here. It was a good-sized
adult male, and Sprague drew an outline of it.
Harris shot another specimen of the new Finch. We saw
Parrakeets and many small birds, but nothing new or
very rare. This evening I wrote a long letter to each
house, John Bachman, Gideon B. Smith of Baltimore,
and J. W. H. Page of New Bedford, with the hope of
having them forwarded from the Council Bluffs.
May 9, Tuesday. Another fine day. After running
until eleven o'clock we stopped to cut wood, and two
Rose-breasted Grosbeaks were shot, a common Blue-bird,
and a common Northern Titmouse. We saw White Pelicans,
Geese, Ducks, etc. One of our trappers cut one of
his feet dreadfully with his axe, and Harris, who is now
the doctor, attended to it as best he could. This afternoon
we reached the famous establishment of Belle Vue[270]
where resides the brother of Mr. Sarpy of St. Louis, as
well as the Indian Agent, or, as he might be more appropriately
called, the Custom House officer. Neither were
at home, both away on the Platte River, about 300 miles
off. We had a famous pack of rascally Indians awaiting
our landing — filthy and half-starved. We landed some
cargo for the establishment, and I saw a trick of the trade
which made me laugh. Eight cords of wood were paid
for with five tin cups of sugar and three of coffee — value
at St. Louis about twenty-five cents. We have seen a
Fish Hawk, Savannah Finch, Green-backed Swallows,
Rough-winged Swallows, Martins, Parrakeets, Black-headed
Gulls, Blackbirds, and Cow-birds; I will repeat
that the woods are fairly alive with House Wrens.
Blue Herons, Emberiza pallida — Clay-colored Bunting
of Swainson — Henslow's Bunting, Crow Blackbirds;
and, more strange than all, two large cakes of ice were
seen by our pilots and ourselves. I am very much fatigued
and will finish the account of this day to-morrow.
At Belle Vue we found the brother-in-law of old Provost,
who acts as clerk in the absence of Mr. Sarpy. The store
is no great affair, and yet I am told that they drive a
good trade with Indians on the Platte River, and others,
on this side of the Missouri. We unloaded some freight,
and pushed off. We saw here the first ploughing of the
ground we have observed since we left the lower settlements
near St. Louis. We very soon reached the post of
Fort Croghan,[271] so called after my old friend of that name
with whom I hunted Raccoons on his father's plantation
in Kentucky some thirty-eight years ago, and whose
father and my own were well acquainted, and fought
together in conjunction with George Washington and
Lafayette, during the Revolutionary War, against "Merrie
England." Here we found only a few soldiers, dragoons;
their camp and officers having been forced to move across
the prairie to the Bluffs, five miles. After we had put
out some freight for the sutler, we proceeded on until we
stopped for the night a few miles above, on the same side
of the river. The soldiers assured us that their parade
ground, and so-called barracks, had been four feet under
water, and we saw fair and sufficient evidence of this. At
this place our pilot saw the first Yellow-headed Troupial
we have met with. We landed for the night under
trees covered by muddy deposits from the great overflow
of this season. I slept soundly, and have this morning,
May 10, written this.
May 10, Wednesday. The morning was fine, and we
were under way at daylight; but a party of dragoons,
headed by a lieutenant, had left their camp four miles
distant from our anchorage at the same time, and reached
the shore before we had proceeded far; they fired a couple
of rifle shots ahead of us, and we brought to at once.
The young officer came on board, and presented a letter
from his commander, Captain Burgwin, from which we
found that we had to have our cargo examined. Our
captain[272] was glad of it, and so were we all; for, finding that
it would take several hours, we at once ate our breakfast,
and made ready to go ashore. I showed my credentials
and orders from the Government, Major Mitchell of St.
Louis, etc., and I was therefore immediately settled comfortably.
I desired to go to see the commanding officer,
and the lieutenant very politely sent us there on horseback,
guided by an old dragoon of considerable respectability.
I was mounted on a young white horse, Spanish
saddle with holsters, and we proceeded across the prairie
towards the Bluffs and the camp. My guide was anxious
to take a short cut, and took me across several bayous,
one of which was really up to the saddle; but we
crossed that, and coming to another we found it so miry,
that his horse wheeled after two or three steps, whilst I
was looking at him before starting myself; for you all
well know that an old traveller is, and must be, prudent.
We now had to retrace our steps till we reached the very
tracks that the squad sent after us in the morning had
taken, and at last we reached the foot of the Bluffs, when
my guide asked me if I "could ride at a gallop," to which
not answering him, but starting at once at a round run,
I neatly passed him ere his horse was well at the pace;
on we went, and in a few minutes we entered a beautiful
dell or valley, and were in sight of the encampment. We
reached this in a trice, and rode between two lines of
pitched tents to one at the end, where I dismounted, and
met Captain Burgwin,[273] a young man, brought up at West
Point, with whom I was on excellent and friendly terms
in less time than it has taken me to write this account of
our meeting. I showed him my credentials, at which he
smiled, and politely assured me that I was too well known
throughout our country to need any letters. While seated
in front of his tent, I heard the note of a bird new to me,
and as it proceeded from a tree above our heads, I looked
up and saw the first Yellow-headed Troupial alive that
ever came across my own migrations. The captain
thought me probably crazy, as I thought Rafinesque when
he was at Henderson; for I suddenly started, shot at the
bird, and killed it. Afterwards I shot three more at one
shot, but only one female amid hundreds of these Yellow-headed
Blackbirds. They are quite abundant here,
feeding on the surplus grain that drops from the horses'
troughs; they walked under, and around the horses, with
as much confidence as if anywhere else. When they rose,
they generally flew to the very tops of the tallest trees,
and there, swelling their throats, partially spreading their
wings and tail, they issue their croaking note, which is a
compound, not to be mistaken, between that of the Crow
Blackbird and that of the Red-winged Starling. After I
had fired at them twice they became quite shy, and all of
them flew off to the prairies. I saw then two Magpies[274]
in a cage, that had been caught in nooses, by the legs;
and their actions, voice, and general looks, assured me
as much as ever, that they are the very same species as
that found in Europe. Prairie Wolves are extremely
abundant hereabouts. They are so daring that they
come into the camp both by day and by night; we found
their burrows in the banks and in the prairie, and had
I come here yesterday I should have had a superb specimen
killed here, but which was devoured by the hogs
belonging to the establishment. The captain and the
doctor — Madison[275] by name — returned with us to the
boat, and we saw many more Yellow-headed Troupials.
The high Bluffs back of the prairie are destitute of stones.
On my way there I saw abundance of Gopher hills, two
Geese paired, two Yellow-crowned Herons, Red-winged
Starlings, Cowbirds, common Crow Blackbirds, a great
number of Baltimore Orioles, a Swallow-tailed Hawk,
Yellow Red-poll Warbler, Field Sparrow, and Chipping
Sparrow. Sprague killed another of the beautiful Finch.
Robins are very scarce, Parrakeets and Wild Turkeys
plentiful. The officers came on board, and we treated
them as hospitably as we could; they ate their lunch
with us, and are themselves almost destitute of provisions.
Last July the captain sent twenty dragoons and
as many Indians on a hunt for Buffaloes. During the
hunt they killed 51 Buffaloes, 104 Deer, and 10 Elks,
within 80 miles of the camp. The Sioux Indians are
great enemies to the Potowatamies, and very frequently
kill several of the latter in their predatory excursions
against them. This kind of warfare has rendered the
Potowatamies very cowardly, which is quite a remarkable
change from their previous valor and daring. Bell
collected six different species of shells, and found a large
lump of pumice stone which does float on the water. We
left our anchorage (which means tied to the shore) at
twelve o'clock, and about sunset we did pass the real
Council Bluffs.[276] Here, however, the bed of the river is
utterly changed, though you may yet see that which is
now called the Old Missouri. The Bluffs stand, truly
speaking, on a beautiful bank almost forty feet above the
water, and run off on a rich prairie, to the hills in the
background in a gentle slope, that renders the whole
place a fine and very remarkable spot. We tied up for
the night about three miles above them, and all hands
went ashore to cut wood, which begins to be somewhat
scarce, of a good quality. Our captain cut and left several
cords of green wood for his return trip, at this place;
Harris and Bell went on shore, and saw several Bats, and
three Turkeys. This afternoon a Deer was seen scampering
across the prairies until quite out of sight. Wild-gooseberry
bushes are very abundant, and the fruit is said
to be very good.
May 11, Thursday. We had a night of rain, thunder,
and heavy wind from the northeast, and we did not start
this morning till seven o'clock, therefore had a late
breakfast. There was a bright blood-red streak on the
horizon at four o'clock that looked forbidding, but the
weather changed as we proceeded, with, however, showers
of rain at various intervals during the day. We have
now come to a portion of the river more crooked than
any we have passed; the shores on both sides are evidently
lower, the hills that curtain the distance are
further from the shores, and the intervening space is
mostly prairie, more or less overflowed. We have seen
one Wolf on a sand-bar, seeking for food, perhaps dead
fish. The actions were precisely those of a cur dog with
a long tail, and the bellowing sound of the engine did not
seem to disturb him. He trotted on parallel to the boat
for about one mile, when we landed to cut drift-wood.
Bell, Harris, and I went on shore to try to have a shot at
him. He was what is called a brindle-colored Wolf,[277] of
the common size. One hundred trappers, however, with
their axes at work, in a few moments rather stopped his
progress, and when he saw us coming, he turned back on
his track, and trotted off, but Bell shot a very small load
in the air to see the effect it would produce. The fellow
took two or three leaps, stopped, looked at us for a moment,
and then started on a gentle gallop. When I overtook
his tracks they appeared small, and more rounded
than usual. I saw several tracks at the same time, therefore
more than one had travelled over this great sandy
and muddy bar last night, if not this morning. I lost
sight of him behind some large piles of drift-wood, and
could see him no more. Turkey-buzzards were on the
bar, and I thought that I should have found some dead
carcass; but on reaching the spot, nothing was there. A
fine large Raven passed at one hundred yards from us,
but I did not shoot. Bell found a few small shells, and
Harris shot a Yellow-rumped Warbler. We have seen
several White Pelicans, Geese, Black-headed Gulls, and
Green-backed Swallows, but nothing new. The night is
cloudy and intimates more rain. We are fast to a willowed
shore, and are preparing lines to try our luck at
catching a Catfish or so. I was astonished to find how
much stiffened I was this morning, from the exercise I
took on horseback yesterday, and think that now it
would take me a week, at least, to accustom my body to
riding as I was wont to do twenty years ago. The timber
is becoming more scarce as we proceed, and I greatly
fear that our only opportunities of securing wood will be
those afforded us by that drifted on the bars.
May 12, Friday. The morning was foggy, thick, and
calm. We passed the river called the Sioux Pictout,[278] a
small stream formerly abounding with Beavers, Otters,
Muskrats, etc., but now quite destitute of any of these
creatures. On going along the banks bordering a long
and wide prairie, thick with willows and other small
brush-wood, we saw four Black-tailed Deer[279] immediately
on the bank; they trotted away without appearing to be
much alarmed; after a few hundred yards, the two largest,
probably males, raised themselves on their hind feet
and pawed at each other, after the manner of stallions.
They trotted off again, stopping often, but after a while
disappeared; we saw them again some hundreds of yards
farther on, when, becoming suddenly alarmed, they
bounded off until out of sight. They did not trot or run
irregularly as our Virginian Deer does, and their color
was of a brownish cast, whilst our common Deer at this
season is red. Could we have gone ashore, we might in
all probability have killed one or two of them. We
stopped to cut wood on the opposite side of the river,
where we went on shore, and there saw many tracks of
Deer, Elk, Wolves, and Turkeys. In attempting to cross
a muddy place to shoot at some Yellow-headed Troupials
that were abundant, I found myself almost mired, and
returned with difficulty. We only shot a Blackburnian
Warbler, a Yellow-winged ditto, and a few Finches.
We have seen more Geese than usual as well as Mallards
and Wood Ducks. This afternoon the weather
cleared up, and a while before sunset we passed under
Wood's Bluffs,[280] so called because a man of that name
fell overboard from his boat while drunk. We saw
there many Bank
Swallows, and afterwards we came in
view of the Blackbird Hill,[281] where the famous Indian
chief of that name was buried, at his request, on his
horse, whilst the animal was alive. We are now fast to
the shore opposite this famed bluff. We cut good ash
wood this day, and have made a tolerable run, say forty
miles.
Saturday, May 13. This morning was extremely foggy,
although I could plainly see the orb of day trying to force
its way through the haze. While this lasted all hands
were engaged in cutting wood, and we did not leave our
fastening-place till seven, to the great grief of our commander.
During the wood cutting, Bell walked to the
top of the hills, and shot two Lark Buntings, males,
and a Lincoln's Finch. After a while we passed under
some beautiful bluffs surmounted by many cedars, and
these bluffs were composed of fine white sandstone, of
a soft texture, but very beautiful to the eye. In several
places along this bluff we saw clusters of nests of Swallows,
which we all looked upon as those of the Cliff
Swallow, although I saw not one of the birds. We
stopped again to cut wood, for our opportunities are not
now very convenient. Went out, but only shot a fine
large Turkey-hen, which I brought down on the wing
at about forty yards. It ran very swiftly, however,
and had not Harris's dog come to our assistance, we
might have lost it. As it was, however, the dog pointed,
and Harris shot it, with my small shot-gun, whilst I
was squatted on the ground amid a parcel of low bushes.
I was astonished to see how many of the large shot I
had put into her body. This hen weighed 11� pounds.
She had a nest, no doubt, but we could not find it. We
saw a good number of Geese, though fewer than yesterday;
Ducks also. We passed many fine prairies, and
in one place I was surprised to see the richness of the
bottom lands. We saw this morning eleven Indians of
the Omaha tribe. They made signals for us to land,
but our captain never heeded them, for he hates the
red-skins as most men hate the devil. One of them
fired a gun, the group had only one, and some ran along
the shore for nearly two miles, particularly one old
gentleman who persevered until we came to such bluff
shores as calmed down his spirits. In another place we
saw one seated on a log, close by the frame of a canoe;
but he looked surly, and never altered his position as
we passed. The frame of this boat resembled an ordinary
canoe. It is formed by both sticks giving a half
circle; the upper edges are fastened together by a long
stick, as well as the centre of the bottom. Outside of
this stretches a Buffalo skin without the hair on; it
is said to make a light and safe craft to cross even the
turbid, rapid stream — the Missouri. By simply looking
at them, one may suppose that they are sufficiently large
to carry two or three persons. On a sand-bar afterwards
we saw three more Indians, also with a canoe frame, but
we only interchanged the common yells usual on such
occasions. They looked as destitute and as hungry as if
they had not eaten for a week, and no doubt would have
given much for a bottle of whiskey. At our last landing
for wood-cutting, we also went on shore, but shot nothing,
not even took aim at a bird; and there was an Indian
with a flint-lock rifle, who came on board and stared
about until we left, when he went off with a little tobacco.
I pity these poor beings from my heart! This evening we
came to the burial-ground bluff of Sergeant Floyd,[282] one
of the companions of the never-to-be-forgotten expedition
of Lewis and Clark, over the Rocky Mountains, to the
Pacific Ocean. A few minutes afterwards, before coming
to Floyd's Creek, we started several Turkey-cocks
from their roost, and had we been on shore could have
accounted for more than one of them. The prairies are
becoming more common and more elevated; we have seen
more evergreens this day than we have done for two weeks
at least. This evening is dark and rainy, with lightning
and some distant thunder, and we have entered the mouth
of the Big Sioux River,[283] where we are fastened for the
night. This is a clear stream and abounds with fish, and
on one of the branches of this river is found the famous
red clay, of which the precious pipes, or calumets are
manufactured. We will try to procure some on our return
homeward. It is late; had the weather been clear,
and the moon, which is full, shining, it was our intention
to go ashore, to try to shoot Wild Turkeys; but as
it is pouring down rain, and as dark as pitch, we have
thrown our lines overboard and perhaps may catch a fish.
We hope to reach Vermilion River day after to-morrow.
We saw abundance of the birds which I have before
enumerated.
May 14, Sunday. It rained hard and thundered during
the night; we started at half-past three, when it had
cleared, and the moon shone brightly. The river is
crooked as ever, with large bars, and edged with prairies.
Saw many Geese, and a Long-billed Curlew. One poor
Goose had been wounded in the wing; when approached,
it dived for a long distance and came up along the
shore. Then we saw a Black Bear, swimming across the
river, and it caused a commotion. Some ran for their
rifles, and several shots were fired, some of which almost
touched Bruin; but he kept on, and swam very fast.
Bell shot at it with large shot and must have touched
it. When it reached the shore, it tried several times to
climb up, but each time fell back. It at last succeeded,
almost immediately started off at a gallop, and was
soon lost to sight. We stopped to cut wood at twelve
o'clock, in one of the vilest places we have yet come to.
The rushes were waist-high, and the whole underbrush
tangled by grape vines. The Deer and the Elks had
beaten paths which we followed for a while, but we saw
only their tracks, and those of Turkeys. Harris found a
heronry of the common Blue Heron, composed of about
thirty nests, but the birds were shy and he did not shoot
at any. Early this morning a dead Buffalo floated by
us, and after a while the body of a common cow, which
had probably belonged to the fort above this. Mr. Sire
told us that at this point, two years ago, he overtook
three of the deserters of the company, who had left a
keel-boat in which they were going down to St. Louis.
They had a canoe when overtaken; he took their guns
from them, destroyed the canoe, and left them there. On
asking him what had become of them, he said they had
walked back to the establishment at the mouth of Vermilion
River, which by land is only ten miles distant; ten
miles, through such woods as we tried in vain to hunt in,
is a walk that I should not like at all. We stayed cutting
wood for about two hours, when we started again; but a
high wind arose, so that we could not make headway, and
had to return and make fast again, only a few hundred
yards from the previous spot. On such occasions our captain
employs his wood-cutters in felling trees, and splitting
and piling the wood until his return downwards, in about
one month, perhaps, from now. In talking with our captain
he tells us that the Black Bear is rarely seen swimming
this river, and that one or two of them are about all
he observes on going up each trip. I have seen them
swimming in great numbers on the lower parts of the
Ohio, and on the Mississippi. It is said that at times,
when the common Wolves are extremely hard pressed for
food, they will eat certain roots which they dig up for the
purpose, and the places from which they take this food
look as if they had been spaded. When they hunt a Buffalo,
and have killed it, they drag it to some distance — about
sixty yards or so — and dig a hole large enough to
receive and conceal it; they then cover it with earth, and
lie down over it until hungry again, when they uncover,
and feed upon it. Along the banks of the rivers, when the
Buffaloes fall, or cannot ascend, and then die, the Wolves
are seen in considerable numbers feeding upon them.
Although cunning beyond belief in hiding at the report
of a gun, they almost instantly show themselves from different
parts around, and if you wish to kill some, you have
only to hide yourself, and you will see them coming to the
game you have left, when you are not distant more than
thirty or forty yards. It is said that though they very frequently
hunt their game until the latter take to the river,
they seldom, if ever, follow after it. The wind that drove
us ashore augmented into a severe gale, and by its present
appearance looks as if it would last the whole night. Our
fire was comfortable, for, as you know, the thermometer
has been very changeable since noon. We have had rain
also, though not continuous, but quite enough to wet our
men, who, notwithstanding have cut and piled about twelve
cords of wood, besides the large quantity we have on
board for to-morrow, when we hope the weather will be
good and calm.
May 15, Monday. The wind continued an irregular
gale the whole of the night, and the frequent logs that
struck our weather side kept me awake until nearly daybreak,
when I slept about two hours; it unfortunately
happened that we were made fast upon the weather shore.
This morning the gale kept up, and as we had nothing
better to do, it was proposed that we should walk across
the bottom lands, and attempt to go to the prairies, distant
about two and a half miles. This was accordingly done;
Bell, Harris, Mr. La Barge[284] — the first pilot — a mulatto
hunter named Michaux, and I, started at nine. We first
crossed through tangled brush-wood, and high-grown
rushes for a few hundreds of yards, and soon perceived
that here, as well as all along the Missouri and Mississippi,
the land is highest nearest the shore, and falls off the
farther one goes inland. Thus we soon came to mud, and
from mud to muddy water, as pure as it runs in the Missouri
itself; at every step which we took we raised several
pounds of mud on our boots. Friend Harris very wisely
returned, but the remainder of us proceeded through thick
and thin until we came in sight of the prairies. But, alas!
between us and them there existed a regular line of willows — and
who ever saw willows grow far from water?
Here we were of course stopped, and after attempting in
many places to cross the water that divided us from the
dry land, we were forced back, and had to return as best
we could. We were mud up to the very middle, the perspiration
ran down us, and at one time I was nearly exhausted;
which proves to me pretty clearly that I am no
longer as young, or as active, as I was some thirty years
ago. When we reached the boat I was glad of it. We
washed, changed our clothes, dined, and felt much refreshed.
During our excursion out, Bell saw a Virginian
Rail, and our sense of smell brought us to a dead Elk,
putrid, and largely consumed by Wolves, whose tracks
were very numerous about it. After dinner we went to
the heronry that Harris had seen yesterday afternoon;
for we had moved only one mile above the place of our
wooding before we were again forced on shore. Here we
killed four fine individuals, all on the wing, and some
capital shots they were, besides a Raven. Unfortunately
we had many followers, who destroyed our sport; therefore
we returned on board, and at half-past four left
our landing-place, having cut and piled up between forty
and fifty cords of wood for the return of the "Omega."
The wind has lulled down considerably, we have run seven
or eight miles, and are again fast to the shore. It is reported
that the water has risen two feet, but this is somewhat
doubtful. We saw abundance of tracks of Elk, Deer,
Wolf, and Bear, and had it been anything like tolerably
dry ground, we should have had a good deal of sport.
Saw this evening another dead Buffalo floating down the
river.
May 16, Tuesday. At three o'clock this fair morning
we were under way, but the water has actually risen a
great deal, say three feet, since Sunday noon. The current
therefore is very strong, and impedes our progress
greatly. We found that the Herons we had killed yesterday
had not yet laid the whole of their eggs, as we found
one in full order, ripe, and well colored and conditioned.
I feel assured that the Ravens destroy a great many of
their eggs, as I saw one helping itself to two eggs, at two
different times, on the same nest. We have seen a great
number of Black-headed Gulls, and some Black Terns,
some Indians on the east side of the river, and a Prairie
Wolf, dead, hung across a prong of a tree. After a while
we reached a spot where we saw ten or more Indians who
had a large log cabin, and a field under fence. Then we
came to the establishment called that of Vermilion River,[285]
and met Mr. Cerré, called usually Pascal, the agent of the
Company at this post, a handsome French gentleman, of
good manners. He dined with us. After this we landed,
and walked to the fort, if the place may so be called, for
we found it only a square, strongly picketed, without portholes.
It stands on the immediate bank of the river,
opposite a long and narrow island, and is backed by a
vast prairie, all of which was inundated during the spring
freshet. He told me that game was abundant, such as
Elk, Deer, and Bear; but that Ducks, Geese, and Swans
were extremely scarce this season. Hares are plenty — no
Rabbits. We left as soon as possible, for our captain
is a pushing man most truly. We passed some remarkable
bluffs of blue and light limestone, towards the top of
which we saw an abundance of Cliff-Swallows, and counted
upwards of two hundred nests. But, alas! we have finally
met with an accident. A plate of one of our boilers was
found to be burned out, and we were obliged to stop on
the west side of the river, about ten miles below the mouth
of the Vermilion River. Here we were told that we might
go ashore and hunt to our hearts' content; and so I have,
but shot at nothing. Bell, Michaux, and I, walked to the
hills full three miles off, saw an extraordinary quantity of
Deer, Wolf, and Elk tracks, as well as some of Wild Cats.
Bell started a Deer, and after a while I heard him shoot.
Michaux took to the top of the hills, Bell about midway,
and I followed near the bottom; all in vain, however. I
started a Woodcock, and caught one of her young, and
I am now sorry for this evil deed. A dead Buffalo cow
and calf passed us a few moments ago. Squires has seen
one other, during our absence. We took at Mr. Cerré's
establishment two engagés and four Sioux Indians. We
are obliged to keep bright eyes upon them, for they are
singularly light-fingered. The woods are filled with wild-gooseberry
bushes, and a kind of small locust not yet in
bloom, and quite new to me. The honey bee was not
found in this country twenty years ago, and now they are
abundant. A keel-boat passed, going down, but on the
opposite side of the river. Bell and Michaux have returned.
Bell wounded a large Wolf, and also a young
Deer, but brought none on board, though he saw several
of the latter. Harris killed one of the large new Finches,
and a Yellow-headed Troupial. Bell intends going hunting
to-morrow at daylight, with Michaux; I will try my
luck too, but do not intend going till after breakfast,
for I find that walking eight or ten miles through the
tangled and thorny underbrush, fatigues me considerably,
though twenty years ago I should have thought nothing
of it.
May 17, Wednesday. This was a most lovely morning.
Bell went off with Michaux at four a. m. I breakfasted at
five, and started with Mr. La Barge. When we reached the
hunting-grounds, about six miles distant, we saw Bell
making signs to us to go to him, and I knew from that
that they had some fresh meat. When we reached them,
we found a very large Deer that Michaux had killed.
Squires shot a Woodcock, which I ate for my dinner, in
company with the captain. Michaux had brought the
Deer — Indian fashion — about two miles. I was anxious
to examine some of the intestines, and we all three started
on the tracks of Michaux, leaving Squires to keep the
Wolves away from the dead Deer. We went at once
towards a small stream meandering at the foot of the hills,
and as we followed it, Bell shot at a Turkey-cock about
eighty yards; his ball cut a streak of feathers from its
back, but the gobbler went off. When we approached
the spot where Michaux had opened the Deer, we did so
cautiously, in the hope of then shooting a Wolf, but none
had come; we therefore made our observations, and took
up the tongue, which had been forgotten. Bell joined us,
and as we were returning to Squires we saw flocks of
the Chestnut-collared Lark or Ground-finch, whose exact
measurement I have here given, and almost at the same
time saw Harris. He and Bell went off after the Finches;
we pursued our course to Squires, and waited for their
return. Seeing no men to help carry the Deer, Michaux
picked it up, Squires took his gun, etc., and we made
for the river again. We had the good luck to meet
the barge coming, and we reached our boat easily in a
few minutes, with our game. I saw upwards of twelve
of Harris' new Finch (?) a Marsh Hawk, Henslow's Bunting,
Emberiza pallida, Robins, Wood Thrushes, Bluebirds,
Ravens, the same abundance of House Wrens, and all the
birds already enumerated. We have seen floating eight
Buffaloes, one Antelope, and one Deer; how great the
destruction of these animals must be during high freshets!
The cause of their being drowned in such extraordinary
numbers might not astonish one acquainted with the habits
of these animals, but to one who is not, it may be well
enough for me to describe it. Some few hundred miles
above us, the river becomes confined between high bluffs
or cliffs, many of which are nearly perpendicular, and therefore
extremely difficult to ascend. When the Buffaloes
have leaped or tumbled down from either side of the
stream, they swim with ease across, but on reaching these
walls, as it were, the poor animals try in vain to climb
them, and becoming exhausted by falling back some
dozens of times, give up the ghost, and float down the
turbid stream; their bodies have been known to pass,
swollen and putrid, the city of St. Louis. The most extraordinary
part of the history of these drowned Buffaloes
is, that the different tribes of Indians on the shores, are
ever on the lookout for them, and no matter how putrid
their flesh may be, provided the hump proves at all fat,
they swim to them, drag them on shore, and cut them to
pieces; after which they cook and eat this loathsome and
abominable flesh, even to the marrow found in the bones.
In some instances this has been done when the whole of
the hair had fallen off, from the rottenness of the Buffalo.
Ah! Mr. Catlin, I am now sorry to see and to read your
accounts of the Indians you saw[286] — how very different
they must have been from any that I have seen! Whilst
we were on the top of the high hills which we climbed this
morning, and looked towards the valley beneath us, including
the river, we were undetermined as to whether we
saw as much land dry as land overflowed; the immense
flat prairie on the east side of the river looked not unlike a
lake of great expanse, and immediately beneath us the last
freshet had left upwards of perhaps two or three hundred
acres covered by water, with numbers of water fowl on it,
but so difficult of access as to render our wishes to kill
Ducks quite out of the question. From the tops of the
hills we saw only a continual succession of other lakes, of
the same form and nature; and although the soil was of a
fair, or even good, quality, the grass grew in tufts, separated
from each other, and as it grows green in one spot, it dies
and turns brown in another. We saw here no "carpeted
prairies," no "velvety distant landscape;" and if these
things are to be seen, why, the sooner we reach them the
better. This afternoon I took the old nest of a Vireo,
fully three feet above my head, filled with dried mud; it
was attached to two small prongs issuing from a branch
fully the size of my arm; this proves how high the water
must have risen. Again, we saw large trees of which the
bark had been torn off by the rubbing or cutting of the
ice, as high as my shoulder. This is accounted for as
follows: during the first breaking up of the ice, it at
times accumulates, so as to form a complete dam across
the river; and when this suddenly gives way by the heat
of the atmosphere, and the great pressure of the waters
above the dam, the whole rushes on suddenly and overflows
the country around, hurling the ice against any trees
in its course. Sprague has shot two Emberiza pallida,
two Lincoln's Finches, and a Black and Yellow Warbler,
Sylvicola [Dendrœca] maculosa. One of our trappers,
who had gone to the hills, brought on board two Rattlesnakes
of a kind which neither Harris nor myself had seen
before. The four Indians we have on board are three
Puncas[287] and one Sioux; the Puncas were formerly attached
to the Omahas; but, having had some difficulties
among themselves, they retired further up the river, and
assumed this new name. The Omahas reside altogether
on the west side of the Missouri. Three of the Puncas
have walked off to the establishment of Mr. Cerré to procure
moccasins, but will return to-night. They appear
to be very poor, and with much greater appetites than
friend Catlin describes them to have. Our men are
stupid, and very superstitious; they believe the rattles of
Snakes are a perfect cure for the headache; also, that
they never die till after sunset, etc. We have discovered
the female of Harris's Finch, which, as well as in
the White-crowned Finch, resembles the male almost
entirely; it is only a very little paler in its markings. I
am truly proud to name it Fringilla Harrisii, in honor
of one of the best friends I have in this world.
May 18, Thursday. Our good captain called us all up
at a quarter before four this fair morning, to tell us that
four barges had arrived from Fort Pierre, and that we
might write a few letters, which Mr. Laidlaw,[288] one of the
partners, would take to St. Louis for us. I was introduced
to that gentleman and also to Major Dripps,[289] the
Indian agent. I wrote four short letters, which I put in
an envelope addressed to the Messieurs Chouteau & Co.,
of St. Louis, who will post them, and we have hopes that
some may reach their destination. The names of these
four boats are "War Eagle," "White Cloud," "Crow
feather," and "Red-fish." We went on board one of
them, and found it comfortable enough. They had ten
thousand Buffalo robes on the four boats; the men live
entirely on Buffalo meat and pemmican. They told us that
about a hundred miles above us the Buffalo were by thousands,
that the prairies were covered with dead calves,
and the shores lined with dead of all sorts; that Antelopes
were there also, and a great number of Wolves, etc.;
therefore we shall see them after a while. Mr. Laidlaw
told me that he would be back at Fort Pierre in two
months, and would see us on our return. He is a true
Scot, and apparently a clean one. We gave them six
bottles of whiskey, for which they were very thankful;
they gave us dried Buffalo meat, and three pairs of moccasins.
They breakfasted with us, preferring salt meat
to fresh venison. They departed soon after six o'clock,
and proceeded rapidly down-stream in Indian file. These
boats are strong and broad; the tops, or roofs, are supported
by bent branches of trees, and these are covered
by water-proof Buffalo hides; each has four oarsmen and
a steersman, who manages the boat standing on a broad
board; the helm is about ten feet long, and the rudder
itself is five or six feet long. They row constantly for
sixteen hours, and stop regularly at sundown; they, unfortunately
for us, spent the night about two miles above
us, for had we known of their immediate proximity we
should have had the whole of the night granted for writing
long, long letters. Our prospect of starting to-day
is somewhat doubtful, as the hammering at the boilers
still reaches my ears. The day is bright and calm.
Mr. Laidlaw told us that on the 5th of May the snow
fell two feet on the level, and destroyed thousands
of Buffalo calves. We felt the same storm whilst we
were fast on the bar above Fort Leavenworth. This has
been a day of almost pure idleness; our tramps of yesterday
and the day previous had tired me, and with
the exception of shooting at marks, and Sprague killing
one of Bell's Vireo, and a Least Pewee, as well as
another female of Harris's Finch, we have done nothing.
Bell this evening went off to look for Bats, but saw
none.
May 19, Friday. This has been a beautiful, but a very
dull day to us all. We started by moonlight at three this
morning, and although we have been running constantly,
we took the wrong channel twice, and thereby lost much
of our precious time; so I look upon this day's travel as
a very poor one. The river was in several places inexpressibly
wide and shallow. We saw a Deer of the common
kind swimming across the stream; but few birds
were killed, although we stopped (unfortunately) three
times for wood. I forgot to say yesterday two things
which I should have related, one of which is of a dismal
and very disagreeable nature, being no less than the account
given us of the clerks of the Company having killed
one of the chiefs of the Blackfeet tribe of Indians, at the
upper settlement of the Company, at the foot of the great
falls of the Missouri, and therefore at the base of the
Rocky Mountains, and Mr. Laidlaw assured us that it
would be extremely dangerous for us to go that far towards
these Indians. The other thing is that Mr. Laidlaw
brought down a daughter of his, a half-breed of course,
whom he is taking to St. Louis to be educated. We saw
another Deer crossing the river, and have shot only a few
birds, of no consequence.
May 20, Saturday. We have not made much progress
this day, for the wind rose early, and rather ahead. We
have passed to-day Jacques River,[290] or, as I should call it,
La Rivière à Jacques, named after a man who some twenty
or more years ago settled upon its banks, and made some
money by collecting Beavers, etc., but who is dead and
gone. Three White Wolves were seen this morning, and
after a while we saw a fourth, of the brindled kind, which
was trotting leisurely on, about 150 yards distant from
the bank, where he had probably been feeding on some
carrion or other. A shot from a rifle was quite enough
to make him turn off up the river again, but farther from
us, at a full gallop; after a time he stopped again, when
the noise of our steam pipe started him, and we soon lost
sight of him in the bushes. We saw three Deer in the
flat of one of the prairies, and just before our dinner we
saw, rather indistinctly, a number of Buffaloes, making
their way across the hills about two miles distant; after
which, however, we saw their heavy tracks in a well and
deep cut line across the said hills. Therefore we are now
in what is pronounced to be the "Buffalo country," and
may expect to see more of these animals to-morrow. We
have stopped for wood no less than three times this day,
and are fast for the night. Sprague killed a Pipilo arcticus,
and Bell three others of the same species. We procured
also another Bat, the Vespertilio subulatus of Say,
and this is all. The country around us has materially
changed, and we now see more naked, and to my eyes
more completely denuded, hills about us, and less of the
rich bottoms of alluvial land, than we passed below our
present situation. I will not anticipate the future by all
that we hear of the country above, but will continue
steadily to accumulate in this, my poor journal, all that
may take place from day to day. Three of our Indian
rascals left us at our last wooding-ground, and have gone
towards their miserable village. We have now only one
Sioux with us, who will, the captain says, go to Fort
Pierre in our company. They are, all that we have had
as yet, a thieving and dirty set, covered with vermin.
We still see a great number of Black-headed Gulls, but I
think fewer Geese and Ducks than below; this probably
on account of the very swampy prairie we have seen, and
which appears to become scarce as we are advancing in
this strange wilderness.
May 21, Sunday. We have had a great deal that interested
us all this day. In the first place we have passed
no less than five of what are called rivers, and their
names are as follows:[291] Manuel, Basil, L'Eau qui Court,
Ponca Creek, and Chouteau's River, all of which are indifferent
streams of no magnitude, except the swift-flowing
L'Eau qui Court,[292] which in some places is fully as broad
as the Missouri itself, fully as muddy, filled with quicksands,
and so remarkably shallow that in the autumn its
navigation is very difficult indeed. We have seen this
day about fifty Buffaloes; two which we saw had taken
to the river, with intent to swim across it, but on the approach
of our thundering, noisy vessel, turned about and
after struggling for a few minutes, did make out to reach
the top of the bank, after which they travelled at a moderate
gait for some hundreds of yards; then, perhaps smelling
or seeing the steamboat, they went off at a good
though not very fast gallop, on the prairie by our side,
and were soon somewhat ahead of us; they stopped once
or twice, again resumed their gallop, and after a few
diversions in their course, made to the hill-tops and disappeared
altogether. We stopped to wood at a very propitious
place indeed, for it was no less than the fort put
up some years ago by Monsieur Le Clerc. Finding no
one at the spot, we went to work cutting the pickets off
his fortifications till we were loaded with the very best
of dry wood. After we left that spot, were found several
Pipilo arcticus which were shot, as well as a Say's Flycatcher.
The wind rose pretty high, and after trying our
best to stem the current under very high cliffs, we were
landed on Poncas Island, where all of us excepting
Squires, who was asleep, went on shore to hunt, and to
shoot whatever we might find. It happened that this
island was well supplied with game; we saw many Deer,
and Bell killed a young Doe, which proved good as
fresh meat. Some twelve or fourteen of these animals
were seen, and Bell saw three Elks which he followed
across the island, also a Wolf in its hole, but did not
kill it. Sprague saw a Forked-tailed Hawk, too far off
to shoot at. We passed several dead Buffaloes near the
shore, on which the Ravens were feeding gloriously. The
Pipilo arcticus is now extremely abundant, and so is the
House Wren, Yellow-breasted Chat, etc. We have seen
this day Black-headed Gulls, Sandpipers, and Ducks, and
now I am going to rest, for after my long walk through
the deep mud to reach the ridge on the islands, I feel
somewhat wearied and fatigued. Three Antelopes were
seen this evening.
May 22, Monday. We started as early as usual, i. e.,
at half-past three; the weather was fine. We breakfasted
before six, and immediately after saw two Wild Cats of
the common kind; we saw them running for some hundreds
of yards. We also saw several large Wolves, noticing
particularly one pure white, that stood and looked at
us for some time. Their movements are precisely those
of the common cur dog. We have seen five or six this
day. We began seeing Buffaloes again in small gangs,
but this afternoon and evening we have seen a goodly
number, probably more than a hundred. We also saw
fifteen or twenty Antelopes. I saw ten at once, and it
was beautiful to see them running from the top of a high
hill down to its base, after which they went round the
same hill, and were lost to us. We have landed three
times to cut wood, and are now busy at it on Cedar
Island.[293] At both the previous islands we saw an immense
number of Buffalo tracks, more, indeed, than I
had anticipated. The whole of the prairies as well as
the hills have been so trampled by them that I should
have considered it quite unsafe for a man to travel on
horseback. The ground was literally covered with their
tracks, and also with bunches of hair, while the bushes
and the trunks of the trees, between which they had
passed, were hanging with the latter substance. I collected
some, and intend to carry a good deal home. We
found here an abundance of what is called the White Apple,[294]
but which is anything else but an apple. The fruit
grows under the ground about six inches; it is about the
size of a hen's egg, covered with a woody, hard pellicle, a
sixteenth of an inch thick, from which the fruit can be
drawn without much difficulty; this is quite white; the
exterior is a dirty, dark brown. The roots are woody.
The flowers were not in bloom, but I perceived that the
leaves are ovate, and attached in fives. This plant is collected
in great quantities by the Indians at this season
and during the whole summer, and put to dry, which renders
it as hard as wood; it is then pounded fine, and
makes an excellent kind of mush, upon which the Indians
feed greedily. I will take some home. We found pieces
of crystallized gypsum; we saw Meadow Larks whose
songs and single notes are quite different from those of
the Eastern States; we have not yet been able to kill one
to decide if new or not.[295] We have seen the Arkansas Flycatcher,
Sparrow-hawks, Geese, etc. The country grows
poorer as we ascend; the bluffs exhibit oxide of iron,
sulphur, and also magnesia. We have made a good day's
run, though the wind blew rather fresh from the northwest.
Harris shot a Marsh Hawk, Sprague a Night-hawk,
and some small birds, and I saw Martins breeding
in Woodpeckers' holes in high and large cotton-trees.
We passed the "Grand Town"[296] very early this morning;
I did not see it, however. Could we have remained on
shore at several places that we passed, we should have
made havoc with the Buffaloes, no doubt; but we shall
have enough of that sport ere long. They all look
extremely poor and shabby; we see them sporting among
themselves, butting and tearing up the earth, and when
at a gallop they throw up the dust behind them. We
saw their tracks all along both shores; where they have
landed and are unable to get up the steep cliffs, they
follow along the margin till they reach a ravine, and then
make their way to the hills, and again to the valleys;
they also have roads to return to the river to drink. They
appear at this season more on the west side of the Missouri.
The Elks, on the contrary, are found on the
islands and low bottoms, well covered with timber; the
common Deer is found indifferently everywhere. All the
Antelopes we have seen were on the west side. After we
had left our first landing-place a few miles, we observed
some seven or eight Indians looking at us, and again retiring
to the woods, as if to cover themselves; when we
came nearly opposite them, however, they all came to the
shore, and made signs to induce us to land. The boat
did not stop for their pleasure, and after we had fairly
passed them they began firing at us, not with blank cartridges,
but with well-directed rifle-balls, several of which
struck the "Omega" in different places. I was standing
at that moment by one of the chimneys, and saw a
ball strike the water a few feet beyond our bows; and
Michaux, the hunter, heard its passing within a few inches
of his head. A Scotchman, who was asleep below, was
awakened and greatly frightened by hearing a ball pass
through the partition, cutting the lower part of his pantaloons,
and deadening itself against a trunk. Fortunately
no one was hurt. Those rascals were attached to a war
party, and belong to the Santee tribes which range across
the country from the Mississippi to the Missouri. I will
make no comment upon their conduct, but I have two of
the balls that struck our boat; it seems to be a wonder
that not one person was injured, standing on deck as we
were to the number of a hundred or more. We have not
seen Parrakeets or Squirrels for several days; Partridges
have also deserted us, as well as Rabbits; we have seen
Barn Swallows, but no more Rough-winged. We have
yet plenty of Red-headed Woodpeckers. Our captain
has just sent out four hunters this evening, who are to
hunt early to-morrow morning, and will meet the boat
some distance above; Squires has gone with them. How
I wish I were twenty-five years younger! I should like
such a tramp greatly; but I do not think it prudent now
for me to sleep on the ground when I can help it, while
it is so damp.
May 23, Tuesday. The wind blew from the south this
morning and rather stiffly. We rose early, and walked
about this famous Cedar Island, where we stopped to cut
large red cedars [Juniperus virginianus] for one and a
half hours; we started at half-past five, breakfasted rather
before six, and were on the lookout for our hunters.
Hunters! Only two of them had ever been on a Buffalo
hunt before. One was lost almost in sight of the river.
They only walked two or three miles, and camped. Poor
Squires' first experience was a very rough one; for, although
they made a good fire at first, it never was tended
afterwards, and his pillow was formed of a buck's horn
accidentally picked up near the place. Our Sioux Indian
helped himself to another, and they all felt chilly and
damp. They had forgotten to take any spirits with them,
and their condition was miserable. As the orb of day
rose as red as blood, the party started, each taking a different
direction. But the wind was unfavorable; it blew
up, not down the river, and the Buffaloes, Wolves, Antelopes,
and indeed every animal possessed of the sense of
smell, had scent of them in time to avoid them. There
happened however to be attached to this party two good
and true men, that may be called hunters. One was
Michaux; the other a friend of his, whose name I do not
know. It happened, by hook or by crook, that these two
managed to kill four Buffaloes; but one of them was
drowned, as it took to the river after being shot. Only
a few pieces from a young bull, and its tongue, were
brought on board, most of the men being too lazy, or too
far off, to cut out even the tongues of the others; and
thus it is that thousands multiplied by thousands of Buffaloes
are murdered in senseless play, and their enormous
carcasses are suffered to be the prey of the Wolf, the
Raven and the Buzzard. However, the hunters all returned
safely to the boat, and we took them in, some
tired enough, among whom was friend Squires. He had
worn out his moccasins, and his feet were sore, blistered,
and swollen; he was thirsty enough too, for in taking a
drink he had gone to a beautiful clear spring that unfortunately
proved to be one of magnesia, which is common
enough in this part of our country, and this much increased
his thirst. He drank four tumblers of water first,
then a glass of grog, ate somewhat of a breakfast, and
went to bed, whence I called him a few minutes before
dinner. However, he saw some Buffaloes, and had hopes
of shooting one, also about twenty Antelopes. Michaux
saw two very large White Wolves. At the place where
we decided to take the fatigued party in, we stopped to
cut down a few dead cedars, and Harris shot a common
Rabbit and one Lark Finch. Bell and Sprague saw
several Meadow-larks, which I trust will prove new, as
these birds have quite different notes and songs from
those of our eastern birds. They brought a curious
cactus, some handsome well-scented dwarf peas, and
several other plants unknown to me. On the island
I found abundance of dwarf wild-cherry bushes in full
blossom, and we have placed all these plants in press.
We had the misfortune to get aground whilst at dinner,
and are now fast till to-morrow morning; for all our
efforts to get the boat off, and they have been many, have
proved ineffectual. It is a bad spot, for we are nearly
halfway from either shore. I continued my long letter
for home, and wrote the greatest portion of another long
one to John Bachman. I intend to write till a late hour
this night, as perchance we may reach Fort Pierre early
next week.
May 24,[297] Wednesday. We remained on the said bar till
four this afternoon. The wind blew hard all day. A
boat from Fort Pierre containing two men passed us,
bound for Fort Vermilion; one of them was Mr. Charity,
one of the Company's associate traders. The boat was
somewhat of a curiosity, being built in the form of a
scow; but instead of being made of wood, had only a
frame, covered with Buffalo skins with the hair on. They
had been nine days coming 150 miles, detained every day,
more or less, by Indians. Mr. Charity gave me some
leather prepared for moccasins — for a consideration, of
course. We have seen Buffaloes, etc., but the most important
animal to us was one of Townsend's Hare.[298] We
shot four Meadow-larks [Sturnella neglecta] that have, as
I said, other songs and notes than ours, but could not
establish them as new. We procured a Red-shafted
Woodpecker, two Sparrow-hawks, two Arkansas Flycatchers,
a Blue Grosbeak, saw Say's Flycatcher, etc.
I went on shore with Harris's small double-barrelled
gun, and the first shot I had was pretty near killing me;
the cone blew off, and passed so near my ear that I was
stunned, and fell down as if shot, and afterwards I was
obliged to lie down for several minutes. I returned on
board, glad indeed that the accident was no greater. We
passed this afternoon bluffs of sulphur, almost pure to
look at, and a patch that has burnt for two years in succession.
Alum was found strewn on the shores. A
toad was brought, supposed to be new by Harris and
Bell. We landed for the night on an island so thick
with underbrush that it was no easy matter to walk
through; perhaps a hundred Buffalo calves were dead in
it, and the smell was not pleasant, as you may imagine.
The boat of Mr. Charity went off when we reached the
shore, after having escaped from the bar. We have
seen more White Wolves this day, and few Antelopes.
The whole country is trodden down by the heavy Buffaloes,
and this renders the walking both fatiguing and
somewhat dangerous. The garlic of this country has
a red blossom, otherwise it looks much like ours; when
Buffalo have fed for some time on this rank weed, their
flesh cannot be eaten.
|
FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNAL. REDUCED ONE THIRD.
|
May 25, Thursday. The weather looked cloudy, and
promised much rain when we rose this morning at five
o'clock; our men kept busy cutting and bringing wood
until six, when the "Omega" got under way. It began
raining very soon afterwards and it has continued to this
present moment. The dampness brought on a chilliness
that made us have fires in each of the great cabins.
Michaux brought me two specimens of Neotoma floridana,
so young that their eyes were not open. The nest was
found in the hollow of a tree cut down for firewood. Two
or three miles above us, we saw three Mackinaw barges
on the shore, just such as I have described before; all
these belonged to the (so-called) Opposition Company of
C. Bolton, Fox, Livingstone & Co., of New York, and
therefore we passed them without stopping; but we had
to follow their example a few hundred yards above them,
for we had to stop also; and then some of the men came
on board, to see and talk to their old acquaintances among
our extraordinary and motley crew of trappers and engagés.
On the roofs of the barges lay much Buffalo meat, and on
the island we left this morning probably some hundreds
of these poor animals, mostly young calves, were found
dead at every few steps; and since then we have passed
many dead as well as many groups of living. In one
place we saw a large gang swimming across the river;
they fortunately reached a bank through which they cut
their way towards the hills, and marched slowly and
steadily on, paying no attention to our boat, as this was
far to the lee of them. At another place on the west
bank, we saw eight or ten, or perhaps more, Antelopes
or Deer of some kind or other, but could not decide
whether they were the one or the other. These animals
were all lying down, which would be contrary to the general
habit of our common Deer, which never lie down during
rain, that I am aware of. We have had an extremely
dull day of it, as one could hardly venture out of the
cabin for pleasure. We met with several difficulties
among sand-bars. At three o'clock we passed the entrance
into the stream known as White River;[299] half an
hour ago we were obliged to land, and send the yawl to
try for the channel, but we are now again on our way, and
have still the hope of reaching Great Cedar Island[300] this
evening, where we must stop to cut wood. — Later. Our
attempt to reach the island I fear will prove abortive, as
we are once more at a standstill for want of deeper water,
and the yawl has again gone ahead to feel for a channel.
Within the last mile or so, we must have passed upwards
of a hundred drowned young Buffalo calves, and many
large ones. I will await the moment when we must
make fast somewhere, as it is now past eight o'clock.
The rain has ceased, and the weather has the appearance
of a better day to-morrow, overhead at least. Now it is
after nine o'clock; we are fastened to the shore, and I
will, for the first time since I left St. Louis, sleep in my
cabin, and between sheets.
May 26, Friday. The weather was fine, but we moved
extremely slowly, not having made more than ten miles
by twelve o'clock. The captain arranged all his papers
for Fort Pierre. Three of the best walkers, well acquainted
with the road, were picked from among our singularly
mixed crew of engagés, and were put ashore at Big
Bend Creek, on the banks of a high cliff on the western
side; they ascended through a ravine, and soon were out
of sight. We had stopped previously to cut wood, where
our men had to lug it fully a quarter of a mile. We
ourselves landed of course, but found the prairie so completely
trodden by Buffaloes that it was next to impossible
to walk. Notwithstanding this, however, a few
birds were procured. The boat continued on with much
difficulty, being often stopped for the want of water. At
one place we counted over a hundred dead Buffalo calves;
we saw a great number, however, that did reach the top
of the bank, and proceeded to feeding at once. We saw
one animal, quite alone, wading and swimming alternately,
till it had nearly crossed the river, when for reasons
unknown to us, and when only about fifty yards from
the land, it suddenly turned about, and swam and waded
back to the western side, whence it had originally come;
this fellow moved through the water as represented in
this very imperfect sketch, which I have placed here, and
with his tail forming nearly half a circle by its erection
during the time he swam. It was mired on several occasions
while passing from one shoal or sand-bar to another.
It walked, trotted, or galloped, while on the solid
beach, and ultimately, by swimming a few hundred yards,
returned to the side from whence it had started, though
fully half a mile below the exact spot. There now was
heard on board some talk about the Great Bend, and the
captain asked me whether I would like to go off and
camp, and await his arrival on the other side to-morrow.
I assured him that nothing would give us more pleasure,
and he gave us three stout young men to go with us to
carry our blankets, provisions, etc., and to act as guides
and hunters. All was ready by about five of the afternoon,
when Harris, Bell, Sprague, and I, as well as the
three men, were put ashore; and off we went at a brisk
walk across a beautiful, level prairie, whereon in sundry
directions we could see small groups of Buffaloes, grazing
at leisure. Proceeding along, we saw a great number of
Cactus, some Bartram Sandpipers, and a Long-billed Curlew.
Presently we observed a village of prairie Marmots,
Arctomys [Cynomys] ludovicianus, and two or three of our
party diverged at once to pay them their respects. The
mounds which I passed were very low indeed; the holes
were opened, but I saw not one of the owners. Harris,
Bell, and Michaux, I believe, shot at some of them, but
killed none, and we proceeded on, being somewhat anxious
to pitch our camp for the night before dark. Presently we
reached the hills and were surprised at their composition;
the surface looked as if closely covered with small broken
particles of coal, whilst the soil was of such greasy or
soapy nature, that it was both painful and fatiguing to
ascend them. Our guides assured us that such places
were never in any other condition, or as they expressed
it, were "never dry." Whilst travelling about these remarkable
hills, Sprague saw one of Townsend's Hare, and
we started the first and only Prairie Hen we have seen
since our departure from St. Louis. Gradually we rose
on to the very uppermost crest of the hills we had to
cross, and whilst reposing ourselves for some minutes we
had the gratification of seeing around us one of the great
panoramas this remarkable portion of our country affords.
There was a vast extent of country beneath and around us.
Westward rose the famous Medicine Hill, and in the opposite
direction were the wanderings of the Missouri for
many miles, and from the distance we were then from it,
the river appeared as if a small, very circuitous streamlet.
The Great Bend was all in full view, and its course almost
resembled that of a chemist's retort, being formed somewhat
like the scratch of my pen thus: —
The
walk from our landing
crossing the prairies was
quite four miles, whilst the
distance by water is computed
to be twenty-six. From the
pinnacle we stood on, we
could see the movements of
our boat quite well, and whilst the men were employed cutting
wood for her engines, we could almost count every
stroke of their axes, though fully two miles distant, as the
crow flies. As we advanced we soon found ourselves on
the ridges leading us across the Bend, and plainly saw that
we were descending towards the Missouri once more.
Chemin faisant, we saw four Black-tailed Deer, a shot at
which Michaux or Bell, who were in advance, might perhaps
have had, had not Harris and Sprague taken a route
across the declivity before them, and being observed by
these keen-sighted animals, the whole made off at once.
I had no fair opportunity of witnessing their movements;
but they looked swiftness itself, combined with grace.
They were not followed, and we reached the river at a spot
which evidently had been previously camped on by Indians;
here we made our minds up to stop at once, and arrange for
the night, which now promised to be none of the fairest.
One man remained with us to prepare the camp, whilst
Michaux and the others started in search of game, as if
blood-hounds. Meantime we lighted a large and glowing
fire, and began preparing some supper. In less than half
an hour Michaux was seen to return with a load on his back,
which proved to be a fine young buck of the Black-tailed
Deer. This produced animation at once. I examined it
carefully, and Harris and Sprague returned promptly from
the point to which they had gone. The darkness of the
night, contrasting with the vivid glare of our fire, which
threw a bright light on the skinning of the Deer, and was
reflected on the trunks and branches of the cottonwood
trees, six of them in one clump, almost arising from the
same root, gave such superb effect that I retired some
few steps to enjoy the truly fine picture. Some were
arranging their rough couches, whilst others were engaged
in carrying wood to support our fire through the
night; some brought water from the great, muddy stream,
and others were busily at work sharpening long sticks for
skewers, from which large pieces of venison were soon
seen dropping their rich juices upon the brightest of embers.
The very sight of this sharpened our appetites, and
it must have been laughable to see how all of us fell to,
and ate of this first-killed Black-tailed Deer. After a
hearty meal we went to sleep, one and all, under the protection
of God, and not much afraid of Indians, of whom
we have not seen a specimen since we had the pleasure of
being fired on by the Santees. We slept very well for a
while, till it began to sprinkle rain; but it was only a
very slight shower, and I did not even attempt to shelter
myself from it. Our fires were mended several times by
one or another of the party, and the short night passed
on, refreshing us all as only men can be refreshed by
sleep under the sky, breathing the purest of air, and
happy as only a clear conscience can make one.
|
VIEW ON THE MISSOURI RIVER, ABOVE GREAT BEND. FROM A WATER-COLOR DRAWING BY ISAAC SPRAGUE.
|
May 27, Saturday. At half-past three this morning my
ears were saluted by the delightful song of the Red Thrush,
who kept on with his strains until we were all up. Harris
and Bell went off, and as soon as the two hunters had
cleaned their rifles they followed. I remained in camp
with Sprague for a while; the best portions of the Deer,
i. e., the liver, kidneys, and tongue, were cooked for
breakfast, which all enjoyed. No Wolves had disturbed
our slumbers, and we now started in search of quadrupeds,
birds, and adventures. We found several plants,
all new to me, and which are now in press. All the
ravines which we inspected were well covered by cedars of
the red variety, and whilst ascending several of the hills
we found them in many parts partially gliding down as if
by the sudden effects of very heavy rain. We saw two
very beautiful Avocets [Recurvirostra americana] feeding
opposite our camp; we saw also a Hawk nearly resembling
what is called Cooper's Hawk, but having a white
rump. Bell joined the hunters and saw some thousands
of Buffalo; and finding a very large bull within some thirty
yards of them, they put in his body three large balls.
The poor beast went off, however, and is now, in all probability,
dead. Many fossil remains have been found on
the hills about us, but we saw none. These hills are composed
of limestone rocks, covered with much shale. Harris
thinks this is a different formation from that of either
St. Louis or Belle Vue — but, alas! we are not much of
geologists. We shot only one of Say's Flycatcher, and
the Finch we have called Emberiza pallida,[301] but of which
I am by no means certain, for want of more exact descriptions
than those of a mere synopsis. Our boat made its
appearance at two o'clock; we had observed from the
hill-tops that it had been aground twice. At three our
camp was broken up, our effects removed, our fire left
burning, and our boat having landed for us, and for cutting
cedar trees, we got on board, highly pleased with our camping
out, especially as we found all well on board. We had
not proceeded very far when the difficulties of navigation
increased so much that we grounded several times, and
presently saw a few Indians on the shore; our yawl was
out sounding for a passage amid the many sand-bars in
view; the Indians fired, not balls, but a salute, to call us
ashore. We neared shore, and talked to them; for, they
proving to be Sioux, and our captain being a good scholar
in that tongue, there was no difficulty in so doing. He
told them to follow us, and that he would come-to. They
ran to their horses on the prairie, all of which stood still,
and were good-looking, comparatively speaking, leaped on
their backs without saddles or stirrups, and followed us
with ease at a walk. They fired a second salute as we
landed; there were only four of them, and they are all at
this moment on board. They are fine-looking fellows;
the captain introduced Harris and me to the chief, and we
shook hands all round. They are a poor set of beggars
after all. The captain gave them supper, sugar and
coffee, and about one pound of gunpowder, and the chief
coolly said: "What is the use of powder, without balls?"
It is quite surprising that these Indians did not see us
last night, for I have no doubt our fire could have been
seen up and down the river for nearly twenty miles.
But we are told their lodges are ten miles inland, and
that may answer the question. I shall not be sorry now
to go to bed. Our camp of the Six Trees is deserted and
silent. The captain is almost afraid he may be forced to
leave half his cargo somewhere near this, and proceed to
Fort Pierre, now distant fifty miles, and return for the
goods. The Indians saw nothing of the three men who
were sent yesterday to announce our approach to Fort
Pierre.
Sunday, May 28. This morning was beautiful, though
cool. Our visiting Indians left us at twelve last night, and
I was glad enough to be rid of these beggars by trade.
Both shores were dotted by groups of Buffaloes as far as
the eye could reach, and although many were near the
banks they kept on feeding quietly till we nearly approached
them; those at the distance of half a mile never
ceased their avocations. A Gray Wolf was seen swimming
across our bows, and some dozens of shots were sent at
the beast, which made it open its mouth and raise its head,
but it never stopped swimming away from us, as fast as
possible; after a while it reached a sand-bar, and immediately
afterwards first trotted, and then galloped off. Three
Buffaloes also crossed ahead of us, but at some distance;
they all reached the shore, and scrambled up the bank.
We have run better this morning than for three or four
days, and if fortunate enough may reach Fort Pierre sometime
to-morrow. The prairies appear better now, the
grass looks green, and probably the poor Buffaloes will
soon regain their flesh. We have seen more than 2,000
this morning up to this moment — twelve o'clock.
We reached Fort George[302] at about three this afternoon.
This is what is called the "Station of the Opposition
line;" some Indians and a few lodges are on the edge of
the prairie. Sundry bales of Buffalo robes were brought
on board, and Major Hamilton, who is now acting Indian
agent here until the return of Major Crisp, came on board
also. I knew his father thirty-five years ago. He pointed
out to us the cabin on the opposite shore,[303] where a partner
of the "Opposition line" shot at and killed two white
men and wounded two others, all of whom were remarkable
miscreants. We are about thirty miles below Fort
Pierre. Indians were seen on both sides the river, ready
to trade both here and at Fort Pierre, where I am told
there are five hundred lodges standing. The Indian dogs
which I saw here so very closely resemble wild Wolves,
that I feel assured that if I was to meet with one of them
in the woods, I should most assuredly kill it as such. A
few minutes after leaving Fort George, we stopped to
sound the channel, and could not discover more than
three and a half feet of water; our captain told us we
would proceed no farther this day, but would camp here.
Bell, Harris, and Sprague went off with guns; Squires
and I walked to Fort George, and soon met a young Englishman
going towards our boat on a "Buffalo Horse" at
a swift gallop; but on being hailed he reined up. His
name was Illingsworth; he is the present manager of this
establishment. He welcomed us, and as he was going to
see Captain Sire, we proceeded on. Upon reaching the
camp we found a strongly built log cabin, in one end of
which we met Mr. Cutting, who told me he had known
Victor [Audubon] in Cuba. This young gentleman had
been thrown from his horse in a recent Buffalo chase, and
had injured one foot so that he could not walk. A Buffalo
cow had hooked the horse and thrown the rider about
twenty feet, although the animal had not been wounded.
We also met here a Mr. Taylor, who showed me the petrified
head of a Beaver, which he supposed to be that of
a Wolf; but I showed him the difference in the form at
once. I saw two young Wolves about six weeks old, of
the common kind, alive. They looked well, but their
nature was already pretty apparently that of the parents.
I saw an abundance of semi-wolf Dogs, and their howlings
were distressing to my ear. We entered the lodge
of a trader attached to our company, a German, who is a
clever man, has considerable knowledge of botany, and
draws well. There were about fifteen lodges, and we saw
a greater number of squaws and half-breed children than
I had expected. But as every clerk and agent belonging
to the companies has "a wife," as it is called, a spurious
population soon exhibits itself around the wigwams. I
will not comment upon this here. We returned before
dark to our boat, and I am off to bed.
Monday, May 29. I was up early, and as soon as
breakfast was over, Major Hamilton and myself walked to
Fort George. We found the three gentlemen to whom I
showed the plate of quadrupeds, and afterwards I went to
their store to see skins of Wolves and of the Swift Fox.
I found a tolerably good Fox skin which was at once
given me; I saw what I was assured were two distinct
varieties (for I cannot call them species) of Wolves.
Both, however, considering the difference in size, were
old and young of the same variety. They both had the
top of the back dark gray, and the sides, belly, legs,
and tail, nearly white. When I have these two sorts
in the flesh, I may derive further knowledge. I looked
at the Indian Dogs again with much attention, and was
assured that there is much cross breeding between these
Dogs and Wolves, and that all the varieties actually come
from the same root.
Harris now joined us, and found he had met a brother
of Mr. Cutting in Europe. The gentlemen from the fort
came back to the boat with us; we gave them a luncheon,
and later a good substantial dinner, the like of which, so
they told us, they had not eaten for many a day. Mr.
Illingsworth told us much about Buffaloes; he says the
hunting is usually more or less dangerous. The Porcupine
is found hereabouts and feeds on the leaves and bark
as elsewhere, but not unfrequently retires into the crevices
of rocks, whenever no trees of large size are to be
found in its vicinity. Elks, at times, assemble in
groups of from fifty to two hundred, and their movements
are as regular as those of a flock of White Pelicans, so
that if the oldest Elk starts in any one direction, all the
rest follow at once in his tracks. Where he stops, they
all stop, and at times all will suddenly pause, range
themselves as if a company of dragoons, ready to charge
upon the enemy; which, however, they seldom if ever attempt.
After dinner Mr. Illingsworth told me he would
go and shoot a Buffalo calf for me — we will see. Bell,
Harris, Squires, and myself went off to shoot some Prairie-dogs,
as the Arctomys ludovicianus is called. After
walking over the hills for about one mile, we came to
the "village," and soon after heard their cries but not
their barkings. The sound they make is simply a "chip,
chip, chip," long and shrill enough, and at every cry the
animal jerks its tail, without however erecting it upright,
as I have seen them represented. Their holes are not
perpendicular, but oblique, at an angle of about forty
degrees, after which they seem to deviate; but whether
sideways or upwards, I cannot yet say. I shot at two of
them, which appeared to me to be standing, not across
their holes, but in front of them. The first one I never
saw after the shot; the second I found dying at the entrance
of the burrow, but at my appearance it worked
backwards. I drew my ramrod and put the end in its
mouth; this it bit hard but kept working backwards, and
notwithstanding my efforts, was soon out of sight and
touch. Bell saw two enter the same hole, and Harris
three. Bell saw some standing quite erect and leaping
in the air to see and watch our movements. I found,
by lying down within twenty or thirty steps of the hole,
that they reappeared in fifteen or twenty minutes. This
was the case with me when I shot at the two I have mentioned.
Harris saw one that, after coming out of its hole,
gave a long and somewhat whistling note, which he thinks
was one of invitation to its neighbors, as several came out
in a few moments. I have great doubts whether their
cries are issued at the appearance of danger or not. I am
of opinion that they are a mode of recognition as well
as of amusement. I also think they feed more at night
than in the day. On my return to the boat, I rounded
a small hill and started a Prairie Wolf within a few
steps of me. I was unfortunately loaded with No. 3 shot.
I pulled one trigger and then the other, but the rascal
went off as if unhurt for nearly a hundred yards, when he
stopped, shook himself rather violently, and I saw I had
hit him; but he ran off again at a very swift rate, his tail
down, stopped again, and again shook himself as before,
after which he ran out of my sight between the hills.
Buffalo cows at this season associate together, with their
calves, but if pursued, leave the latter to save themselves.
The hides at present are not worth saving, and the Indians
as well as the white hunters, when they shoot a Buffalo,
tear off the hide, cut out the better portions of the
flesh, as well as the tongue, and leave the carcass to the
Wolves and Ravens. By the way, Bell saw a Magpie
this day, and Harris killed two Black-headed Grosbeaks.
Bell also saw several Evening Grosbeaks to-day; therefore
there's not much need of crossing the Rocky Mountains
for the few precious birds that the talented and truth-speaking
Mr. — — brought or sent to the well-paying
Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia! The two
men sent to Fort Pierre a few days ago have returned,
one this evening, in a canoe, the other this afternoon, by
land.
May 30, Tuesday. We had a fine morning, and indeed
a very fair day. I was called up long before five to receive
a Buffalo calf, and the head of another, which Mr.
Illingsworth had the goodness to send me. Sprague has
been busy ever since breakfast drawing one of the heads,
the size of nature. The other entire calf has been
skinned, and will be in strong pickle before I go to bed.
Mr. Illingsworth killed two calves, one bull, and one cow.
The calves, though not more than about two months old,
as soon as the mother was wounded, rushed towards the
horse or the man who had struck her. The one bull
skinned was so nearly putrid, though so freshly killed,
that its carcass was thrown overboard. This gentleman,
as well as many others, assured us that the hunting of
Buffaloes, for persons unaccustomed to it, was very risky
indeed; and said no one should attempt it unless well
initiated, even though he may be a first-rate rider. When
calves are caught alive, by placing your hands over the
eyes and blowing into the nostrils, in the course of a few
minutes they will follow the man who performs this
simple operation. Indeed if a cow perchance leaves her
calf behind during a time of danger, or in the chase, the
calf will often await the approach of man and follow him
as soon as the operation mentioned is over. Mr. Illingsworth
paid us a short visit, and told us that Mr. Cutting
was writing to his post near Fort Union to expect us, and
to afford us all possible assistance. We made a start at
seven, and after laboring over the infernal sand-bars until
nearly four this afternoon, we passed them, actually cutting
our own channel with the assistance of the wheel.
Whilst we were at this, we were suddenly boarded by the
yawl of the "Trapper," containing Mr. Picotte, Mr. Chardon,
and several others. They had left Fort Pierre this
morning, and had come down in one hour and a half. We
were all duly presented to the whole group, and I gave to
each of these gentlemen the letters I had for them. I
found them very kind and affable. They dined after us,
being somewhat late, but ate heartily and drank the same.
They brought a first-rate hunter with them, of whom I
expect to have much to say hereafter. Mr. Picotte promised
me the largest pair of Elk horns ever seen in this
country, as well as several other curiosities, all of which
I will write about when I have them. We have reached
Antelope River,[304] a very small creek on the west side.
We saw two Wolves crossing the river, and Harris shot
a Lark Finch. We have now no difficulties before us,
and hope to reach Fort Pierre very early to-morrow
morning.
Fort Pierre,[305] May 31, Wednesday. After many difficulties
we reached this place at four o'clock this afternoon,
having spent the whole previous part of the day, say since
half-past three this morning, in coming against the innumerable
bars — only nine miles! I forgot to say last
evening, that where we landed for the night our captain
caught a fine specimen of Neotoma floridana, a female.
We were forced to come-to about a quarter of a mile
above Fort Pierre, after having passed the steamer "Trapper"
of our Company. Bell, Squires, and myself walked
to the Fort as soon as possible, and found Mr. Picotte and
Mr. Chardon there. More kindness from strangers I have
seldom received. I was presented with the largest pair
of Elk horns I ever saw, and also a skin of the animal
itself, most beautifully prepared, which I hope to give to
my beloved wife. I was also presented with two pairs of
moccasins, an Indian riding-whip, one collar of Grizzly
Bear's claws, and two long strings of dried white apples,
as well as two Indian dresses. I bought the skin of a
fine young Grizzly Bear, two Wolf skins, and a parcel
of fossil remains. I saw twelve young Buffalo calves,
caught a few weeks ago, and yet as wild, apparently, as
ever. Sprague will take outlines of them to-morrow
morning, and I shall draw them. We have put ashore
about one-half of our cargo and left fifty of our engagés,
so that we shall be able to go much faster, in less water
than we have hitherto drawn. We are all engaged in finishing
our correspondence, the whole of the letters being
about to be forwarded to St. Louis by the steamer "Trapper."
I have a letter of seven pages to W. G. Bakewell,
James Hall, J. W. H. Page, and Thomas M. Brewer,[306] of
Boston, besides those to my family. We are about one
and a half miles above the Teton River, or, as it is now
called, the Little Missouri,[307] a swift and tortuous stream
that finds its source about 250 miles from its union with
this great river, in what are called the Bad Lands of Teton
River, where it seems, from what we hear, that the country
has been at one period greatly convulsed, and is filled
with fossil remains. I saw the young Elk belonging to
our captain, looking exceedingly shabby, but with the
most beautiful eyes I ever beheld in any animal of the
Deer kind. We have shot nothing to-day. I have heard
all the notes of the Meadow Lark found here and they are
utterly different from those of our common species. And
now that I am pretty well fatigued with writing letters
and this journal, I will go to rest, though I have matter
enough in my poor head to write a book. We expect to
proceed onwards some time to-morrow.
June 1, Thursday. I was up at half-past three, and by
four Sprague and I walked to the Fort, for the purpose of
taking sketches of young Buffalo calves. These young
beasts grunt precisely like a hog, and I would defy any
person not seeing the animals to tell one sound from the
other. The calves were not out of the stable, and while
waiting I measured the Elk horns given me by Mr.
Picotte. They are as follows: length, 4 feet 6� inches;
breadth 27 to 27� inches; circumference at the skull 16
inches, round the knob 12 inches; between the knobs 3
inches. This animal, one of the largest ever seen in this
country, was killed in November last. From seventeen
to twenty-one poles are necessary to put up a lodge, and
the poles when the lodge is up are six or seven feet above
the top. The holes at the bottom, all round, suffice to indicate
the number of these wanted to tighten the lodge.
In time Sprague made several outline sketches of calves,
and I drew what I wished. We had breakfast very early,
and I ate some good bread and fresh butter. Mr. Picotte
presented me with two pipe-stems this morning, quite
short, but handsome. At eleven we were on our way,
and having crossed the river, came alongside of the
"Trapper," of which Mr. John Durack takes the command
to St. Louis. The name of our own captain is Joseph A.
Sire. Mr. Picotte gave me a letter for Fort Union, as Mr.
Culbertson will not be there when we arrive. One of
Captain Sire's daughters and her husband are going up
with us. She soled three pairs of moccasins for me, as
skilfully as an Indian. Bell and Harris shot several rare
birds. Mr. Bowie promised to save for me all the curiosities
he could procure; he came on board and saw the
plates of quadrupeds, and I gave him an almanac, which
he much desired.
After we had all returned on board, I was somewhat
surprised that Sprague asked me to let him return with
the "Omega" to St. Louis. Of course I told him that
he was at liberty to do so, though it will keep me grinding
about double as much as I expected. Had he said the
same at New York, I could have had any number of young
and good artists, who would have leaped for joy at the
very idea of accompanying such an expedition. Never
mind, however.
We have run well this afternoon, for we left Fort Pierre
at two o'clock, and we are now more than twenty-five
miles above it. We had a rascally Indian on board, who
hid himself for the purpose of murdering Mr. Chardon;
the latter gave him a thrashing last year for thieving, and
Indians never forget such things — he had sworn vengeance,
and that was enough. Mr. Chardon discovered
him below, armed with a knife; he talked to him pretty
freely, and then came up to ask the captain to put the
fellow ashore. This request was granted, and he and his
bundle were dropped overboard, where the water was
waist deep; the fellow scrambled out, and we heard, afterward,
made out to return to Fort Pierre. I had a long
talk with Sprague, who thought I was displeased with
him — a thing that never came into my head — and in all
probability he will remain with us. Harris shot a pair
of Arkansas Flycatchers, and Squires procured several
plants, new to us all. Harris wrote a few lines to Mr.
Sarpy at St. Louis, and I have had the pleasure to send
the Elk horns, and the great balls from the stomachs of
Buffalo given me by our good captain. I am extremely
fatigued, for we have been up since before daylight.
At 12 o'clock of the night. I have got up to scribble this,
which it is not strange that after all I saw this day, at
this curious place, I should have forgotten. Mr. Picotte
took me to the storehouse where the skins procured are
kept, and showed me eight or ten packages of White Hare
skins, which I feel assured are all of Townsend's Hare
of friend Bachman, as no other species are to be met with
in this neighborhood during the winter months, when
these animals migrate southward, both in search of food
and of a milder climate.
June 2, Friday. We made an extremely early start
about three a. m. The morning was beautiful and calm.
We passed Cheyenne River at half-past seven, and took
wood a few miles above it. Saw two White Pelicans,
shot a few birds. My hunter, Alexis Bombarde, whom
I have engaged, could not go shooting last night on account
of the crossing of this river, the Cheyenne, which
is quite a large stream. Mr. Chardon gave me full control
of Alexis, till we reach the Yellowstone. He is a
first-rate hunter, and powerfully built; he wears his hair
long about his head and shoulders, as I was wont to do;
but being a half-breed, his does not curl as mine did.
Whilst we are engaged cutting wood again, many of the
men have gone after a Buffalo, shot from the boat. We
have seen more Wolves this day than ever previously.
We saw where carcasses of Buffaloes had been quite devoured
by these animals, and the diversity of their colors
and of their size is more wonderful than all that can be
said of them. Alexis Bombarde, whom hereafter I shall
simply call Alexis, says that with a small-bored rifle
common size, good shot will kill any Wolf at sixty or
eighty yards' distance, as well as bullets. We passed one
Wolf that, crossing our bows, went under the wheel and
yet escaped, though several shots were fired at it. I had
a specimen of Arvicola pennsylvanicus[308] brought to me, and
I was glad to find this species so very far from New York.
These animals in confinement eat each other up, the
strongest one remaining, often maimed and covered with
blood. This I have seen, and I was glad to have it corroborated
by Bell. We are told the Buffalo cows are
generally best to eat in the month of July; the young
bulls are, however, tough at this season. Our men have
just returned with the whole of the Buffalo except its
head; it is a young bull, and may prove good. When
they reached it, it was standing, and Alexis shot at it
twice, to despatch it as soon as possible. It was skinned
and cut up in a very few minutes, and the whole of the
flesh was brought on board. I am now astonished at the
poverty of the bluffs which we pass; no more of the beautiful
limestone formations that we saw below. Instead of
those, we now run along banks of poor and crumbling
clay, dry and hard now, but after a rain soft and soapy.
Most of the cedars in the ravines, formerly fine and
thrifty, are now, generally speaking, dead and dried up.
Whether this may be the effect of the transitions of the
weather or not, I cannot pretend to assert. We have
seen more Wolves to-day than on any previous occasions.
We have made a good day's work of it also, for I dare say
that when we stop for the night, we shall have travelled
sixty miles. The water is rising somewhat, but not to
hurt our progress. We have seen young Gadwall Ducks,
and a pair of Geese that had young ones swimming out
of our sight.
June 3, Saturday. Alexis went off last night at eleven
o'clock, walked about fifteen miles, and returned at ten
this morning; he brought three Prairie Dogs, or, as I
call them, Prairie Marmots. The wind blew violently
till we had run several miles; at one period we were
near stopping. We have had many difficulties with
the sand-bars, having six or seven times taken the
wrong channel, and then having to drop back and try our
luck again. The three Marmots had been killed with shot
quite too large, and not one of them was fit for drawing,
or even skinning. Sprague and I have taken measurements
of all their parts, which I give at once. [Here
follow forty-two measurements, all external, of the male and
female.] I received no further intelligence about the
habits of this species, except that they are quite numerous
in every direction. We passed four rivers to-day; the
Little Chayenne,[309] the Moroe, the Grand, and the Rampart.
The Moroe is a handsome stream and, I am told,
has been formerly a good one for Beaver. It is navigable
for barges for a considerable distance. Just before dinner
we stopped to cut drift-wood on a sand-bar, and a Wolf was
seen upon it. Bell, Harris, and some one else went after
it. The wily rascal cut across the bar and, hiding itself
under the bank, ran round the point, and again stopped.
But Bell had returned towards the very spot, and the fellow
was seen swimming off, when Bell pulled the trigger
and shot it dead, in or near the head. The captain sent
the yawl after it, and it was brought on board. It was
tied round the neck and dipped in the river to wash it.
It smelled very strong, but I was heartily glad to have it
in my power to examine it closely, and to be enabled to
take very many measurements of this the first Wolf we
have actually procured. It was a male, but rather poor;
its general color a grayish yellow; its measurements are
as follows [omitted]. We saw one Goose with a gosling,
several Coots, Grebes, Blue Herons, Doves, Magpies, Red-shafted
Woodpeckers, etc. On a sand-bar Bell counted
ten Wolves feeding on some carcass. We also saw three
young whelps. This morning we saw a large number of
Black-headed Gulls feeding on a dead Buffalo with some
Ravens; the Gulls probably were feeding on the worms,
or other insects about the carcass. We saw four Elks,
and a large gang of Buffaloes. One Wolf was seen crossing
the river towards our boat; being fired at, it wheeled
round, but turned towards us again, again wheeled round,
and returned to where it had started. We ran this evening
till our wood was exhausted, and I do not know how
we will manage to-morrow. Good-night. God bless
you all.
|
INDIAN HATCHET-PIPE. Carried by Audubon during many of his journeys.
|
Source
Audubon, John J., and Maria R. Audubon.
Audubon and His Journals:
With Zoölogical and Other Notes by Elliott Coues. Ed. Maria R. Audubon and Elliot Coues. Vol. I. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1897. Archive.org. 03 July 2008. Web. 19 Apr. 2013. <http:// archive.org/ details/ audubon hisjourna 01audu>.
Prepared By
- Morgan Braswell
- Ethan Hilton
- Bruce R. Magee
- Braden Smith
- Conner Tobias
- Christopher Vallillo
Anthology of Louisiana
Literature