Audubon The Naturalist

TO
ELIZABETH
MY
SISTER

The origin of the gifted ornithologist, animal painter, and writer, known to the world as John James Audubon, has remained a mystery up to the present time. In now lifting the veil which was cast over his early existence, I feel that I serve the cause of historical truth; at the same time it is possible to do fuller justice to all most intimately concerned with the story of his life and accomplishments.

The present work is in reality the outcome of what was first undertaken as a holiday recreation in the summer of 1903. While engaged upon a research of quite a different character, I reread, with greater care, Audubon's Ornithological Biography, and after turning the leaves of his extraordinary illustrations, it seemed to me most strange that but little should be known of the making of so original and masterful a character. As I was in England at the time some investigations were undertaken in London, but, as might have been expected, with rather barren results. After my return to America in the following year the search was continued, but as it proved equally fruitless here, the subject was set aside. Not until 1913, when this investigation was resumed in France, did I meet with success.

Every man, however poor or inconsequential he may appear or be, is supposed to possess an estate, and every man of affairs is almost certain to leave behind him domestic, professional, or commercial papers, which are, in some degree, a mark of his attainments and an indication of his character and tastes. In the summer of 1913 I went to France in search of the personal records of the naturalist's father, Lieutenant Jean Audubon, whose home had been at Nantes and in the little commune of Couëron, nine miles below that city, on the right bank of the Loire. The part which Lieutenant Audubon played in the French Revolution was fully revealed in his letters, his reports to the Central Committee, and numerous other documents which are preserved in the archives of the Préfecture at Nantes; while complete records of his naval career both in the merchant marine and governmental service (service pour l'État) were subsequently obtained at Paris; but at Nantes his name had all but vanished, and little could be learned of his immediate family, which had been nearly extinct in France for over thirty years.

Again the quest seemed likely to prove futile until a letter, which I received through the kindness of Mr. Louis Goldschmidt, then American Consul at Nantes, to M. Giraud Gangie, conservateur of the public library in that city, brought a response, under date of December 29, 1913, informing me that two years before that time, he had met by chance in the streets of Couëron a retired notary who assured him that he held in possession numerous exact records of Jean Audubon and his family. The sage Henry Thoreau once remarked that you might search long and diligently for a rare bird, and then of a sudden surprise the whole family at dinner. So it happened in this case, and since these manuscript records, sought by many in vain on this side of the Atlantic, are so important for this history, the reader is entitled to an account of them.

Upon corresponding with the gentleman in question, M. L. Lavigne, I was informed that the documents in his possession were of the most varied description, comprising letters, wills, deeds, certificates of births, baptisms, adoptions, marriages and deaths, to the number, it is believed, of several hundred pieces. This unique and extraordinary collection of Audubonian records had been slumbering in a house in the commune of Couëron called "Les Tourterelles" ("The Turtle Doves") for nearly a hundred years, or since the death of the naturalist's stepmother in 1821.

Since I was unable to judge of the authenticity of the documents or to visit France at that time, my friend, Professor Gustav G. Laubscher, who happened to be in Paris, engaged in investigating Romance literary subjects, kindly consented to go to Couëron for the purpose of inspecting them. Monsieur Lavigne had already prepared for me, and still held, a number of photographs of the most important manuscripts, which are now for the first time reproduced, and, with the aid of a stenographer, in the course of two or three days they were able to transcribe the most essential and interesting parts of this voluminous material. But at that very moment sinister clouds were blackening the skies of Europe, and my friend was obliged to leave his task unfinished and hasten to Paris; when he arrived in that city, on the memorable Saturday of August 1, 1914, orders for the mobilization of troops had been posted; it was some time before copies of the manuscripts were received from Couëron, and he left the French capital to return to America.

These documents came into the hands of Monsieur Lavigne through his wife, who was a daughter and legatee of Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, the second, son of Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, the son-in-law of Lieutenant and Mme. Jean Audubon. Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, the second, who died at Couëron in 1892, is thought to have destroyed all letters of the naturalist which had been in possession of the family and which were written previous to 1820, when his relations with the elder Du Puigaudeau were broken off; not a line in the handwriting of John James Audubon has been preserved at Couëron.

In June and July, 1914, Dr. Laubscher had repeatedly applied to the French Foreign Office, through the American Embassy at Paris, for permission to examine the dossier of Jean Audubon in the archives of the Department of the Marine, in order to verify certain dates in his naval career and to obtain the personal reports which he submitted upon his numerous battles at sea, but at that period of strain it was impossible to gain further access to the papers sought.

Having told the story of the way in which these unique and important records came into my possession, I wish to express my gratitude to Professor Laubscher for his able cooperation in securing transcriptions and photographs, and to Monsieur Lavigne for his kind permission to use them, as well as for his careful response to numerous questions which arose in the course of the investigation.

In dealing with letters and documents, of whatever kind, in manuscript, I have made it my invariable rule to reproduce the form and substance of the record as it exists as exactly as possible; in translations, however, no attempt has been made to preserve any minor idiosyncrasies of the writer. The source of all scientific, literary or historical material previously published is indicated in footnotes, and the reader will find copious references to hitherto unpublished documents, which in their complete and original form, with or without translations, together with an annotated Bibliography, have been gathered in Appendices at the end of Volume II. For convenience of reference each chapter has been treated as a unit so far as the footnotes are concerned, and the quoted author's name, with the title of his work in addition to the bibliographic number, has been given in nearly every instance.

Besides the many coadjutors whose friendly aid has been gladly acknowledged in the body of this work, I now wish to offer my sincere thanks, in particular, to the Misses Maria R. and Florence Audubon, granddaughters of the naturalist, who have shown me many courtesies, and to the Hon. Myron T. Herrick, late American Ambassador to France, for his kindly assistance in obtaining documentary transcripts from the Department of the Marine at Paris. I am under special obligations also to the librarians of the British Museum and Oxford University, the Linnæan and Zoölogical Societies of London, the Jardin des Plantes at Paris, the Public Libraries of Boston and New York, and the libraries of the Historical Societies of New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Louisiana, as well as to the Director of the Museum of Comparative Zoölogy of Harvard University, and to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, for photographs of paintings and other objects, for permission to read or copy manuscripts, and for favors of various sorts. Furthermore, I am indebted to the good offices of Mr. Ferdinand Lathrop Mayer, Secretary of Legation, Port-au-Prince, and of M. Fontaine, American Consular Agent at Les Cayes, Haiti, for a series of photographs made expressly to represent Les Cayes as it appears today. I would also acknowledge the courtesy of the Corporation of Trinity Parish, New York, through Mr. Pendleton Dudley, for an excellent photograph of the Audubon Monument.

I cannot express too fully my appreciation of the hearty response which the publishers of these volumes have given to every question concerned with their presentation in an adequate and attractive form, and particularly to Mr. Francis G. Wickware, of D. Appleton and Company, to whose knowledge, skill, and unabated interest the reader, like myself, is indebted in manifold ways.

My friend, Mr. Ruthven Deane, well known for his investigations in Auduboniana and American ornithological literature, has not only read the proofs of the text, but has generously placed at my disposal many valuable notes, references, pictures, letters and other documents, drawn from his own researches and valuable personal collections. I wish to express in the most particular manner also my appreciation of the generous spirit in which Mr. Joseph Y. Jeanes has opened the treasures in his possession, embracing not only large numbers of hitherto unpublished letters, but an unrivaled collection of early unpublished Audubonian drawings, for the enrichment and embellishment of these pages. For the loan or transcription of other original manuscript material, or for supplying much needed data of every description, I am further most indebted to Mr. Welton H. Rozier, of St. Louis; Mr. Tom J. Rozier, of Ste. Geneviève; Mr. C. A. Rozier, of St. Louis; the Secretary of the Linnæan Society of London, through my friend, Mr. George E. Bullen, of St. Albans; Mr. Henry R. Rowland of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences, of Buffalo; Mr. William Beer, of the Howard Memorial Library, of New Orleans; and Mr. W. H. Wetherill, of Philadelphia. For the use of new photographic and other illustrative material, I am further indebted to Mr. Stanley Clisby Arthur, of the Conservation Commission of Louisiana, and to Cassinia, the medium of publication of the Delaware Valley Ornithological Club.

Through the kindness of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons I have been permitted to draw rather freely from Audubon and His Journals, by Miss Maria R. Audubon and Elliott Coues, and to reproduce three portraits therefrom; original photographs of two of these have been kindly supplied by Dr. R. W. Shufeldt. I also owe to the courtesy of the Girard Trust Company, of Philadelphia, the privilege of quoting certain letters contained in William Healey Dall's Spencer Fullerton Baird.

To my esteemed colleague, Professor Benjamin P. Bourland, I am under particular obligations for his invaluable aid in revising translations from the French and in the transliteration of manuscripts, as well as for his kindly assistance in correspondence on related subjects. I have derived much benefit also from my sister, Miss Elizabeth A. Herrick, who has made many valuable suggestions. To all others who have aided me by will or deed in the course of this work I wish to express my cordial thanks.

AUDUBON
THE
NATURALIST

Time, whose tooth gnaws away everything else, is powerless against truth.

Huxley.

What a curious, interesting book, a biographer, well acquainted with my life, could write; it is still more wonderful and extraordinary than that of my father.

Audubon, in letter to his wife, March 12, 1828.

AUDUBON
THE
NATURALIST

Audubon's growing fame—Experience in Paris in 1828—Cuvier's patronage—Audubon's publications—His critics—His talents and accomplishments—His Americanism and honesty of purpose—His foibles and faults—Appreciations and monuments—The Audubon Societies—Biographies and autobiography—Robert Buchanan and the true history of his Life of Audubon.

It is more than three-quarters of a century since Audubon's masterpiece, The Birds of America, was completed, and two generations have occupied the stage since the "American Woodsman" quietly passed away at his home on the Hudson River. These generations have seen greater changes in the development and application of natural science and in the spread of scientific knowledge among men than all those which preceded them. Theories of nature come and go but the truth abides, and Audubon's "book of Nature," represented by his four massive volumes of hand-engraved and hand-colored plates, still remains "the most magnificent monument which has yet been raised to ornithology," as Cuvier said of the parts which met his astonished gaze in 1828; while his graphic sketches of American life and scenery and his vivid portraits of birds, drawn with the pen, can be read with as much pleasure as when the last volume of his Ornithological Biography left the press in 1839. This appears the more remarkable when we reflect that Audubon's greatest working period, from 1820 to 1840, belonged essentially to the eighteenth century, for the real transition to the nineteenth century did not begin in England before 1837; then came the dawn of the newer day that was to witness those momentous changes in communication and travel, in education, democracy and ideas, which characterize life in the modern world.

When Audubon left London for Paris on September 1, 1828, it took him four days by coach, boat and diligence to reach the French capital, a journey which in normal times is now made in less than eight hours. Mail then left the Continent for England on but four days in the week, and to post a single letter cost twenty-four sous. Writing at Edinburgh a little earlier (December 21, 1826), Audubon recorded that on that day he had received from De Witt Clinton and Thomas Sully, in America, letters in answer to his own, in forty-two days, and added that it seemed absolutely impossible that the distance could be covered so rapidly. This was indeed remarkable, since the first vessel to cross the Atlantic wholly under its own steam, in 1838, required seventeen days to make the passage from New York to Queenstown.

"Walking in Paris," said Audubon in 1828, "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 middle of each, and people go about without any kind of order, in the center, or near the houses." The Paris of that day contained but one-fourth the number of its present population. Having reaped the fruits of the Revolution, it was enjoying peace under the Restoration; moreover, it was taking a leading part in the advancement of natural science, of which Cuvier was the acknowledged dean. It was but a year before the death of blind and aged Lamarck, neglected and forgotten then, but destined after the lapse of three-quarters of a century to have a monument raised to his memory by contributions from every part of Europe and America, and to be recognized as the first great evolutionist of the modern school.

Audubon had not seen his ancestral capital for upwards of thirty years, not since as a young man he was sent from his father's home near Nantes to study drawing in the studio of David, at the Louvre. Though in the land of his fathers and speaking his native tongue, his visit was tinged with disappointment. At the age of forty-three he was engaged in an enterprise which stands unique in the annals of science and literature. But fifty plates, or ten numbers, of his incomparable series had been engraved, and this work had then but thirty subscribers. That he was bound to sink or swim he knew full well. On August 30 he wrote: "My subscribers are yet far from enough to pay my expenses, and my purse suffers severely from want of greater patronage." This want he had hoped to satisfy in France, but after an experience of eight weeks, and an expenditure, as he records, of forty pounds, he was obliged to leave Paris with only thirteen additional names on his list. Yet among the latter, it should be noticed, were those of George Cuvier, the Duke of Orleans and King Charles X, while six copies had been ordered by the Minister of the Interior for distribution among the more important libraries of Paris. Moreover, he had won the friendship and encomiums of Cuvier, which later proved of the greatest value. The savants who gathered about him at the meeting of the Royal Academy of Sciences, over which Cuvier presided, exclaimed, "Beautiful! Very beautiful! What a work!", but "What a price!", and acknowledged that only in England could he find the necessary support. Audubon concluded that he was fortunate in having taken his drawings to London to be engraved, for the smaller cost of copper on that side of the Channel was an item which could not be overlooked. Little did he dream that commercial greed for the baser metal would send most of his great plates to the melting pot half a century later. No doubt he was right also in concluding that had he followed certain advisers in first taking his publication to France, it would have perished "like a flower in October." It should be added that King Charles' subscription expired with his fall two years later, while that of Cuvier ended with his death in 1832.

Audubon was one of those rare spirits whose posthumous fame has grown with the years. He did one thing in particular, that of making known to the world the birds of his adopted land, and did it so well that his name will be held in everlasting remembrance. His great folios are now the property of the rich or of those fortunate institutions which have either received them by gift or were enrolled among his original subscribers, and wherever found they are treasured as the greatest of show books. The sale of a perfect copy of the Birds at the present day is something of an event, for it commands from $3,000 to $5,000, or from three to five times its original cost. All of Audubon's publications have not only become rare but have increased greatly in price; they are what dealers call a good investment, an experience which probably no other large, illustrated, scientific or semi-scientific works have enjoyed to a like degree.

As has been said of Prince Henry the Navigator, though in different words, John James Audubon was one of those who by a simple-hearted life of talent, devotion and enthusiasm have freed themselves from the law of death. Audubon was a man of many sides, and his fame is due to a rare combination of those talents and powers which were needed to accomplish the work that he finally set out to do. His personality was most winning, his individuality strong, and his long life, bent for the most part to attain definite ends, was checkered, adventurous and romantic beyond the common lot of men.

Few men outside of public life have been praised more lavishly than Audubon during his active career. Though he had but few open enemies, those few, as if conscious of the fact, seemed to assail him the more harshly and persistently. In reading all that has been said about this strenuous worker both before and since his death, one is continually struck by the perverse or contrary opinions that are often expressed. He was not this and he was not that, but he was simply Audubon, and there has been no one else who has at all closely resembled him or with whom he can be profitably compared. One charges that he did not write the books which bear his name. Another complains that he was no philosopher, and was not a man of science at heart; that he was vain, elegant, inclined to be selfish, inconsequential, and that he reverenced the great; that he shot birds for sport; that he was a plagiarist; that he was the king of nature fakirs and a charlatan; that he never propounded or answered a scientific question; and, finally, that though at times he wrote a graphic and charming style and showed occasional glimpses of prophetic insight, he cannot be trusted; besides, he might have been greatly indebted to unacknowledged aid received from others.

These or similar charges were brought against Audubon during his lifetime, as they have been made against many another who has emerged quickly from obscurity into world-wide renown. Many attacks upon his character were assiduously repelled by his friends, though seldom noticed publicly by himself; as if conscious of his own integrity, he was content to await the verdict of time, and time in America has not been recreant to his trust. Some of these charges it may be necessary to examine at length, if found to be justified in any degree, while others may be brushed aside as unworthy of even passing consideration. Evidence of every sort is now ample, as it seems, to enable us to do justice to all concerned, to penetrate the veil that has hidden much of the real Audubon from the world, and to place the worker and the man in the fuller light of day.

The reader who follows this history may expect to find certain blemishes in Audubon's character, for the most admirable of men have possessed faults, whether conscious of them or not. The lights in any picture would lose all value were the shadows wholly withdrawn. If we blinded ourselves to every fault and foible of such a man, we might produce a sketch more pleasing to certain readers, but it would lack the vitality which truth alone can supply. The more carefully his character is studied, however, as Macaulay said of Addison, the more it will appear, in the language of the old anatomists, "sound in the noble parts, free from all taint of perfidy, of cowardice, of cruelty, of ingratitude, of envy."

In this attempt to present a true and unbiased estimate of Audubon in relation to his time, we have the advantage of dealing with a well rounded and completed life, not with a broken or truncated one. He impressed many of his contemporaries in both Europe and America with the force of his contagious enthusiasm and prolific genius, and their opinions have been recorded with remarkable generosity. On the other hand, "if a life be delayed till interest and envy are at an end," said an excellent authority,[1] "we may hope for impartiality, but must expect little intelligence," because the minute details of daily life are commonly so volatile and evanescent as to "soon escape the memory, and are rarely transmitted by tradition." Such details, which often reveal character while they add color and life to the narrative, have been amply supplied, as the reader will find, by Audubon himself, not only in his journals and private letters already published but in the numerous documents of every sort that are now brought to light.

If "the true man is to be revealed, if we are to know him as he was, and especially if we are to know the influences that molded him and so profoundly affected him for good or evil, we must begin at the beginning and follow him through his struggles, his temptations, his triumphs." It might be better to start "in the cradle," or even forty years before he was born, for, as modern biology teaches us, nature is stronger than nurture and race counts for much. Certainly this man can never be understood if removed from the environment which time and circumstance gave him; he needs the historical background, furnished in part by his contemporaries, some of whom were rivals with whom he had often to struggle to make his way. In recounting this history, in many cases hitherto unwritten, we must recognize the proverbial difficulty of tracing human motives to their proper source, and endeavor to form no harsh judgments without ample basis in documentary or other evidence.

No more ardent and loyal American than John James Audubon ever lived. His adopted country, which he would fain have believed to have been that of his actual birth, was ever his chief passion and pride, and for him the only abode of sweet content. Few have seen more of it, of its diversified races, climates and coasts, its grand mountains, its noble lakes and rivers, its virgin forests and interminable prairies, with all the marvelous stores of animal and plant life which were first truly revealed to the pioneer woodsman, artist and naturalist. None has been more eager to hand down to posterity, ere it be too late, a true transcript of its wild and untameable nature while, as he would say, still fresh from the Creator's own hand. Audubon's beneficent influence during his long enforced residence abroad, as a representative of American energy and capacity, can hardly be measured, while in his own land few were more potent in bringing the nation to a consciousness of its unique individuality and power.

Audubon, as has been said, saw nature vividly colored by his own enthusiasm, and he never looked at her "through the spectacles of books." His writings, however unpolished or written with whatever degree of speed, have the peculiar quality of awakening enthusiasm in the reader, who, like the youth poring over Robinson Crusoe, feels within him a new ardor, in this instance, for hunting and studying birds and for leading a life of adventure in the wilderness. It would be as unjust to judge of Audubon's rare abilities as a descriptive writer from the letters, journal jottings and miscellaneous extracts given in this work, as to weigh his accomplishments as an artist from his itinerary portraits or his early sketches of animals in crayon point and pastel. Those cruder products of his pen and brush, however, as the reader will find, possess a high degree of interest from the light which they throw on the development of his character and art, as well as from their personal and historical associations. His best and only finished literary work, the Ornithological Biography, in five large volumes, with the revisions and additions which later appeared, abound in animated pictures of primitive nature and pioneer life in America as well as vivid portraits of the birds and other characteristic animals.

A good illustration of Audubon's habit of blending his own experiences with his biographies of birds is found in the introduction to his account of the Common Gannet:

Audubon's accounts of the birds are copious, interesting and generally accurate, considering the time and circumstances in which they were produced. When at his best, his pictures were marvels of fidelity and close observation, and in some of his studies of mammals, like that of the raccoon (see p. 182), in which seemingly every hair is carefully rendered, we are reminded of the work of the old Dutch masters and of Albrecht Dürer; notwithstanding such attention to microscopic detail, there is no flatness, but the values of light and shade are perfectly rendered. In his historical survey of American ornithology, Elliott Coues was fully justified in designating the years 1824-1853 as representing the "Audubonian Epoch," and the time from 1834 to its close as the "Audubonian Period." "The splendid genius of the man, surmounting every difficulty and discouragement of the author, had found and claimed its own.... Audubon and his work were one; he lived in his work, and in his work will live forever."[3]

There is no doubt that Audubon regarded an honest man as the quintessence of God's works, and though he sometimes set down statements which do not square with known facts, this was often the result of lax habits, or of saying what was uppermost in his mind without retrospection or analysis. When memory failed or when more piquancy and color were needed, he may have been too apt to resort to varnish, but for everything written on the spot his mind was as truth-telling as his pictures. In considering the good intent of the man, his extraordinary capacity for taking pains, and his vast accomplishments, criticism on this score seems rather captious. On the other hand, when it came to dealing with his own early life, that was a subject upon which he reserved the right to speak according to his judgment, and in a way which will be considered later.

Audubon left England to settle his family finally in America in the autumn of 1839, when he was fifty-four years old, and since he lived but twelve years longer, probably few are now living who retain more than a childish memory of his appearance in advanced age. Many Londoners will recall an odd character, an aged print dealer who used to sit alone, like a hoary spider in its web, in his little shop in Great Russell Street, close to the British Museum, and another of similar type, who may still haunt a better known landmark, the old "naturalist's shop" in Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road and but a minute's walk from the spot where most of Audubon's Birds were engraved. Both had seen the naturalist walk the streets of London and had known him in business relations. He occasionally strolled into the old naturalist's shop, which has been occupied by father and son for nearly a century. The son, then a young clerk, is now (1913) the crabbed veteran who still waits on customers but never waits long; should you hazard a question before making a purchase, he will roar like the captain of a ship and leave you to your own devices; but show him money and the change in his demeanor is wonderful; his hearing improves, his tone softens, and he may recount for you what he remembers of times long past, which is not much. Audubon in the thirties seemed to him like an aged man, an impression quite natural to a youth. He also remembered seeing Charles Waterton, Audubon's declared enemy and supercilious critic, William Swainson, his one-time friend, and William MacGillivray, his eminent assistant; that they were great rivals expressed the sum of his reflections. He recalled the time when Oxford Street was filled, as he expressed it, with horses and donkeys, and of course knew well the old Zoölogical Gallery, No. 79 Newman Street, in which for a time Robert Havell & Son conducted a shop in connection with their printing and engraving establishment. The latter, when moved by Robert Havell, Jr., to No. 77 Oxford Street, was nearly opposite the old Pantheon, which still lingers, and not far from the corner of Wrisley Street, the present site of Messrs. Waring & Gillow's large store.

We already possess several biographies of Audubon, and many of his letters of a personal or scientific interest and most of his extant journals, though but a fraction of those which originally existed, have been published. "America, my Country," has not forgotten him. Mount Audubon rises on the northerly bound of Colorado as an everlasting reminder of the last and grandest of all his journeys, that to the Missouri River in 1843. American counties and towns,[4] as well as parks and streets in American cities, bear his name. At least four of his beloved birds have been dedicated to him. In 1885, thirty-four years after his death, the New York Academy of Sciences began a popular movement through which a beautiful cross in marble was raised in 1893 above his grave in Trinity Cemetery.[5] The "one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary"[6] of the naturalist's birth was celebrated in New York in 1905, and at the American Museum of Natural History an admirable marble bust of Audubon was unveiled on a notable occasion, December 29, 1906, when similar honors were paid to Louis Agassiz, Spencer Fullerton Baird, Edward Drinker Cope, James Dwight Dana, Benjamin Franklin, Joseph Henry, Joseph Leidy, John Torrey, and Alexander von Humboldt. On November 26, 1910, a statue of Audubon, after an admirable design by the veteran sculptor, Edward Virginius Valentine, of Richmond, Virginia, was unveiled in Audubon Park, New Orleans, where the naturalist, with pencil in hand, is represented in the act of transferring to paper the likeness of a favorite subject. He also occupies a niche in the Hall of Fame at New York University.

STATUE OF AUDUBON BY EDWARD VIRGINIUS VALENTINE IN AUDUBON PARK, NEW ORLEANS.

Published by courtesy of Mr. Stanley Clisby Arthur.

THE AUDUBON MONUMENT IN TRINITY CEMETERY, NEW YORK, ON CHILDREN'S DAY, JUNE, 1915.

Published by courtesy of the Corporation of Trinity Parish, New York City.

In recent times Audubon's name has become a household word through the medium of the most effective instrument which has yet been devised for the conservation of animal life in this or any country, the National Association of Audubon Societies for the Protection of Wild Birds and Animals. This has become the coördinating center for the spread and control of a great national movement that received its first impulse in 1886.[7] Launched anew ten years later, it has advanced with ever increasing momentum, until now it is the governing head of twenty-nine distinct State societies, as well as eighty-five affiliated clubs and similar organizations. In 1916 it counted a life membership of 356, with 3,024 sustaining members, and realized a total income of over $100,000. It should be added that during the past six years over 2,900 Junior Audubon Clubs have been formed in the schools, through which nearly 600,000 children have been instructed in the principles of the Audubon Society. Well may it be that this admirable organization, with its successful efforts for remedial legislation in state and nation; its initiative, with the aid of the National Government, in establishing Federal reservations or sanctuaries for the perpetuation of wild life; its educational activities through the extension of its influence to the pupils of the public schools; and its watch and ward over all the varied interests of its cause, will keep the name of Audubon greener to all future time than the most cherished of his works.

Of Audubon's works the public now sees but little and knows even less, all without exception having been long out of print. His admirable plates of birds and mammals have been widely copied and still serve for the illustration of popular books, but most of his publications were projected on too large and expensive a scale for general circulation, having been first sold to subscribers only and often at great cost. No complete reprint, revision or abridgment of his principal volumes has been made for half a century (see Bibliography, Appendix V). No complete bibliography of Audubon has ever been prepared, and none will remain completed long, for it is hard to imagine a time when comment on his life, his drawings, and his adventures will altogether cease.

In May, 1834, William MacGillivray, who was assisting him in the technical parts of the Ornithological Biography, suggested that Audubon write a biography of himself, and predicted a wide popularity for such a work. Audubon entertained the idea but was then too deeply immersed in The Birds of America to give it much attention; yet in 1835 he wrote out a short sketch, entitled Myself, addressing it in the fashion of that day to his two sons, and then laid it aside. Mrs. Audubon evidently had access to this manuscript when the life of her husband, to be referred to later, was in course of preparation, and thus it has furnished, directly or indirectly, nearly all that has been published concerning the naturalist's early life. This fragment, which extends to about thirty printed pages, was characterized by Audubon as a "very imperfect (but perfectly correct) account of my early life," and though written with an eye to its possible publication, which was clearly sanctioned, it was evidently never revised. The manuscript was long lost but eventually was "found in an old book which had been in a barn on Staten Island for years"; it was first published by the naturalist's granddaughter, Miss Maria R. Audubon, in 1893, and again in 1898. As will later appear, this account is inaccurate in many important particulars.

Audubon expressed the intention of extending his personal history, which he promised to delineate with a faithfulness equal to that bestowed on the birds, but the task was never resumed. Yet more than most writers have done, he wove the incidents of his own career into the pages of his principal works, and this strong personal flavor added much to their charm. Unfortunately, in giving such personal or historical details he is most vulnerable to a critic, who insists first upon accuracy, for errors of various sorts and confused and conflicting statements are far too common.

Of the more formal biographies of Audubon, the first to appear was a slender volume entitled Audubon: the Naturalist of the New World, by Mrs. Horace Stebbing Roscoe St. John, published in England in 1856.[8] In the same year this work was expanded and reissued by the publishers who at that time had charge of the sale of Audubon's works in America.[9] The American publishers explained in their edition that inasmuch as "the fair authoress in preparing her interesting sketch of Audubon ... appears not to have been aware of the publication of his second great work, the Quadrupeds of North America (which had not been advertised, we believe, in Europe) they have taken the liberty of giving some account of it and making numerous extracts from its pages."[10] Perhaps the most interesting or valuable things in this little volume at the present day are the woodcut on the title page showing Audubon's house on the Hudson as it then appeared, surrounded by tall trees, and, inserted on a flyleaf, a list of all of Audubon's published works and the prices at which they could be procured in New York just prior to the Civil War (see Note, Vol. II, p. 204).

In 1868 there appeared in England a work of combined and confused authorship, commonly referred to as "Buchanan's Life of Audubon," the "sub-editor," as he called himself, having since become better known as an original, skilled and prolific writer of verse, drama, fiction and literary criticism. At that time Robert Buchanan was twenty-six years old, and had published five volumes of poems in rapid succession, some of which had been received with favor by the public. A second and third edition of this Life followed in 1869. Finally the work was resurrected and again sent to press, unrevised, in 1912, when it appeared in "Everyman's Library," at a shilling a copy, with an introduction which had served as a review of the work in 1869.

A recent biographer of Alexander Wilson speaks of Buchanan as "commissioned by Mrs. Audubon to write her husband's life," but the lady herself, as well as Buchanan, has told a different story. It seems that in about the year 1866, Mrs. Audubon prepared, "with the aid of a friend," an extended memoir of her husband, which was offered to an American publisher but without success. The "friend," at whose home Mrs. Audubon was then living, was the Rev. Charles Coffin Adams,[11] rector of St. Mary's Church, Manhattanville, now 135th, Street, New York. The Adams manuscript, which consisted chiefly of a transcript from the naturalist's journals, then in possession of his wife, was completed presumably in 1867. In the summer of that year it was placed in the hands of the London publishers, Messrs. Sampson Low, Son, & Marston, who without any authority turned it over to one of their hard-pressed, pot-boiling retainers, Robert Buchanan, poet and young man of genius. Buchanan boiled down the original manuscript, as he said, to one-fifth of its original compass, cutting out what he regarded as prolix or unnecessary and connecting "the whole with some sort of a running narrative."[12] Mrs. Audubon was unable to recover her property from either publishers or editor or to obtain any satisfaction for its unwarranted use. Whatever defects the Adams memoir may have possessed, this is much to be regretted, since, as her granddaughter has said, Mrs. Audubon had at her command many valuable documents, the originals of which have since been destroyed.

Buchanan, like Audubon, had been reared in comparative luxury, "the spoiled darling of a loving mother." After the failure of his father in various newspaper enterprises about four years before this time, he had gone up to London with but few shillings in his pocket and had begun life there literally in a garret. The reflection that Audubon had fought a similar but much harder battle in that same London thirty years before, and won, should possibly have awakened in him a somewhat friendlier spirit than was then displayed. It must be admitted, however, that Buchanan produced a very readable story, although there was not a word in his whole book which showed any real sympathy with Audubon's lifelong pursuits, any knowledge of ornithology, or any interest in natural science. Though expressing unbounded admiration for the naturalist, his foibles and faults seem to have hidden from this biographer the true value of his distinguished services. In respect to a knowledge of natural history it should be added that Buchanan laid no claims, and of Audubon's accomplishments in this field comparatively little was said, the book, like the Adams' manuscript from which it was drawn, being mainly composed of extracts from the naturalist's private journals and "Episodes," as he called his descriptive papers. It was here that Audubon made the strongest appeal to this literary editor, who concluded his preface with the following words of praise: "Some of his reminiscences of adventure ... seem to me to be quite as good, in vividness of presentment and careful colouring, as anything I have ever read."

Buchanan dilated on Audubon's pride, vanity and self-conceit, faults which may have belonged to his youth but which were never mentioned by his intimate friends and contemporaries except under conditions which reflected rather unfavorably upon themselves. Complaints on this score were spread broadcast by reviewers of this work, seventeen years after the naturalist's death and with the suddenness of a new discovery. They were undoubtedly based on the unconscious and allowable egotisms of such personal records as Audubon habitually made for the members of his family when time and distance kept them asunder. Vanity and selfishness could have formed no essential parts of a character that merited the eulogy which follows:

No one will deny, however, that Buchanan was right in saying that in order to get a man like Audubon understood, all domestic partiality, the bane of much biography, must be put aside; but it is equally important to make such allowances as the manifold circumstances of time and place demand, and to be a reasoner rather than a fancier. This work abounds in errors, but it is not clear to what extent they were due to carelessness on Buchanan's part.

It was certainly a mistake to attribute Buchanan's attitude to partiality for Alexander Wilson, who, like himself, was a Scotchman. It was a case of temperament only, for gloom and poverty had embittered his life. As his sister-in-law and biographer[14] said of him, "he was doomed to much ignoble pot-boiling.... He had few friends and many enemies," and "had received from the world many cruel blows," while "no man needed kindness so much and received so little." Perhaps the best key to the sad history of this able writer was given by himself when he said: "It is my vice that I must love a thing wholly, or dislike it wholly." His wife, we are told, was much like himself, and "like a couple of babies they muddled through life, tasting of some of its joys, but oftener of its sorrows." Undoubtedly Robert Buchanan was a genuine lover of truth and beauty; he has written numerous sketches of birds and outdoor scenes, but with no suggestion of nature as serving any other purpose than that of supplying a poet with bright and pleasing images.

It was with the purpose of correcting the false impressions created by animadversions in Buchanan's Life that Mrs. Audubon, with the aid of her friend, James Grant Wilson, revised this work and published it in America under her name as editor, in 1869. The changes then made in Buchanan's text, however, were of a minor character and most of its errors remained uncorrected. The naturalist's granddaughter, Miss Maria R. Audubon, was inspired in part by similar feelings in preparing, with the aid of Dr. Elliott Coues, her larger and excellent work in two volumes, entitled Audubon and His Journals, which appeared in 1898. To her all admirers of Audubon owe a debt of gratitude for giving to the world for the first time a large part of his extant journals, as well as many new facts bearing upon his life and character. Other briefer biographies of Audubon which have appeared have been taken so completely from the preceding works, and have repeated and extended their errors to such an extent, as to call for little or no comment either here or in the pages which follow.

Through the discovery in France of new documentary evidence in surprising abundance we are obliged to draw conclusions contrary to those which have hitherto been accepted, and the new light thus obtained enables us to form a more accurate and just judgment of Audubon the man, and of his work.

Extraordinary career of the naturalist's father—Wounded at fourteen and prisoner of war for five years in England—Service in the French merchant marine and navy—Voyages to Newfoundland and Santo Domingo—His marriage in France—His sea fights, capture and imprisonment in New York—His command at the Battle of Yorktown—Service in America and encounters with British privateers.

Few names of purely Gallic origin are today better known in America, or touch a more sympathetic chord of human interest, than that of Audubon, and few, we might also add, are so rare. John James Audubon first made his family name known to all the world, and though he left numerous descendants, it has become well nigh extinct in America, and is far from common in France. The great Paris directory frequently contains no entry under this head; Nantes knows his name no longer, and it is rare in the marshes of La Vendée, where at some remote period it may have originated.

The lists of the army of five thousand which Rochambeau's fleet brought to our aid in the American War of Independence show but a single variant of this euphonious patronym, in Pierre Audibon,[15] a soldier in the regiment of Touraine, who was born at Montigny in 1756; but in the fleet of the Count de Grasse which coöperated with our land-forces at the Battle of Yorktown, on October 19, 1781, a ship was commanded by an officer with whom we are more intimately concerned. This was Captain Jean Audubon, who was later to become the father of America's pioneer woodsman, ornithologist and animal painter.

By birth a Vendean, at the age of thirty-seven Jean Audubon had plowed the seas of half the world, and in the course of his checkered career, as sailor, soldier, West Indian planter and merchant, had met enough adventure to furnish the materials for a whole series of dime novels. Short of stature, with auburn hair and a fiery temper, he was then as stubborn and fearless an opponent as one could meet on the high seas, and one of the gamest fighting cocks of the French merchant marine. How much Jean Audubon's son owed to his French Creole mother will never be known, but to this self-taught, thoroughly capable, and enterprising sailor we can surely trace his restless activity, his versatile mind and mercurial temper, as well as an inherent capacity for taking pains, which father and son possessed to a marked degree.

The true story of Jean Audubon's career has never been told, but even at this late day it will be found an interesting human document; and what is more to our purpose, it throws into sharp outline much that has hitherto remained obscure in the life of his remarkable son. The first Audubon to leave any imprint, however faint, upon the history of his time, this honest, matter-of-fact sailor, would have been the last to wish to appear in the garb of fiction, and we shall base our story solely upon the unimpeachable testimony of public and private records, which researches in France had happily brought to light before the beginning of the war in 1914.[16]

Jean Audubon came by his sailor's instincts and fighting prowess naturally, for his father, Pierre Audubon of Les Sables d'Olonne, was a seaman by trade. Like his son he captained his own vessel, and for years made long voyages between French ports in both the old and the new worlds. Pierre Audubon, the paternal grandfather of John James Audubon, and the first of that name of whom we have found any record,[17] lived at Les Sables d'Olonne, where with Marie Anne Martin, his wife, he reared a considerable family in the first half of the eighteenth century.

Les Sables, at the time of which we speak, was a small fishing and trading port on the Bay of Biscay, fifty miles to the southwest of Nantes, but is now become a city of over twenty thousand people. Lying on the westerly verge of the Marais, or salt marshes and lakes of La Vendée, the inhabitants of the district, and more particularly of the Bocage, or plantations, to the north and northeast, were noted from an early day for their conservatism, as shown in a firm adherence to ancient law and custom, as well as for their unswerving loyalty to the old nobility and to the clergy. Like their Breton neighbors on the other side of the Loire, the Vendeans were honest, industrious, and faithful to their civic obligations; they were also independent, resourceful, and knew no fear. When the neighboring city of Nantes planted trees of liberty and displayed the National colors in 1789, the Vendeans were stirred to indignation and later to arms, while the Chouans on the right bank of the river were quick to follow their example; in short, the rebels of La Vendée raised such a storm that for months the very existence of the infant Republic was threatened. This spirit of revolt to the newer order, the Chouanerie, as it came to be called, was stamped out for the time, but a few smoldering embers always remained, ready to burst into flame at the slightest provocation; recrudescent symptoms of this tendency had to be suppressed even as late as 1830, when Charles X, the last Bourbon king, lost his crown. Pierre Audubon's family, no doubt, shared many characteristics of their Vendean and Breton neighbors, but as the sequel will show, one at least did not approve of their political course, for he took up arms against them, and presumably against many of his own kith and kin.

Jean Audubon was born at Les Sables on October 11, 1744, and was christened on the same day, his godfather being Claude Jean Audubon, in all probability an uncle after whom he was named, and his godmother, Catharine Martin, presumably an aunt. Twenty-one children, according to the naturalist, blessed the union of Pierre Audubon and his wife, and were reared to maturity. Whether this statement is strictly accurate, or what became of so large a family cannot now be ascertained.[18]

Pierre Audubon was engaged by the French Government to transport the necessities of war to Cape Breton Island in 1757, when the world-wide struggle between France and Great Britain for supremacy in the New World was at hand. The French were determined at all hazards to hold their great fortress of Louisburg, which had been taken by the English but again restored to the French not many years before. This was the strongest and most costly fortress on the American continent, as well as a great center for the valuable trade in salted fish. By a coincidence, or possibly out of compliment to his wife, Pierre's ship bore the name of La Marianne, and when he sailed from his home port of Les Sables d'Olonne on April 15, 1757, he took with him his own son, Jean, as cabin-boy, when the lad was but thirteen years old. In the following May Great Britain threw down the gauntlet to France, and the terrific seven years' struggle began. The great fortress of Louisburg fell in the following year to the English fleet, and was left a heap of ruins. His father's ship, the Mary Ann, was involved, and young Jean Audubon, who thus began his fighting career at fourteen, was wounded in the left leg and made a prisoner. With many of his compatriots he was taken to England, landing on November 14, 1758, where he remained in captivity for five years; he was released but a short time before the treaty of peace was signed at Paris, February 10, 1763. Apart from her interests in the West Indies, France was stripped at this time of all her vast possessions in America, save only the two little islands of Saint Pierre and Miquelon.

Whether Pierre Audubon shared the fate of his son we are unable to say, for at this point he drops out of our records and we do not hear of him again. It is certain that he never made another voyage with Jean, who returned to his native town with his passion for the sea unabated, and at nineteen reëntered the merchant marine as a novice. His next voyage, on the ship La Caille, Captain Pigeon, was to execute a governmental commission at the Island of Miquelon. Five golden years of his youth had been spent in captivity; if productive of nothing else they had given him a knowledge of the English tongue, but they had also engendered bitter hatred of the English race, a feeling which his son confessed to have shared in his youthful days.[19]

The period from 1766 to 1768 was occupied in four voyages to Newfoundland, probably in the interest of the codfish trade, first as sailor before the mast in Le Printemps, and then as lieutenant in a ship called also La Marianne, with alternate sailings from, and to, La Rochelle and Les Sables d'Olonne. On his third voyage to Newfoundland, which was made in 1767, when he was twenty-three years old, Jean Audubon ranked as lieutenant of his vessel, but in the summer of 1768 he shipped again from Les Sables as sailor before the mast for a short trading cruise on the coast of France; in this instance the vessel, called Le Propre, was captained by Pierre Martin, who was possibly an uncle. At this juncture Jean Audubon enlisted in the French navy (service for the State) as a common sailor, and made two voyages on governmental business from the port of Rochefort, serving altogether nearly nine months (1768-9). After the termination of this last engagement nothing is heard of Jean for over a year, when in 1770 he makes his first appearance at Nantes, the city that was to know him in many capacities for nearly half a century. There he reëntered the merchant marine, and on November 1, 1770, began a series of eight voyages, lasting as many years, to the island of Santo Domingo, the western section of which was then in possession of France.

Since much of the mystery which hitherto has shrouded the early life of John James Audubon is involved in the West Indian period of his father's career, we shall now trace this history in considerable detail.

The great export trade of French Santo Domingo in those days was in brown and white sugar, then known as the "Muscovado" and "clayed" sorts, which for the year 1789 amounted to over 141,000,000 pounds, valued at more than 122,000,000 francs; and in coffee, which in the same year totaled nearly 77,000,000 pounds, estimated to be worth nearly 52,000,000 francs.[20] While all such estimates were no doubt very crude, they serve to illustrate the richness of the prize that attracted Frenchmen by hundreds to the colony, an island that to many seemed a paradise in prospect, but which proved to be a purgatory in disguise.

Jean Audubon's voyages were all made in the interest of this valuable trade. Since they commonly lasted from six months to nearly a year, they became doubly hazardous to a French sailor after the outbreak of the American Revolution, for if he escaped his Scylla, the inveterate pirate, he might expect to encounter an equally formidable Charybdis in an English privateer. Though the northwestern corner of Santo Domingo was the center of their forays, Jean never lost a ship to the buccaneers, and though sometimes caught by the English, he never surrendered. He made three successive voyages from 1770 to 1772 in La Dauphine, commanded by Jean Pallueau, first as lieutenant and later as captain of the second grade, but on his last five voyages to the West Indies he captained his own ships, known as Le Marquis de Lévy (1774), Les Bons Amis (1775-6), and Le Comte d'Artois (1777-8).

Captain Audubon was married on August 24, 1772, at Paimbœuf, to Anne Moynet,[21] a widow of some property, who had been born at Nantes in 1735 and was thus nine years his senior. Her married name was Ricordel. She possessed several houses at Paimbœuf, and acquired one in 1777, which was rented to the Administration at the time of the Revolution (see Vol. I, p. 80), as well as a dwelling at Nantes, where she lived while her roving sailor of a husband was in Santo Domingo or the United States. Madame Audubon was a woman of simple tastes, devoted to culture, and, as we shall see, possessed of a kind heart.

When Captain Audubon left Les Cayes, Santo Domingo, on his last trading voyage, in the spring of 1779, bound for Nantes with a valuable cargo, his ship, Le Comte d'Artois, was attacked by four British corsairs and two galleys. With the odds overwhelmingly against him, he fought until his crew were nearly all killed or disabled, and after an abortive attempt to blow up his vessel, tried to escape in his shallop. For the second time he was made a prisoner by the English, who in this instance took him to New York, then in the possession of British troops. He was landed in that city on May 12, 1779, and was held there as a prisoner of war for thirteen months. If our inference be correct, he finally owed his release to the efforts of the French Ambassador, Monsieur de la Luzerne, the same, we believe, who had been a Governor of Santo Domingo, and who in 1790 became its Minister of Marine. As will be seen presently, this diplomat again exerted himself in Captain Audubon's behalf.

It is interesting to find that on this occasion Jean Audubon was fighting not only for his life, but for his property. His vessel, Le Comte d'Artois, was very heavily armed. Though of only 250 tons, she carried no less than ten cannon, four of which were mounted on gun carriages, and ten bronze pivot guns, which might imply that she was originally designed as a privateer. The ship was not destroyed when her captain was made prisoner, but was taken by the English to Portsmouth, New Hampshire (?), and burned there before December 15 of the following year.[22] Before starting on this disastrous voyage Captain Audubon had sold the vessel and his interest in her cargo to the Messrs. Lacroix, Formon de Boisclair and Jacques, with whom later he had extensive dealings in slaves; but he was not paid, and though an indemnity seems to have come from the British Government, he was never able to obtain a satisfactory settlement of the Formon claim.[23]

Jean Audubon's release from captivity in New York, in June, 1780, probably marks the period of his first intimate acquaintance with the United States. We know only that he did not return immediately to either Santo Domingo or France, but became an enthusiast for the American cause, and sought the earliest opportunity to avenge his wrongs at the hands of the British. He did not have long to wait, for through the exertions of the Ambassador de la Luzerne, he was placed in command of the corvette Queen Charlotte. With her, in October, 1781, he joined the fleet of the Count de Grasse before Yorktown,[24] where he soon witnessed the surrender of Cornwallis and the humiliation of his enemies. After this turning point of the war Captain Audubon remained in the United States, and in April, 1782, commanded a merchantman called L'Annette,[25] in which he was also personally interested, and delivered a cargo of Virginia tobacco at the port of Nantes. Shortly after his return to America in the same year he was placed in command of an American armed vessel The Queen and sent on another mission to France. Near the Chaussée des Saints he was attacked by a British privateer, but after a stubborn fight at close quarters he sank his enemy and entered the port of Brest. Nothing is said of the taking of prisoners on such occasions, and there were doubtless few survivors among the defeated crew. This command Jean Audubon held until peace was concluded between Great Britain and her former colonies in America, probably until the close of 1783. The hostile army was disbanded in the spring of that year, the treaty of peace was made definitive in September, and on November 25, 1783, the last British troopers left the city of New York.

Captain Audubon at Les Cayes—As planter, sugar refiner, general merchant and slave dealer, amasses a fortune—His return to France with his children—History of the Santo Domingo revolt—Baron de Wimpffen's experience—Revolution of the whites—Opposition of the abolitionists—Effect of the Declaration of Rights on the mulattoes—The General Assembly drafts a new constitution—First blood drawn between revolutionists and loyalists at Port-au-Prince—Ogé's futile attempt to liberate the mulattoes—Les Cayes first touched by revolution in 1790, four years after the death of Audubon's mother—Emancipation of the mulattoes—Resistance of the whites—General revolt of blacks against whites and the ruin of the colony.

After the American struggle for liberty had been finally won, Captain Audubon resigned his commission held in the United States and returned to his home at Nantes, but town or country could not hold him long. Lured by the prospects of great wealth which Santo Domingo offered to the merchant of those days, and having learned by long experience in her ports the devious methods by which fortunes were attained, he decided to give up the sea and embark in colonial trade. For six years, from 1783 to 1789, he lived almost continuously in the West Indies, and as merchant, planter, and dealer in slaves amassed a large fortune. Meanwhile his wife, who had seen little of him since their marriage in 1772, remained at Nantes.

Captain Audubon traveled through the United States early in 1789, and again late in that year when on his way to France, probably in the first instance returning to Santo Domingo by way of the Ohio and the Mississippi. Symptoms of unrest were already prevalent in the northern provinces of the island but had caused no serious alarm in the south. Jean Audubon's aim seems to have been to collect debts due him in the United States and to leave the capital invested there. At all events it was on this occasion that he purchased the farm of "Mill Grove," near Philadelphia, the history of which will be given a little later (see Chapter VII). He had no intention, however, of living in Pennsylvania, for he immediately leased this estate to its former owner and hurried away.

July 14, 1789, found the elder Audubon enlisted as a soldier in the National Guards at Les Cayes. These colonial troops, which were originally militia organizations modeled after similar bodies in France, were reorganized at this time to meet any possible emergencies. Affairs in the southern provinces of Santo Domingo had followed, up to this moment, their normal course, and Jean Audubon, who could have learned nothing of what had transpired at home, decided to entrust his various interests to the hands of agents and return to France. This was probably in late August or early September, 1789, as we know that he first returned to the United States and visited Richmond, Virginia, at the close of that year.[26] Strangely enough, on the twentieth day of the former month the National Assembly at Paris had voted the celebrated Declaration of Rights, which was destined to upturn the whole social system of Santo Domingo and to convert that island into a purgatory of the direst anarchy, strife, and bloodshed which the world had ever known, or at least remembered; but fully six weeks must have elapsed before news of this grave decision could have reached the colony.

At this time Jean Audubon was no doubt regarded as a very rich man, and though he happened to leave Les Cayes at a critical moment, little could he have dreamed of the disaster that awaited him there as well as in his beloved France. His personal affairs during this eventful period, involving as they necessarily do the early life of his distinguished son, have hitherto been shrouded in the dark and sinister history of that ever smiling but ever turbulent island. Now, however, the veil of mist that has settled over the page can be penetrated at the most important points. In this and subsequent chapters we shall follow the life of father and son through the course of events which has been thus briefly summarized.

To return to the earlier threads of our narrative, at about the close of 1783, Captain Audubon was engaged by the Coirond brothers, colonial merchants at Nantes, to take charge of their foreign trade, which centered chiefly at Les Cayes,[27] Santo Domingo, then a most thriving and populous town, as it is today the largest seaport on the southern coast of the Republic of Haiti. Their ships brought sugar, coffee, cotton and other West Indian products to France, and laden with fabrics, wines and every luxury known to the colonists of that day, returned to Les Cayes, as well as to Saint Louis, an important port a little farther to the east, where these merchants also possessed warehouses and stores.

In a short time Jean Audubon had acquired an independent business of his own, both as a planter and merchant. He made his home at Les Cayes, but extended his enterprises to Saint Louis and possibly to other points. From this time onward he commonly described himself as négotiant,[28] or merchant, and his son, when writing to his father from America, addressed him in this way. His business letters and other documents of the period refer to his house at Les Cayes, his plantations of cane and his sugar refinery, his exportation of colonial wares, his purchases of French goods, particularly at Nantes, and to his trade in black slaves which eventually assumed large proportions. How important his sugar plantations may have been is not known, but a tax-receipt shows that at one time he possessed forty-two slaves.[29] The naturalist said that his father acquired a plantation on the Ile à Vaches, an island of considerable importance at the southern bound of the roadstead of Les Cayes and nine miles from the town, but we have found no other reference to it.

Great numbers of negroes must have passed through Jean Audubon's hands, as shown by his bills of sale, which strangely reflect the customs of a much later and sadder day on the North American continent (see Appendix I, Documents Nos. 4-6). In one of these bills, dated at Les Cayes, September 16, 1785, Jean is credited with one-half the net proceeds of the sale of forty negroes, bought originally of M. Th. Johnston for the sum of 60,000 francs, and sold by Jean Audubon and Messrs. La Croix, Formon & Jacques for 71,552 francs; after deducting 183 francs for food and treatment, the net returns became 71,369 francs, and Jean's profits, on a half-interest basis, 5,684 francs, or about 142 francs per head. The prices of these slaves, which were sold to planters on the island when not retained for their own use, ranged from 1,500 to 2,100 francs, or from $300 to $420, at the present rate of exchange. It is interesting to notice that while these negroes were held for sale, the exact period of which is not stated, they received as food eighty bunches of bananas and three beef heads; though under the care of a physician, it is not surprising to find that one of them died. Another bill, bearing date of August 7, 1785, records the sale to Jean Audubon of ten negroes and three negresses for a total sum of 26,000 francs; 16,000 francs of this amount was paid in sugar, but what is particularly interesting now is the fact that a balance of 2,000 francs was finally cancelled on June 9, 1788, a year or more after Jean Audubon, according to the accepted accounts, is supposed to have lost his wife and his property and to have fled from the island. Mme. Anne Moynet Audubon never visited America, and her husband, as we have seen, left Santo Domingo in 1789, before the outbreak of the revolution. His property remained substantially intact until after 1792, and in some years, it is believed, yielded him in rents 90,000 francs, which at present rates in American money would be equivalent to $18,000. In giving his certificate of residence at Nantes in that eventful year, Captain Audubon publicly declared that he possessed a dwelling, a sugar refinery, and warehouses or stores at both Les Cayes and Saint Louis. Moreover, his West Indian estate was not completely settled until 1820, two years after his death.

LES CAYES, HAITI: THE WHARF AND POST OFFICE; AT THE LEFT IS SEEN A PILE OF LOGWOOD AWAITING SHIPMENT.

LES CAYES, HAITI: THE MARKET AND CHURCH OF SACRÉ CŒUR.

After photographs made at Les Cayes in June, 1917, and obtained through the kindness of Mr. Ferdinand Lathrop Mayer, Secretary of Legation, Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

Slaves were regarded in Santo Domingo as an indispensable commodity, as they had been in Virginia and the Carolinas for a century past, and were still to be for three-quarters of a century to come; the "friends of the blacks" as the abolitionists were called, were considered by most planters as the enemies of the whites. Degradation and cruelty, ever attendant upon a system that drew its chief support from the self-interest of a class, were all too common in the island, yet there were many who earnestly strove to soften the lot of their slaves. Though a born fighter, Jean Audubon was humane, and the evidence, so far as it goes, shows that his own slaves were treated with kindness and consideration.

This period in Santo Domingo, particularly from the year 1785 to 1789, not only is important for our story, but happened to mark a crisis in French sovereignty in America. It will be necessary, therefore, to follow certain events in a history which can serve only as a warning to mankind, for it contains little to satisfy the understanding and nothing to excite the fancy or gladden the heart. It is to be noticed first, however, that according to the accepted accounts, John James Audubon was born of a Spanish creole mother, in Louisiana, in 1780. Shortly after his birth, his mother is said to have gone to Santo Domingo, where she perished in a local uprising of the blacks, when Jean Audubon's plantations and property were totally destroyed; Jean managed to escape with only his two children, a few faithful slaves, and a part of his money and valuables, to New Orleans, whence he subsequently went to France. Investigation of existing records has proved that these statements are not in accord with the facts, but before entering into further personal details it will be well to examine those conditions on the island of Santo Domingo which led many into easy fortune only to involve them later in a ruin as complete and irretrievable as it was unforeseen and unnecessary.

For nearly a hundred years the western half of Santo Domingo had been held by France, and to every outward appearance it had enjoyed such unbounded and steadily increasing prosperity that it was regarded with envy on every side; in fine, it seemed to be one of the richest and most desirable colonies in the whole world. Historians, said an observer of a later day,[30] were "never weary of enumerating the amount of its products, the great trade, the warehouses full of sugar, cotton, coffee, indigo and cocoa; its plains covered with splendid estates, its hillsides dotted with noble houses; a white population, rich, refined, enjoying life as only a luxurious colonial society can enjoy it." Few could then see the foul blot beneath so fair a surface, or realize that what had been bought by the misery and blood of a prostrate race would demand an equivalent, and that a settlement might be forced.

Negroes had been imported into Santo Domingo from the African coasts in incredible numbers, first by Spain after she had succeeded in exterminating the inoffensive native Caribs, and later by France. One hundred thousand blacks of all ages were entering the colonies each year, and to secure this number of bossals, as the native Africans were called, involved the death of nearly as many more, either through the fighting that preceded their capture on land, or from the terrors of pestilence or shipwreck that awaited them at sea. By 1790 the blacks of Santo Domingo outnumbered the whites sixteen to one, and the number of blacks then in the island was estimated at 480,000, in contrast to 30,800 whites, and about 24,000 free mulattoes or "people of color."

Under French rule the blacks had been subjected, as many believed, to a system of slavery unsurpassed for cruelty and barbarity. No doubt there were Frenchmen who, in their fierce struggle to become rich, worked their slaves beyond human endurance and did not hesitate to terrorize them with the severest punishment upon the first symptoms of revolt; but, on the whole, such sweeping denunciations were probably unjust. An impartial observer and historian of that day, himself an Englishman,[31] declared that the French treated their slaves quite as well as the English did theirs, and clothed them better. He believed that the lot of the Santo Domingo blacks at the period of which we speak would compare favorably with that of the peasantry of Europe, a comment made familiar to American ears when applied to the slave population of the South. The real trouble came from the more enlightened disaffection of the mulattoes and free negroes, fanned by the fanatic zeal of abolitionists abroad, particularly of those who formed the society of Les Amis des Noirs in France, who were determined to carry out their policies by any means and at whatever cost.

The mulattoes were really in worse plight than the actual slaves, for they were virtually slaves of the State and had no master to whom they could appeal, being subject to military service without pay, to the corvée or labor upon the highways, the hardships of which were insupportable, as well as to a constant and galling tyranny. The law was invariably framed in favor of the white man, who, if he struck a mulatto, was subject to a trivial fine, while retaliation by the man of color might cost him his right hand. It should be added, however, that custom was usually more lenient than the law, and that such atrocious enactments were generally a dead letter.

As might have been expected in the circumstances, the mulattoes took their revenge on the despised blacks, whom they were permitted to hold as slaves. They were notoriously the hardest taskmasters in the island, and in return they were naturally envied and hated by the ignorant mass of black humanity. The whites, to complete the discord, were divided among themselves, the Frenchmen from Europe affecting a superiority over the white Creoles, the seasoned natives of the island, a condition that never made for good feeling. Moreover, the white planter, who endeavored to gain a foothold by producing sugar, cotton or coffee, seems to have had a just grievance against the merchants whom the law favored and who set the price for negroes and all other commodities that had to be bought in exchange for produce. Such at least was the conviction and experience of a keen observer, Francis Alexander Stanislaus, Baron de Wimpffen,[32] who went to Santo Domingo in 1788, tried to establish himself as a coffee planter at Jaquemel, on the southern coast not far from Les Cayes, and after three years of fruitless effort, gave up the attempt in disgust, glad to escape, as from the flames of purgatory, to the United States, where he settled in Pennsylvania. Baron de Wimpffen's lack of success no doubt colored his impressions of the country to some extent, but after making due allowance on this score, we find in his letters, beyond a doubt, an essentially true picture of Santo Domingan society and plantation life at the very time and place with which our story is most intimately concerned. A sketch of the picture which the Baron has drawn, though in brief outline, will enable us better to understand the real condition of affairs.

The prevailing taste in Santo Domingo, according to this observer, was creolian tinctured with boucan, or with the characteristics of the buccaneers. White society on the island was divided into governmental or town officials, merchants, and planters, the several classes having their own interests, which were often conflicting. The planters were concerned only with negroes, their sugar, their cotton or their coffee, and could talk of nothing else; values were reckoned in negroes, or in sugar, for which slaves were commonly exchanged. The laxity of morals, the absence of schools, and the total lack of books were patent on every hand. After sunset dancing was the chief form of amusement in the towns, and handsome mulattoes were the acknowledged Bacchantes of the island. It was from this class that housekeepers were usually chosen by the greater part of the unmarried whites. They had "some skill," said Baron de Wimpffen, "in the management of a family, sufficient honesty to attach themselves invariably to one man, and great goodness of heart. More than one European, abandoned by his selfish brethren, has found in them all the solicitude of the most tender, the most constant, the most generous humanity, without being indebted for it to any other sentiment than benevolence."

Expense of cultivation at this time is said to have risen out of all proportion to the value of the product. While negro service was a prime necessity to the planter, the African mine was becoming exhausted; even then slave dealers were penetrating a thousand leagues or more from the Guinea coast. Added to the cost of slaves, which was yearly increasing and had already reached to 2,000 or even 3,000 francs per head, the Government exacted a ruinous capitation tax, which bore with special weight on the planter.[33] Physicians and lawyers, however ignorant, exacted exorbitant fees; masons and carpenters, however inefficient, demanded an unreasonable wage; they, we are told, with the merchant and official governmental class, were the only money makers on the island. The merchant whom we have seen taking the planter's produce at his own price, in exchange for slaves again at his own price, had the advantage in every business transaction; the planter, as a result, was his chronic debtor, and at usurious rates.

Subject to an enervating climate, which Europeans with their intemperate habits could seldom endure for long, the planter, though weak and sick himself, was often obliged to be overseer, driver, apothecary, and nurse to his negroes, the slave of his slaves. In spite of every care, out of one hundred imported negroes the mortality was nearly twenty per cent in the first year. Where less oversight was given to their food, the slightest scratch was likely to degenerate into a dangerous wound, while the most dreaded disease, then known in English as the "yaws" and in French as la grosse vérole (to distinguish it from the smallpox, la petite vérole), was a scourge for which no remedy had then been found. Every slave was branded with a hot iron on the breast, with both the name of his master and that of the parish to which he belonged, but notwithstanding such precautions desertions were far from uncommon.

The Santo Domingan blacks were put to work in the morning with a crack of the arceau, a short-handled whip, delivered on their backs or shoulders, and so accustomed had they become to the regularity of this stimulus that they could hardly be set in motion without it. How to manage the true bossal, as distinguished from the African creole, with humanity and success was a problem to which many considerate planters must have addressed themselves in vain, if, as this one declared, the black's ruling passion was to do nothing, and he was by nature a thief, to whom indulgence was weakness and injustice a defect of judgment that excited both his hatred and his contempt.

Stanilaus further observed that the soil of Santo Domingo was then already becoming exhausted, and he believed that the day of rapid fortunes for the planter had passed. "Calculate now," said he, "the privations of every kind, the commercial vicissitudes, the perpetual apprehensions, the disgusting details, inseparable from the nature of slavery; the state of languor or anxiety in which he vegetates between a burning sky, and a soil always ready to swallow him up, and you will allow with me that there is no peasant, no day-labourer in Europe, whose condition is not preferable to that of a planter of San Domingo." "I never met," he adds, "a West Indian in France who did not enumerate to me with more emphasis than accuracy, the charms of a residence at Saint Domingo; since I have been here, I have not found a single one who has not cursed both Saint Domingo, and the obstacles, eternally reviving, which, from one year to another, prolong his stay in this abode of the damned."

Having followed De Wimpffen to this point, the reader is entitled to hear his parting epigrams. "The more I know," he said, of the inhabitants of Saint Domingo, "the more I felicitate myself on quitting it. I came hither with the noble ambition of occupying myself solely in acquiring a fortune; but destined to become a master, and consequently to possess slaves, I saw, in the necessity of living with them, that of studying them with attention to know them, and I depart with much less esteem for the one, and pity for the other. When a person is what the greater part of the planters are, he is made to have slaves; when he is what the greater part of the slaves are, he is made to have a master."

Whether Jean Audubon's long experience would have confirmed all that has just been said is doubtful, for he was primarily a merchant or dealer and thus belonged to the favored class. But what especially interests us now is that both he and De Wimpffen were owners of plantations in the southern province of Santo Domingo at the same time. The one who wished to retain a valuable property followed the custom of the time by confiding the management of his affairs to an agent, either at a fixed salary or on a profit-sharing basis; while the other, who stayed long enough to discern the trend of events, was glad to sell his land and his slaves and shake the dust of the island from his feet forever.[34]

Before resuming the intimate details of our narrative, we must follow the whirlwind of political events already set in motion in the island colony. In the spring of 1789 the white colonists of Santo Domingo took administrative matters into their own hands, and without vestige of legal authority, elected and dispatched eighteen deputies to the States-General, then sitting in France. These men reached Versailles in June, a month after that body had declared itself the National Assembly, but only six were ever admitted to its counsels. For a long time opposition to the planters had been fomented in Paris by the "Friends of the Blacks," the abolition society to which we have referred; stories of cruelty to the slaves, colored and intensified in passing from mouth to mouth, as invariably happens when atrocity tales are used as partisan weapons, added to the arrogance and extravagant habits of many planters when resident in the mother country, did not tend to soften the prejudice of the public towards their class. The planters could get no consideration at home, and, as we have seen, the Declaration of Rights followed promptly in August, while a legislative Assembly was ordered in September. Meantime the mulattoes on the island were clamoring for the political rights which the decree had promised them, and, to make matters worse, some of the influential whites espoused their cause, even preaching the enfranchisement of the blacks, from whom up to this time little had been heard. In short, the whites were divided as effectually as were blacks and mulattoes.

The dominant party in Santo Domingo, led by the Governor-General, were determined to uphold the old despotic régime, while the General Assembly, which met at Saint Marc in obedience to orders from the mother country, on April 16, 1790, drafted a new constitution. The clash came in July of this year, and in the northern province, where the first blood of the revolution was drawn at Port-au-Prince. On October 12, 1790, James Ogé, a mulatto, inspired, financed and equipped by the "Friends of the Blacks" in Paris, landed secretly in Santo Domingo, established a military camp at Cap François and called all mulattoes to arms. His plan was to wage war on the whites as well as upon all mulattoes who refused to join his standard of revolt; but Ogé and his company were quickly suppressed, and this incompetent leader, who fled to Spanish territory, was later extradited and broken on the wheel. This episode naturally infuriated the whites against all mulattoes, who took up arms at Les Cayes and at other points. The whites also armed, and a skirmish occurred at Les Cayes, Jean Audubon's old home, where fifty persons on both sides lost their lives, but a temporary truce was immediately effected. This was the first serious incident in which the town of Les Cayes figured in the bloody revolution of Santo Domingo; it occurred, we believe, in the late autumn of 1790. Audubon's mother had then been dead four years, and her son, the future naturalist, had left the country in the fall of 1789; in order to bring out these facts clearly it has seemed necessary to enter into this detail.

Later events in Santo Domingo now moved in a direction and with a velocity which few then were able to comprehend. The danger and the potency of the volcano that had long been muttering beneath their feet needed but a few touches from without to reveal its full explosive power. These were furnished not only by the mulattoes, many of whom, after having fought under French officers in the American Revolution, had returned to the island and there spread wide the spirit of disaffection and revolt; but also by the National Assembly in France, which by its vacillating policies destroyed every hope of reconciliation. In March, 1790, this Assembly granted to the citizens of Santo Domingo the right of local self-government, but only a year later, on May 15, 1791, tore up this decree and emancipated the mulattoes. When the news reached the island six weeks later, the colony was thrown into the utmost consternation; the whites as a class refused point-blank to accept the decision and summoned an Assembly of their own, which met in August. The mulattoes again took up arms, and the blacks, who by this time had been won to their side, started a general revolt which had its origin on a plantation called "Noé," in the parish of Acul, nine miles from Cap François. They began by burning the cane fields and the sugar houses and murdering their white owners. Thenceforth Santo Domingan history becomes an intricate and disgusting detail of conspiracies, treacheries, murders, conflagrations, and atrocities of every description. The only ray of light comes from the first genuine leader of the blacks, the gallant but unfortunate Toussaint, in 1793.

As has already been intimated, Jean Audubon's Santo Domingo property suffered long after he left the island, and certainly after 1792 when, as we shall soon see, revolutions were demanding his attention and all his energies at home.

Les Cayes—Audubon's French Creole mother—His early names—Discovery of the Sanson bill with the only record of his birth—Medical practice of an early day—Birth of Muguet, Audubon's sister—Fougère and Muguet taken to France—Audubon's adoption and baptism—His assumed name—Dual personality in legal documents—Source of published errors—Autobiographic records—Rise of enigma and tradition—The Marigny myth.

Santo Domingo, though repeatedly ravaged by the indiscriminate hand of man, is a noble and productive land, which, for the diversity and grandeur of its scenery and the rare beauty of its tropical vegetation, was justly regarded as one of the garden spots of the West Indies and worthy to be in truth a "Paradise of the New World." For every lover of birds and nature this semi-tropical island, and especially Les Cayes, upon its south-westerly verge in what is now Haiti, will have a peculiar interest when it is known, that there, amid the splendor of sea and sun and the ever-glorious flowers and birds, the eyes of America's great woodsman and pioneer ornithologist first saw the light of day.

Jean Audubon met somewhere in America, and probably at Les Cayes, a woman whom he has described only as a "creole of Santo Domingo," that is, one born on the island and of French parentage, and who is now known only by the name of Mlle. Rabin.[35] To them was born, at Les Cayes, a son, on the twenty-sixth of April, 1785. This boy, who was sometimes referred to in early documents as "Jean Rabin, créole de Saint-Domingue," and who again was called "Fougère" (in English, "Fern"), received the baptismal name of Jean Jacques Fougère six months before his sixteenth birthday.

The bill of the physician, Doctor Sanson of Les Cayes, who assisted at young Audubon's birth still exists, and as the reader will perceive, it is a highly unique and interesting historical document.[36] Written in the doctor's own hand, it is receipted by him, as well as approved and signed by Jean Audubon himself. This tardy discovery, along with other pertinent records in the commune of Couëron, in France, finally resolves the mystery which has ever hedged the Melchizedek of American natural history. The child's name, of course, is not given in the bill, but authentic records of Audubon's subsequent adoption and baptism agree so completely in names and dates as to establish his identity beyond a shadow of doubt. Much other documentary evidence which also has recently come to light is all in harmony with these facts, and further shows that the natal spot and time as given in the Sanson bill can refer only to this talented boy. But before turning to these legal documents we must examine the personal record of Jean Audubon's physician.

Dr. Sanson's carefully itemized account, to the amount of 1,339 francs, extends over a period of nearly two years, from December 29, 1783, to October 19, 1785; it was accepted and signed by Captain Audubon on October 12, 1786, and receipted by the doctor when paid on June 7, 1787. The bill is interesting as a commentary on the medical practice of an early day, as well as for the light which it throws on Jean Audubon's Santo Domingan career, his establishment at Les Cayes, and his treatment of black slaves and dependents. This quaint document, moreover, tends to confirm a remark of Baron de Wimpffen to the effect that every doctor in Santo Domingo grew rich at his profession, and also recalls what he said in regard to the household remedies of the period. "Every colonist," to quote this observer again, "is commonly provided with a small chest of medicines, of which the principal are manna, salts, and rhubarb; the country itself produces tamarinds, and the leaves of the cassia tree, a slight infusion of which, with a little orange juice, makes as good a purge as a mixture more scientifically composed."

FIRST PAGE OF THE BILL, RENDERED BY DR. SANSON, OF LES CAYES, SANTO DOMINGO, TO JEAN AUDUBON FOR MEDICAL SERVICES FROM DECEMBER 29, 1783, TO OCTOBER 19, 1785.

After the original document in possession of M. L. Lavigne, at Couëron. The note in upper left-hand corner, "très curieux Mlle. Rabin & son enfant," has been added by a later hand.

SECOND PAGE OF THE SANSON BILL, BEARING, IN THE ENTRY FOR APRIL 26, 1785, THE ONLY RECORD KNOWN TO EXIST OF THE DATE OF AUDUBON'S BIRTH.

THIRD PAGE OF THE SANSON BILL, SIGNED AS ACCEPTED BY JEAN AUDUBON, OCTOBER 12, 1786, AND RECEIPTED BY THE DOCTOR, WHEN PAID, JUNE 7, 1787.

This physician's chief resources are seen to have been ipecacuanha, purgative decoctions, including such as the tamarind tree provided, manna, mineral waters, lotions, plasters, and kino, an astringent juice derived from different leguminous plants, which gave a red color to the saliva, not to speak of "other medicines," the nature of which is not revealed, which were liberally supplied to whites and blacks, both old and young, alike. It will be noticed further that the slaves of African birth when not named are referred to as "bossals" though many young blacks and mulattoes are called "Joue";[37] that a cooper, attached presumably to the Audubon sugar refinery, was dosed thrice daily with kino on four days in succession; and that this favorite treatment was repeated a month later. A clerk in the establishment, Monsieur Aubinais, is mentioned as requiring frequent attention, as well as Jean Audubon himself, who was once bled at the arm.

In the entry for March 27, 1784, there is this interesting reference: "Inoculated Cæsar, Jupiter, and Rose, at thirty francs each, ninety francs"; and if there were any doubt why Cæsar had been inoculated, a hint is immediately given under May 11: "For attention, visits, and remedies, during the smallpox (la petite vérole) of the mulatto Joue, sixty francs"; again we read: "June 30, inoculated a little negro bossal, named Joue, thirty francs." Every fresh batch of negroes landed in the colonies led to a new outbreak of this terrible scourge, and but one other disease, la grosse vérole,[38] was more common or more fatal among the blacks. For a long period it had been a common practice to inoculate both whites and blacks directly with the smallpox in order to secure some degree of protection against its most virulent form, but this method of fighting the devil with fire had its disadvantages. By the end of the eighteenth century opinion was about equally divided upon the advisability of continuing the measure, since induced variola or smallpox was apt to be virulent, and was often quite as infectious as when manifested in the usual and natural way. Then came Edward Jenner's grand discovery, made twelve years before this date but not announced until 1798, that vaccinia would prevent variola. Almost immediately vaccination spread like wild fire over Europe, and it has never been appreciated more fully or more highly lauded by the best representatives of the medical profession everywhere than at the present day.

The most interesting references in this historic document are to "Mlle. Rabin," whose name occurs no less than seventeen times, beginning May 21, 1784, and closing with the entry for the seventeenth of August, 1785. We learn that the physician spent the nights of April 24 and 25, 1785, at the woman's bedside, and that her child was born on the twenty-sixth day of that month, probably in the morning. It will be noticed further that she had been bled previously at the arm, that she had suffered also from the erysipelas, and that later she was treated for abscesses. These frequent attentions of the physician, extending over several months, the last record being for August 17, show only too clearly that at this time Audubon's mother was in feeble health. All that is further known about her is that she died either at the close of 1785 or in 1786, when her infant son was probably less than a year old.[39]

A daughter of Jean Audubon, Rosa, who was first called Muguet (in English, "Lily of the Valley"), was also born in Santo Domingo, and probably at Les Cayes, on April 29, 1787. Her mother, Catharine Bouffard, "créole de Saint-Domingue," who subsequently went to France, had another daughter, born also at Les Cayes, named Louise, who was living at La Rochelle in 1819.[40]

When Captain Audubon finally left the West Indies in the autumn of 1789, he took with him, in the care of trustworthy slaves, these two children, Fougère or Jean Rabin, aged four and a half years, and Muguet or Rosa, an infant of less than two. We know that he visited Richmond, Virginia, to collect a long outstanding claim against David Ross, then engaged in an iron industry near that city (see Chapter VIII, p. 121), and it is possible that he traveled by way of New Orleans and the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. After spending some time at the close of this year in the United States, he went to France and made a home for his children at Nantes. This city became essentially their permanent abode until their father's retirement from the navy on January 1, 1801, when he finally settled in the little commune of Couëron, on the north bank of the Loire. The storm that burst over Nantes soon after their arrival revealed the true colors of Jean Audubon's patriotism, and the man was seen at his best, as will be related in the following chapter.

Madame Audubon, who had no children of her own, tenderly received the little ones, thus wafted from over the sea to her door in the Rue de Crébillon.[41] As the story proceeds we shall see that she was a most kind, if over-indulgent, foster mother, and became excessively proud of her handsome boy. "The first of my recollective powers," said the naturalist when writing of himself in 1835,[42] "placed me in the central portion of the city of Nantes ... where I still recollect particularly that I was much cherished by my dear stepmother ... and that I was constantly attended by one or two black servants, who had followed my father to New Orleans and afterwards to Nantes."

Jean Audubon, who spent a good part of his life at sea and in a country almost totally devoid of morals, must be considered as the product of his time. He was better, no doubt, than many who made greater professions, better certainly than a Rousseau, who gave excellent advice to parents upon the proper methods of rearing their children but sent his own offspring to orphan asylums. As most men have their faults, said the son, the father "had one that was common to many individuals, and that never left him until sobered by a long life"; but, he added, "as a father, I never complained of him; his generosity was often too great, and his good qualities won him many desirable friends." Whatever his faults, Jean Audubon was just, generous and possessed of a kind heart. He was in reality a truer father than many who give their children their name but deny them sympathy and a wise oversight. Jean Audubon not only cherished the two children but made them his heirs. On March 7, 1793, Fougère at the age of eight and Muguet at six were legalized by a regular act of adoption in the presence of witnesses at Nantes as the children of Jean and Anne Moynet Audubon.

This step was taken at the very moment when the storm had burst over La Vendée, when the fate of Nantes was trembling in the balance and the life of her citizens was most insecure. The act of adoption reads:[43]

It will be noticed that in this legally attested document, Bouffard, the true name of Muguet's mother, is given, while the name of the mother of Audubon is suppressed. It might therefore be inferred that the name Rabin, which appears later, was assumed, but as already remarked, such evidence is not conclusive.

Fougère, who was also called Jean Rabin, was baptized on October 23, 1800, by a priest of the church of Saint-Similien at Nantes. The archives of this church for the period in question have disappeared, but Jean Audubon's copy of the record has survived, and reads as follows:[44]

The act of adoption was drawn at a time when Captain Audubon could have had little leisure to consult records had he been disposed to do so, but the dates of birth which he then gave for these two children were correct both as to the year and month. Fougère, however, was born on the twenty-sixth, instead of the twenty-second of April, and Muguet, on the twenty-ninth, instead of the twenty-sixth, of that month. Audubon's mother's name is indicated in numerous legal documents of later date, and, as will appear, in every instance her son's identity is clearly established.

Young Audubon, who disliked the names of Fougère and Rabin, and naturally wished to be rid of their early associations, adopted the fanciful name of "La Forest,"[45] but used it only sporadically and for a short time. Some of his drawings of birds made at Nantes or Couëron as early as 1805, and in New York in 1806 and 1807, and possibly others of slightly later date, are signed "J. L. F. A.," or "J. J. L. Audubon."[46]

Jean Audubon and his wife are said to have settled some property upon "Jean Rabin, créole de Saint Domingue," which he refused to accept, saying, "my own name I have never been permitted even to speak; accord me that of Audubon, which I revere, as I have cause to do."[47] The reference in this instance was, I believe, to the final will of Lieutenant Audubon,[48] according to which his property, after being held in usufruct by his wife during her lifetime, was to be equally divided between their two adopted children. In his first will the son was referred to as "Jean Audubon," but in the second and last document, executed in 1816, two years before the testator's death, he appears as "Jean Rabin." Madame Audubon drew four wills; in the first, dated December 4, 1814, her adopted son is called "Jean Audubon"; in the next, of 1816, he is "Jean Rabin, créole de Saint-Domingue," while in a draft written December 26, 1819, he is styled simply "Jean Rabin"; finally, in her fourth and last testament of July 16, 1821, the wording is "Jean Audubon, called 'Jean Rabin.'" It is thus very plain that Audubon's foster parents considered it advisable to have his identity clearly set forth in legal documents. In one of his autobiographical sketches Audubon remarked that his own mother was said to have been as wealthy as she was beautiful, and if this were true, such caution might be explained and a key found to certain other enigmatical conditions which seemed to hedge his early life. But to such possibilities it will be necessary to revert at a later point of our story.[49]

AUDUBON'S SIGNATURE AT VARIOUS PERIODS FROM 1805 TO 1847.

The first, fourth and sixth are from early drawings; the second from Audubon and Rozier's "Articles of Association"; the fifth from a release given to Rozier; and the remainder from letters.

This dual personality was set forth by the naturalist himself, but in a more curious form, in a power of attorney[50] executed at Henderson, Kentucky, on July 26, 1817, in favor of his brother-in-law, Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau. This measure was taken more than a year after Audubon's father had drawn up his last will, in which the son was referred to as "Jean Rabin," and was evidently designed to facilitate any settlement of this will which events in France might render necessary. The naturalist was then engaged in his famous but disastrous financial enterprises on the Ohio River,[51] but whether any intimation had come to him of possible legal troubles, which later actually ensued in France, cannot be stated.

In reading the published accounts of Audubon's early life many have been puzzled by the absence of definite dates, as well as by the numerous contradictions in which they abound. It is needless to burden this narrative with a tedious reference to all these errors or to attempt to trace their origin, which no doubt had many sources, but since we have given the first true account of the naturalist's birth, we cannot pass these matters without a word of comment. The situation is somewhat involved, since we should possibly differentiate between what Audubon at different times believed to be true, and what he wished to make known to his family or to the public; possibly also we should discriminate between what he actually published over his own signature during his lifetime and the material which has appeared since his death, even though originally written by his own hand.

The first definite date which Audubon ever gave concerning his own life was that of his marriage in 1808, when he was twenty-three years of age, and all that he ever published of a biographical nature is to be found in his Ornithological Biography.[52] In the introduction to this work he simply said that he had "received light and life in the New World," and further that he returned to America from France, whither he had gone to receive the rudiments of his education, at the age of seventeen. Since Audubon's first return to America was in the autumn of 1803, when he was actually about eighteen and one-half years old, this statement is not so wide of the mark as to imply that the date of his birth was not then well understood. Moreover, the record of his adoption, which was certified to at the time of his baptism in 1800, was carefully preserved among the family documents, and there is no reason to suppose that knowledge of his age was ever withheld from him. Nevertheless, Audubon was inclined to overestimate his years, a characteristic rare in these days; when at Oxford in 1828 he was asked for his autograph, and was begged to inscribe also the date of his birth; "that," he said in recording the incident, "I could not do, except approximately," and his hostess was greatly amused that he should not know.

While going down the Ohio River in 1820, bound for New Orleans, Audubon took advantage of a rainy day to write in his journal something about himself that he thought his children at some future time might desire to know. This brief record may or may not have been at hand when in 1835 he wrote the more extended version that finally saw the light in 1893.[53] Since the manuscript of the later sketch was presumably in possession of Mrs. Audubon when the biography of her husband was prepared in New York about the year 1866, that account in its various versions has furnished biographers with practically all of the available material, not purely conjectural, concerning the naturalist's early life. Such additions as were made subsequently have proved to be very inaccurate.

In the first of these sketches, which, so far as it goes, is more in strict accord with facts, Audubon said nothing of his birth, and of his mother remarked only that he had been told that she was "an extraordinary beautiful woman," who died shortly after he was born. His father, he added, saw his wealth torn from him, until there was left barely enough to educate his two children, all that remained of the five, his three elder brothers[54] having been "killed in the wars." He then believed, as he said, that his first journey to France was made when he was two years old.

The later and fuller biography, referred to above as written in 1835 and published in 1893, begins with these words:[55]

The true history of Jean Audubon's commercial, naval, and civic career is given in the preceding and following chapters.

The naturalist, in his letters and journals, made frequent allusions to his age, but, as his granddaughter remarked, with one exception, no two agree; hence, his granddaughter concluded that he might "have been born anywhere from 1772 to 1783." In the face of such uncertainty she adopted the traditional date of May 5, 1780, adding that the true one was no doubt earlier. Audubon was thus five years younger than his biographers supposed, and twenty-one years were added to the age of his father, who actually lived to be only seventy-four years old, while his son died in his sixty-seventh year.

Wherever there is mystery there tradition is certain to raise its head, and though the naturalist carried his "enigma" to the grave, others, building upon his story, have fixed upon the very house in Louisiana in which he is said to have been born. Indeed, advocates of more than one house in that state as the probable scene of Audubon's nativity have arisen in recent times. We are obliged, therefore, to examine somewhat farther the now universally received but thoroughly erroneous idea that John James Audubon was a native of Louisiana at a time when that Commonwealth was part of a province of France.

Upholding a tradition of rather recent growth, Audubon's granddaughter has expressed the belief that the naturalist was born in a house belonging to the famous Philippe de Marigny and known as "Fontainebleau." This was a sugar plantation on the north side of Lake Ponchartrain, three miles east of what is now the village of Mandeville and twenty-five miles due north of New Orleans.

Pierre Enguerrand Philippe de Mandeville, Ecuyer Sieur de Marigny,[57] at one time owner of vast estates in and about New Orleans, was born in that city in 1750, and served as its alcade or mayor for two years. A lavish dispenser of hospitality, in 1798 he entertained in great state the Duke of Orleans, later known as Louis Philippe of France, together with his two brothers who accompanied him. He died at New Orleans, leaving five sons, of whom the third, Bernard Marigny, later became the owner of "Fontainebleau," which it has been mistakenly assumed was inherited from his father. At the time of the Duke of Orleans' visit just mentioned Jean Audubon had been out of the country nine years; there is no evidence of his ever having owned property at New Orleans, or ever having sustained any relations with the Marigny family.

Before following the Marigny myth further, it will be interesting to notice a late echo of the "Fontainebleau" story. In 1910 the Reverend Gordon Bakewell, then in his eighty-ninth year, gave some interesting reminiscences of Audubon, and spoke very definitely concerning both the time and place of his birth. Dr. Bakewell was a nephew of Mrs. Audubon, and as a youth, in 1834, had passed some time at her home in London. John W. Audubon, with his father's assistance, painted at that time a portrait of young Bakewell, who at a later day was welcomed in their home on the Hudson. Dr. Bakewell's contribution was as follows:[58]

We do not doubt the candor and sincerity of the excellent Dr. Bakewell, but are bound to say that the incidents as related above betray a striking lapse of memory and an even greater misunderstanding of recorded facts. Singularly a footnote to the paragraph quoted shows that the Marigny to whom he refers was, as must have been the case, Bernard Mandeville de Marigny, who was born in 1785, the same year as the naturalist. Since both were in the cradle at the same time, he is hardly available as a witness. Moreover, the official records of the United States Government prove that the estate called "Fontainebleau" was not in possession of the Marigny family at the time of Audubon's birth. The land in question was granted to a creole named Antonio Bonnabel, on January 25, 1799, by Manuel Goyon de Lemore, Governor-General of the Province of Louisiana and West Florida. Bonnabel sold his tract to Bernard Marigny in 1800, and Congress confirmed his title to it by a special act in 1836.[59]

Bernard Marigny served in the French army towards the close of the Napoleonic period, and his return to the United States from France, about 1818, is said to have been hastened by a duel which he fought with one of his superior officers. On his return he named Bonnabel's old tract on Lake Ponchartrain "Fontainebleau," in remembrance of the place where his regiment had been assigned for duty in France, and eventually built upon the estate a sawmill and a sugar-house, and planted sugar cane, living meanwhile on another plantation two and one-half miles away. The latter estate was allotted by him in 1832, when he gave it the name of Mandeville; the settlement thus started has since grown to a village of some 1,500 people. Here a summer house which belonged to Bernard's father still exists, although in altered form; it has been raised to accommodate a lower story, and is now known as the "Casino." According to those who have most carefully investigated existing records, this is the only house in Mandeville which belonged to the elder Marigny at the time of which we speak.

Bernard Marigny was one of those who befriended Audubon when he was in desperate straits at New Orleans in 1821, by advancing him money in return for portraits or drawings of birds. He died in that city in 1868, when in his eighty-third year, a poor and honest man.

Background of Audubon's youth—Nantes in Revolution—Revolt in La Vendée—Siege of Nantes—Reign of terror under Carrier—Plague robbing the guillotine—Flight of the population—Execution of Charette—The Chouan raid—Citizen Audubon's service—He reenters the navy and takes a prize from the English—His subsequent naval career—His losses in Santo Domingo—His service and rank—Retires on a pension—His death—His character and appearance.

The ancient city of Nantes, long famed for the beauty of its situation on the banks of a noble river, within easy reach of the sea, as well as for its importance in the arts of war and peace, numbered at the time of the Revolution 70,000 souls. The modern visitor to this favored spot will find quiet and orderly streets adorned with monumental statues (one of these representing Guépin, the revered historian of the city), the old buildings nearly all replaced by better, the Loire spanned by handsome bridges, and the ancient bounds of the town extended until it has become the sixth city of the Republic. Since Nantes formed a somber background to Audubon's youth, we shall follow in brief some of the ordeals through which his family, in common with thousands of other Nantais, were destined to pass during those eventful years which witnessed the close of the eighteenth century in France.

When Captain Audubon reached Nantes presumably not far from the beginning of 1790, he found the city in a state of the greatest turmoil and agitation. The commons, or third estate, included hundreds of its rich and influential citizens, and their demands for a fair hearing and a representation equal to that of the other orders had then passed the stage of open revolt, for they had planted their "liberty tree" and were sworn to defend it. In August of 1789 a permanent Committee of Public Safety had been constituted at Nantes, and by the end of that month 1,200 had volunteered for service in the National Guard. There were many loyalists in the city but they could not crush the ardent spirit of this revolt, and when in September money was needed to equip the revolutionary soldiery, young school children raised large sums for the popular cause. Jean Audubon immediately cast his lot with the revolutionists and joined the National Guard, but how much service he saw in the field cannot now be determined; it is known, however, that he was with these troops in the spring of 1792.[60]

In March, 1793, the loyalists of La Vendée rose to arms, and marching on Nantes under the able leadership of Charette, threatened to put its garrison to the sword if it were not surrendered within six hours. The National Guard met these invaders outside the walls and left the citizens to shift for themselves. Thus thrown upon their own resources, the Nantais showed that they could help themselves. They requisitioned and used for defense everything at hand; they exhumed the leaden coffins in their grand cathedral and appropriated waterspouts for ammunition, while their church bells were molded into cannon. Though held in check, the Vendeans laid siege to the city, and but for the resolution of its mayor, Baco, Nantes would probably have fallen—in which event Audubon would have had a different history and would probably never have become a pioneer naturalist in America. Baco, disregarding the advice of his military chiefs, immediately placarded the walls of Nantes decreeing death to any who should suggest capitulation, and called all the inhabitants to arms, sparing neither woman nor child. The Vendeans had met their match, for they were dealing with many of their own blood, but though the siege began in early March, they were not effectually dispersed until the end of June, and then only after much bloodshed without the walls. When the immediate crisis had passed, the Constitution of the Republic was unanimously accepted by the eighteen sections of Nantes, on the twenty-first day of July, 1792.

A few months later in that fateful year a more terrible calamity befell the city, when the reign of terror under the notorious ultra-revolutionist, Jean B. Carrier, began. Carrier reached Nantes on October 8 and at once proposed to exterminate both the Vendean royalists and their Nantais sympathizers. He reorganized the entire administration to suit his purposes, and to carry out his plans recruited from the lowest classes a revolutionary army to spy upon, denounce and arrest private citizens, many of whom were sent to Paris for trial when not secretly dispatched. The whole district was soon paralyzed by the barbarity of the crimes then committed, and the unhappy Vendeans were dragged to Nantes, to be shot, guillotined or drowned, in such numbers that the city was unable to bury its dead or the river to discharge them to the sea. Thus perished thousands, uncounted if not unknown, and the pestilence of typhoid fever that immediately followed claimed another heavy toll regardless of political sympathies. While these dire scenes were being enacted, Jean Jacques Fougère Audubon, then a lad of eight years, was living in the heart of Nantes, and his father was one of its leading revolutionists. An aunt of the future ornithologist, according to his account, who was one of these wretched victims of revolutionary fury, was dragged through the streets of Nantes before his eyes, but apparently she did not actually meet her death at that time.[61]

That Jean Audubon moved his family out of Nantes during the revolutionary crisis is possible, and Couëron would have been available as a place of refuge. Many Nantais are known to have fled to Lorient on the coast of Brittany, where they found in the heroic youth Julien the ardent and fearless patriot who was destined to become the real savior of their stricken city. Young Julien denounced Carrier in his letters to Robespierre, and when one of these was intercepted, defied him in person. When his stirring appeals finally reached the Tribunal at Paris, its misnamed representative was recalled, and left Nantes under cover of night on February 14, 1794. During his mad reign of four months, Carrier had gone far towards carrying out his theory of republican government, that should begin, as he openly avowed, by "suppressing" half of the population of France. The records show that nearly nine thousand bodies were buried in Nantes in a little over three months, from January 15 to April 24, 1794. The plague of fever no doubt accounted for many of these, but the wide reaches of the Loire never told their full story.

Though the most grievous affliction of Nantes passed with the recall of Carrier, the city had no lasting peace until the execution of the Vendean leader, Charette, in March, 1796; "Poor Charette," said Audubon, writing in his journal at Liverpool, December 24, 1827, "whom I saw shot on the place de Viarme at Nantes." This virtually ended the war in the Vendée, but the Chouans, under their intrepid chief, Dupré, the miller, called "Tête-Carrée," managed to furnish considerable excitement, and raided Nantes in 1799. Dupré's followers stole in secretly at three o'clock on the morning of October 19 and left before daylight, after liberating fifteen royalists from the prison, which seems to have been their chief purpose. The cannon of alarm was fired from the Chateau; the tocsin sounded, calling the city to arms; there was much street fighting, but it was too foggy and dark to distinguish friend from foe, and when the National Guard was finally assembled, the enemy had vanished. This brief attack cost the city twenty-one deaths and wounds for twice the number,[62] but it was only a passing incident in comparison with events that had gone before. Thenceforth the history of the town is blended with that of the nation.[63]

We have only slight indications of Jean Audubon's activities from the close of 1789, when, according to his own statement, he was in the United States, to the period of his service in the National Guard at Nantes in the spring of 1792; he was then living in the house of Citizen Carricoule, rue de Crébillon, and the lease of his "Mill Grove" farm, which was renewed in October, 1790, was dated at Nantes. We may safely assume that he was engaged in revolutionary business during most of this interval: his name begins to appear in the written records of Nantes and of the department of the Lower Loire in January, 1793, and existing documents[64] show that he was engaged as a commissioner and member of the Department and as a member of the Council of the Navy until the twenty-fifth of June, when he enlisted for active service in the navy of the Republic. Jean Audubon served also on various republican committees, his duties comprising the enlistment of recruits, organizing the National Guard, soliciting funds and food supplies for Nantes, finding cannon and other military or naval materials, posting proclamations, administering the oath of allegiance, and watching the movements of loyalist troops in the district. We have seen that the father of the naturalist was a game and determined fighter, and there is ample written testimony to prove that in the commune of Nantes he was regarded as an ardent patriot, who could be relied upon to act with tact, and if necessary with force.

LIEUTENANT JEAN AUDUBON ANNE MOYNET AUDUBON

AFTER OIL PORTRAITS PAINTED BETWEEN 1801 AND 1806, NOW IN POSSESSION OF M. L. LAVIGNE, AT COUËRON.

JEAN AUDUBON

AFTER AN OIL PORTRAIT PAINTED BY THE AMERICAN ARTIST POLK, AT PHILADELPHIA, ABOUT 1789, NOW IN POSSESSION OF MRS. MORRIS FRANK TYLER. PUBLISHED BY COURTESY OF MISS MARIA R. AUDUBON.

Having been appointed a Civil Commissioner by the Directory of the Department on January 17, 1793, Citizen Audubon was sent to Savenay, a town of some importance twenty-five miles to the northwest of Nantes. His instructions on this mission were to gather useful information on the civil, moral and political state of the district, "in order to bring a remedy," and to administer the oath of allegiance to all administrative and judicial bodies. Jean began operations without delay, and his report, which was kept in journal form and embraces the period from January 19 to September 10, 1793, is an interesting document; it covers fifty-one large foolscap pages, written now in a fine and again in a bold, regular hand, in the course of which his characteristic signature[65] occurs no less than twenty-two times, each section of the report having been signed as completed. In one section of this journal he wrote: "Our operations having been finished, we assembled around the tree of liberty, and there sang the hymn of the Marseillaise, which was interrupted with frequent shouts of 'Vive la république!,' 'Vive la nation!,' and more than one charge of musketry."

ONE OF JEAN AUDUBON'S SIGNATURES IN HIS REPORT TO THE DIRECTORY, 1793.
From the original in the archives of the préfecture at Nantes.

Jean Audubon with eight others was charged with organizing the National Guard in the canton of Pellerin, and ordered to accompany the detachment that marched to the relief of Pornic, March 27, 1793. The Citizen was busy also in other directions. He said in his report:

A little later Jean proceeded to Paimbœuf on a similar errand. His letters to the citizen-administrators of that commune are dated at Nantes on the seventeenth of April and the fourteenth of May; in one of these he refers to "the sum of four hundred francs" due from the Administration "for one year's rent of my house in calle Rondineau (à la calle rondino), which you have taken for a corps de garde" (see Vol. I, p. 32).

In July and August of this second year of the Republic, Citizen Audubon was sent to his native town of Les Sables d'Olonne to follow the movements of the loyalist generals Westermann and Boulart,[66] a mission which could hardly have been agreeable if, as seems to have been the case, some of his own people were loyal to the old régime. Correspondence by sea between Les Sables and Nantes, which was open before the siege, was not broken at this time, for the royalists had named one of their representatives, Benoit, as a delegate "to fraternize with the citizens of Nantes, to invite the authorities to correspond, and beg them to send food if they had more than they required." Four of Jean's letters, dated at Les Sables on the fifth and eighth of July and the sixth of August, besides one from La Rochelle on the fourteenth of July, all addressed to the Administration of the Loire inférieure, have been preserved.

In the manuscript records of the Department for 1793 is found also a notice of Jean's appointment as Special Commissioner, with a memorandum of all the money paid to reimburse him for the expenses of his numerous journeys. Thus, it is noted that he had been paid 145 francs for a service of twenty-nine days, which would represent the modest allowance of a dollar a day. Another item shows that he had received 100 francs for a tour of ten days; a note which was added to this item to explain the Directory's sanction for the payment of another forty-five francs and ten sous reads as follows: "by its order of the sixth of March last, the Council had, in effect, named Citizen Audubon as its Commissioner, to visit the coasts and to secure signatures, with full power to treat with all people, to acquire materials for the navy and other objects of his mission; if this mission did not prove successful, it was solely through force of circumstances, and not from any lack of zeal on his part."[67]

On the twenty-fifth of June, 1793, while engaged in duties to which we have just referred, Jean Audubon was appointed, with rank of ensign, to command the Republican lugger named the Cerberus.[68] During this charge, which lasted until the twenty-second of November of the following year, he fought one of the stiffest engagements of his career. On the twelfth of July he encountered the Brilliant, an English privateer of fourteen cannon which had captured an American ship laden with flour; and after a desperate battle which lasted three hours, in the course of which Jean was wounded in the left thigh, the Englishman, beaten and obliged to surrender his prize, was glad to escape under cover of night. Jean towed the American into the port of La Rochelle, and afterwards sent to the Administration a full account of the engagement.[69] Ensign Audubon's next command was a dispatch boat called L'Eveillé ("The Awakened"), on which he served for nearly nine months, from November 23, 1794, to August 14, 1795. He was then detailed for port duty at La Rochelle from August 15, 1795, to January 24, 1797. His last ship was L'Instituteur ("The Institutor"), which he commanded with the rank of lieutenant de vaisseau, January 25 to October 3, 1797, while he was engaged in governmental business between the ports of La Rochelle and Brest.

The financial losses which Lieutenant Audubon sustained at Les Cayes in consequence of the revolution in Santo Domingo were a crushing blow to him; he never recovered his fortune, later estimated by his son-in-law at a sum which at that day would have been fabulous.[70] The business house in which he was interested failed; his plantations, refinery, houses and stores, the rents from which, as we have seen, in certain years after 1789, had yielded 90,000 francs, were presumably ravaged and partially destroyed. When the news of this misfortune reached him after 1792, his hands were tied by revolutions at home. Though he applied to his Government for relief, as undoubtedly did a host of other losers, he was eventually granted only a small indemnity, not exceeding 30,000 francs.

Friends of Jean Audubon at Nantes had made repeated demands of the Ministry of Marine that he be given a rank more in accord with his patriotism and efficient service to the State, and on October 11, 1797, he was commissioned lieutenant-commander (lieutenant de vaisseau),[71] one grade below that of captain. He held this rank for three years, during which he was engaged in vigilance service at Les Sables d'Olonne and in military duty at Rochefort, or until he was retired from the navy for disability, January 1, 1801 (le 11 nivose, an 9), at the age of fifty-seven.[72] He had served the State for over eight years, and his total period of active duty on sea and land when employed in the merchant marine and navy of France, as estimated from port to port, amounted to nineteen years, nine months and twelve days, while it had extended with interruptions over more than forty years.[73] After this long period of service, when, suffering from a pulmonary affection, he applied to his Government for a pension, he received the paltry annuity of 600 francs or $120.

CERTIFICATE OF SERVICE OF LIEUTENANT JEAN AUDUBON, FEBRUARY 26, 1801.
From a photograph of the original in the Lavigne MSS.

With this modest pension and a property yielding an income not above $2,000 a year[74], Lieutenant Audubon retired to his quiet villa of "La Gerbetière," at Couëron, where he could indulge his taste for country life and for raising his favorite fruits and flowers; he is said to have kept some live stock, but could have been a farmer only on a modest scale. Meanwhile he continued to maintain a house, or at least rooms, at Nantes, whither he went periodically to conduct his correspondence and business affairs. The following letter of attorney, issued by Lieutenant Audubon a year after he had retired from the navy, shows that he still had interests in Santo Domingo, and was endeavoring to collect rents, long overdue, from houses and stores that belonged either to himself or to his clients. Whether through the dishonesty of agents or from what other cause, this property which the elder Audubon held in his own right seems gradually to have melted away:

Lieutenant Jean Audubon died at Nantes,[77] when on a visit to that city, on February 19, 1818, at the age of seventy-four, "regretted most deservedly," said his son, "on account of his simplicity, truth, and perfect sense of honesty"; "his manners," he continues, "were those of a most polished gentleman ... and his natural understanding had been carefully improved both by observation and by self education." Jean Audubon's means in France had been reduced partly by bad debts, for he seems to have been generous in lending money to his friends; Madame Audubon found herself greatly hampered by lack of ready money, although, as her son-in-law remarked, her hands were full of notes.

When Jean Audubon applied for nomination to the naval service of the Republic in 1793, we find a description of his previous life and habits recorded as a part of the information required by the Committee of Public Safety. The commune of Nantes at that time gave a flattering testimonial to his patriotism, in which he was described as an officer of merit, who had acquired through long experience at sea an extensive knowledge of navigation, who was a man of honor, and devoid of any inclination to vice or gambling; his nautical experience had been chiefly gained in American waters, the voyages of his choice being those to Santo Domingo and the United States.

At the age of forty-eight the elder Audubon thus briefly described himself: short in stature, measuring five feet, five inches; figure, oval; eyes, blue; nose and mouth, large; eyebrows, auburn; hair and beard turned gray. Contrary to the naturalist's expressed belief, there seems to have been little or no physical resemblance between father and son. At a corresponding age, John James Audubon, according partly to his own account, stood five feet, ten inches in stockings; his hair was dark brown; he had sunken, hazel eyes, flecked with brown, and of remarkable brightness; while his clean-cut profile showed an aquiline nose. "In temper," said the son, to continue the comparison, "we much resembled each other, 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."

Though passionate at times, Jean Audubon was a man of force and decision, as his career amply shows. If he does not loom large in the history of his time or was but little known beyond the limits of his province, it must be remembered that the time called forth thousands of the ablest men of his nation.

Molding of Audubon's character—Factor of environment—Turning failure into success—An indulgent stepmother—The truant—His love of nature—Early drawings and discipline—Experience at Rochefort—Baptized in the Roman Catholic Church.

It is now commonly believed that of the three great factors which mold character—environment, training and heritage, the last is the most important, since it alone is predetermined and unalterable. Environment may be uncertain or unsuitable, training defective or deferred, but blood is the one possession of which the child cannot be robbed; and since it sets the limits to possibility, in no small degree must it determine the acquisitions and accomplishments of a lifetime. This, however, is not the whole truth. Race may account for much, but it does not account for everything; the child is effectually robbed whenever it is not permitted to realize to the full upon its inheritance. To be able to convert possibilities into actualities it must receive fit training and right incentives, and if at critical times the proper spur is wanting, its patrimony may be sadly wasted. The "good environment" for the youth, too often thought to be the soft conditions of an easy life, is in truth that only which provides the proper and necessary stimulus. This may be now fear or pride, now hard necessity or bitter want; again, an awakened sense of responsibility or ambition to excel may be induced by concrete examples and fostered, as it often is, by lofty purposes and the uplift of a high ideal.

Audubon's life affords a striking proof of the power which environment can exert in awakening dormant capacity, in developing talents to their full and calling into use every force held in reserve. When we consider what his life work finally became, and what he eventually accomplished in a field for which he had no training, except in drawing, we find it easier to wonder at the man than to criticize him. With a formal schooling in France of the slenderest sort, in which the writing of his own language was never completely mastered, at eighteen he came to America and adopted a new tongue, which he first heard from the Quakers. Twenty years more were to elapse before he had a definite plan,—during which his environment was mainly that of a trader and storekeeper in the backwoods, never remote from the white man's frontier, hardly the soil one would seek for the development of budding talents in art, literature or science. Failure in trade was one of the spurs which started Audubon on his ultimate career, for it led to the immediate development of the talents which he possessed; the encouragement which he received from his wife was undoubtedly another. When he finally emerged, like a somewhat wild but well ripened fruit, at the age of forty, rich in experience, ready to absorb what from lack of earlier motives or opportunities he had failed to acquire, and with the determination to succeed, he won recognition as much through his personality and enthusiasm as by his extraordinary versatility and talents.

In an early sketch of his life Audubon said that his father had given both him and his sister an education appropriate to his purse; his teachers were possessed of agreeable talents, and he might have stored up much had not the continental wars in which France was then engaged forced him from school at an early age, when, much against his will, he entered the navy as midshipman, at Rochefort. This naval experience terminated, as he then recorded, in 1802, during the short peace between England and France; he was then seventeen years of age.[78] This was the year following his father's retirement, and the year previous to his first independent visit to the United States.

More details of this early period were given later, when the naturalist spoke with great affection of his foster mother, to whom his education had been mainly entrusted. "Let no one speak of her as my step-mother," said he; "I was ever to her as a son of her own flesh and blood, and she was to me a true mother." His every idle wish was gratified, he tells us, and his every whim indulged, in accordance with the notion that fine clothes and full pockets were all that were needed to make the gentleman: "She 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."

If Madame Audubon broke the prevailing tradition and by going to the other extreme did her best to spoil this affectionate boy, some allowance must be made for parental over-indulgence. In 1793, when the future naturalist was eight years old, the public buildings of his city had been converted into prisons and its streets were both unsanitary and unsafe, while in the following year, as we have seen, a mortal plague began to rob the prisons and the guillotine. Many had lost their all in the tempest that swept over them; many more had fled, and public schooling at Nantes must have been at a stand or disorganized for a considerable period.

Young Audubon could not have tasted much schooling before the outbreak of the Revolution, when he was seven years old, and but little after it, since this discipline practically terminated in 1802. His passionate love of nature, which was undoubtedly innate, was manifested at an early day. Living things of every description which he found by the banks of the Loire or along the stonewalls and hedgerows of Couëron gave him the greatest pleasure, but birds were his early favorites. These he soon began to depict with pencil and crayon, but to the dryer discipline of the school he ever turned with laggard feet.

When the versatile Lord Avebury, who became one of the greatest modern students of the powers of ants and other social insects, was four years old, his mother made this record in her diary: "His great delight is in insects. Butterflies, Caterpillars or Beetles are great treasures, and he is watching a large spider outside my window most anxiously." The same boy at eight, when writing home from school, added this postscript to a letter: "I am a favorite with most of the boys because I do not care about being laughed." The boy who has a good inheritance, follows his own bent, and does "not care about being laughed," may be on the road to success and with talents may achieve distinction. John James Audubon was one of those boys, although his path was never strewn with the roses that many have imagined.

The naturalist tells us that his father hoped that he would follow in his footsteps, or else become an engineer, and he saw that his son was instructed in the elements of mathematics, geography, fencing and music. But as Lieutenant Audubon was continually on the move, supervision in those matters fell to the over-indulgent stepmother, with the result that, instead of doing his duties at school, young Audubon took to the fields. Every night, he said, he would return with his lunch basket well laden with the spoils of the day—birds' nests, eggs, and curiosities of every sort destined for the museum into which his room had already been transformed. He was then in the "collecting stage," when that sense of possession dominates the heart of the boy, which, if well directed, can be turned to excellent account.

Lieutenant Audubon encouraged his son's taste for natural history and for drawing, but did not regard such accomplishments as a substitute for what he considered more serious subjects. He himself had suffered too much from lack of a formal education and was resolved to give his children the best opportunities within their reach. "Revolutions," he once remarked, according to his son, "were not confined to society, but could also take place in the lives of individuals," when they were all "too apt to lose in one day the fortune they had before possessed; but talents and knowledge, added to sound mental training, assisted by honest industry," could "never fail, nor be taken from any one when once the possessor of such valuable means."

When the elder Audubon returned from one of his periodic cruises, "my room," said the naturalist, "made quite a show," and the father complimented him on his good taste; but upon being questioned in regard to the progress made in his other studies, he could only hang his head in silence. His sister Rosa, on the contrary, who was also called to account, was warmly commended upon the improvement shown in her musical exercises. The next morning at dawn a carriage was drawn up before the Audubon door, and with the father and son, together with the latter's trunk and violin, was soon proceeding in the direction of Rochefort. The sailor had laid his plans and was about to execute them in his own way. Presently, said the son, his father drew forth a book and began to read, thus leaving him to his own resources. In this way they traveled for a number of days, not an unnecessary word being spoken during the entire journey, until the walls of Rochefort had been passed, and they alighted at the door of the father's house in that city. When they had entered, the naturalist continues, "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, and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the docks, the fine ships-of-war, and walk around the wall, thou mayest accompany me.'"

The youth accepted his father's proposal with good grace, and was presented to the officers whom they met, but he soon found that he was like a prisoner of war on parade. He was enrolled at once in the military school, where he was placed under the immediate care of Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, his future brother-in-law. It was not long, however, before young Audubon gave his guardian the slip; he jumped from the window of his prison and made for the gardens of the Marine Secrétariat, but a corporal, whom he had recognized as a friend, suddenly nipped his plans in the bud; he was ordered, he said, aboard a pontoon, then lying in port, and there was obliged to remain until his father, who was absent at the time, finally released him, "not without a severe reprimand." The following record, written long after, is reminiscent of this period: "This day twenty-one years since I was at Rochefort in France. I spent most of the day at copying letters of my father to the Minister of the Navy.... What has happened to me since would fill a volume.... This day, January first, 1821, I am on a keel boat going down to New Orleans, the poorest man on it."

Audubon's stay at Rochefort, the date of which is no doubt correctly given in the journal just quoted, was destined to be short. After a year he returned to Nantes, and later to "La Gerbetière," where as before he spent all of his leisure in roaming the fields and looking for birds, their nests, their eggs and their young. At about this time, when fifteen years of age, Audubon began to make a collection of his original drawings of French birds, which was greatly extended in 1805 and 1806.

He has recorded that at the behest of his foster mother, who was an ardent Catholic, he was confirmed in that Church when "within a few months of being seventeen years old"; he was surprised and indifferent, but "took to the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the ceremony, and all was performed to her liking." Since no record of this act has been found, it is probable that the ceremony in question was confused with that of his baptism, which, as we have noticed, occurred on October 23, 1800, six months before he attained his sixteenth birthday.

After having seen something of the character of Audubon's early training in France, it will not be surprising to find that when, at the age of forty-five, he first seriously began to write for publication and in English, which was not his mother tongue, he found himself handicapped in many ways. In after life he wrote that the only school which he had ever attended was that of Adversity, and that his tuition there had been of a prolonged and elaborate character. Though this statement was made under the stress of present feeling, it was not wholly devoid of truth.

Audubon is sent to the United States to learn English and enter trade—Taken ill—Befriended by the Quakers—Settles at "Mill Grove" farm—Its history and attractions—Studies of American birds begun—Engagement to Lucy Bakewell—Sports and festivities.

If there were ever a time when Lieutenant Audubon wished to see his son following the victorious eagles of Napoleon, whom he is said to have idolized, the hated conscription of that day, which was robbing every home in France of its best blood, might well have brought counsels of prudence. Little could the father have thought that by following other eagles of his own choice, his son was destined to add a far greater luster to the family name. Whatever may have turned the scale, in 1803 a decision was quickly reached, and the issue was fortunate for the future of natural science in America; it was decided that young Audubon should emigrate at once to the United States, with what end in view we shall soon see expressed in the sailor's own words. Accordingly, to his "intense and indescribable pleasure," the future naturalist, who had now passed his eighteenth birthday, eagerly prepared for the journey, the first of many that were later to become memorable in the annals of American science. No record of this voyage has been preserved, but from evidence derived from a variety of sources we can fix the time as the autumn of 1803.[79]

Audubon's introduction to the country of his adoption proved most inauspicious, for, to follow his account, when walking to Greenwich in Connecticut, some thirty miles from New York, to cash the letter of credit that his father had given him, he was seized with the yellow fever.[80] Fortunately at this critical moment his captain came to his aid, and placed him in the care of two Quaker ladies who kept a boarding house at Morristown in New Jersey. To the faithful ministrations of these kindly sisters the naturalist believed that he owed his life.

When Jean Audubon finally left the United States not far from the beginning of 1790, he placed his business interests in America in charge of an agent, named Miers Fisher, "a rich and honest Quaker of Philadelphia," and to the hands of this trustworthy man he now confided his son. Accordingly, when young Audubon had been nursed back to health, word was sent to his father's friend, who came in his carriage and drove the lad to his own home in the outskirts of Philadelphia. To follow the account which the naturalist gave, when writing of this visit a quarter of a century later, his host, finding his charge to be a comely youth, and having a daughter "of no mean appearance," proposed that he should remain with them and become one of the family. Audubon seems to have suspected that this was a premeditated scheme to entangle him in marriage, and as he had no liking for the severity of Quaker manners, determined to make his escape. This, he said, was finally accomplished by appealing to his own rights and to the honest Quaker's sense of duty in seeing him established on the estate which his father had designed for him.

Though effective for the time, as will presently appear, this appeal was quite fanciful, for Jean Audubon's ideas concerning the future of his son were of a more practical character, and he had no intention at this time of establishing him at "Mill Grove," which was soon to be sold. The friend to whom the following letter was addressed is implored to aid in finding a good American family in which his son could acquire the English language as a step to entering trade:[81]

Mr. Miers Fisher, who evidently received a copy of this letter, no doubt considered his own family as good as the best, and in detaining young Audubon at his home, we must credit him with the desire of following the instructions thus received.

"Mill Grove," which was finally reached in the spring of 1804,[82] was a new-found paradise to the young naturalist. Here, however, he was destined to spend but little over a year, though it was doubtless the happiest year of his life. The farm was then conducted by a Quaker, named William Thomas, who was installed as tenant with his wife and family. It was arranged, said Audubon, that he should receive from them a quarterly allowance in ready money, in a sum that "was considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young gentleman."[83]

Well might any youth fond of wild life in the country have fallen in love with this secluded spot, the beauty and charm of which are suddenly revealed to the visitor of today as he approaches it from the old Philadelphia road. Standing high on the rugged banks of the Perkioming Creek, which empties into the Schuylkill River just below this point, the old house, facing west, commands a wide and diversified scene, extending from the living waters below, over bottom lands of the valley, to the dim, undulating lines of the Reading hills in the farther distance. This old landmark[84] of Colonial times remains today in perfect preservation, thanks to the never-failing care and interest of the present owner,[85] who has done all in his power to maintain its historic associations, and to keep the memory of the naturalist green in one of the few spots in America where material landmarks of his career have not been completely effaced. The place has had an interesting history, and though Audubon's occupancy was brief, it affected, as we shall see, his whole after-life.

"MILL GROVE" IN 1835, SHOWING THE MILLS ON THE BANK OF PERKIOMING CREEK, THE FARMHOUSE, AND THE OLD SMELTING WORKS (BUILT BY SAMUEL WETHERILL), THEN IN DISUSE.

After a water-color painting by Charles Wetherill, son of Samuel Wetherill, and uncle of William H. Wetherill, the present owner of the estate.

"MILL GROVE" AS IT APPEARS TO-DAY.

The above from photograph by, and this published by courtesy of, Mr. W. H. Wetherill.

Audubon thought nothing of walking to and from Philadelphia when no conveyance was at hand, but to-day the railroad brings the traveler within a mile and a half of his old farm. Not far to the south, beyond the present railway station of Protectory, lies Valley Forge and the wooded hills where Washington's ragged veterans passed in log huts the ever memorable winter of 1777-8. Audubon fancied that his father had made the acquaintance of General Washington at that date, but this was eleven years before the place had come into the possession of his family, and at that time Captain Audubon was sailing the seas (see Chapter II, p. 32). Equally fanciful also was the idea that his mother had once lived there, which he expressed in a letter (quoted in full in Chapter XXXIII) written from New York on February 10, 1842, to young Spencer F. Baird, at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. The naturalist was assuring his young friend that the slow but beautiful "Little Carlisle" was to be preferred to "Great New York, with all its humbug, rascality, and immorality," and added: "It is now a good long time since I was young, and resided near Norristown in Pennsylvania. It was then and is now a very indifferent place as compared with New York; but still my heart and my mind oftentime dwell in the pleasure that I felt there, and it always reminds me that within a few miles of that village, my Mother did live."

The soil of this farm region is of a dark red color, owing to a friable shale which outcrops everywhere. The high, wooded bank of the Perkioming abounds in caves, scooped out by the hand of nature or man, as well as in great pits and shafts, for deep down under its shale, "Mill Grove" was rich in minerals, particularly the sulphide of lead, associated with copper and zinc, to reach which many excavations have been made. The lead mines of this farm are said to have been famous in Revolutionary times, and have been worked sporadically for a hundred years; if traditions are trustworthy, many a winged bullet that laid a Red-coat low in the War of Independence was a messenger from "Mill Grove." In some of the old conveyances, which go back to the time of Penn, the place was commonly designated as the "Mill Grove Mines Farm." It is recorded that the original tract of two thousand acres, extending from the Schuylkill to the Perkioming as far as the mouth of Skippack Creek, was sold to Tobias Collett by William Penn in 1699 for fifteen shillings. We shall soon see that the mineral wealth which "Mill Grove" was supposed to hide beneath its rugged slopes was a source of no little trouble to the Audubons, the Roziers, and their successors for many a year.

At the foot of the declivity towards the west, half hidden by foliage, stood a picturesque stone mill, at a point where a solid rampart had been thrown across the stream to divert its power to the use of man. Hard by was the miller's house, which antedates the mansion, and which was built and first occupied by James Morgan, who came into possession of the property in 1749. It was this old mill site, originally distinct from the farm, that gave the name to the place. Behind the gristmill an extensive sawmill, built over the mill race, was also in operation. Today the dam is broken through, and the great mill wheel of wood and iron, twelve feet in diameter and fifteen feet wide, has come to rest after turning for more than a century.

Like the mill, the original house on the hilltop was built of rough-hewn native stone, which is brown or red and very hard. It consists of two stories, with central hall, and a curiously divided attic with dormer windows, which Audubon is said to have converted into a museum. A marble slab in the south gable bears the date of 1762; an addition of the same rough stone was built on the north side, but at a considerably lower level, in 1763, and the commemorative tablet in this instance bears the initials "J. M.," proving that the construction of the buildings of "Mill Grove" was due to the old miller, James Morgan. The interior, with its odd chimney-corner, low ceilings, bold fireplace and hand-wrought iron-work, bears witness to a time when honest, substantial construction and pride in workmanship received the first consideration. The present owner of "Mill Grove" has added attractive porches at the front and back. Ampelopsis climbs over the walls, which are shaded by handsome trees; one of these, a fine black walnut at the easterly porch, which in August bore its great green balls in full clusters, must have been vigorous in Audubon's day, and possibly suggested the introduction of sprays of this full-fruited tree into some of his plates.

While on a visit from Santo Domingo in 1789, concerned with his business interests, Captain Audubon spent some time in Philadelphia. On March 28, 1789, he purchased the "Mill Grove" property, at that time consisting of 284½ acres of land, mansion house, mill, barns, furniture, tools and live stock, from Henry Augustin Prevost[86] and his wife, for the sum of 2,300 English pounds, in gold and silver. He never lived there, and that he never intended to make it his immediate residence is shown by the fact that in less than a fortnight he leased the farm in its entirety, as already noticed, to its former owner, and gave him a mortgage which stood for seventeen years.[87]

Young Audubon lived at "Mill Grove" from the winter of 1804 to the spring of 1805, and again for a few months in the summer of 1806, the year of its final sale by the Audubons and Roziers (see p. 148). In his journal of 1820 the naturalist wrote that his father had once the honor of being presented to General Washington, and also to Major Crogan, of Kentucky, "who was particularly well acquainted with him." Jean Audubon left at "Mill Grove" oil portraits of himself and of Washington, both by an inferior American artist named Polk,[88] and it is probable that the one of himself was painted while he was at Philadelphia in the spring of 1789; the drawing is hard and flat, but the appearance of the face clearly indicates a man past middle life, and Captain Audubon had then reached his forty-fifth year.

Young Audubon, we may be sure, lost no time in exploring the resources of this fine estate, where every bird, tree and flower came to him as a new discovery. In following the Perkioming above the mill dam he found a cave, carved out of the rocks, as he thought, by nature's own hand, which was a favorite haunt of the unpretentious but friendly pewees, the first American birds to attract his serious attention. So delighted was the youthful naturalist that he decided to make the pewees' cave his study; thither accordingly he brought his books, pencils and paper, and there made his first studies of American bird life, in the spring of 1804, in the third year of the presidency of Thomas Jefferson. It was early in the season when Audubon chanced upon this quiet retreat; the buds were swelling and maples had already burst into bloom, but snow still lingered in patches through the woods, and the air was piercing chill. The pewees were not yet at home, but one of their nests, fashioned of mud and finest moss, was fixed above the vaulted entrance; their coming was not long delayed, and Audubon, marking the very night or day's dawn when the first pewee arrived, saw them beginning to restore their old home on the tenth of April.

Strange to say, almost at that very time another pioneer in American ornithology, Alexander Wilson, who will enter this history later, was teaching a rough country school at Gray's Ferry, Kingsessing, also on the Schuylkill, and not over twenty-five miles away. Though Audubon's early studies were very desultory, both naturalists began their observations at about the same time, for on June 1, 1803, Wilson wrote to a friend that many pursuits had engaged his attention since leaving Scotland in 1794, and that then he was "about to make a collection of all our finest birds."

It must be set down to Audubon's credit that in the little cave on the banks of the Perkioming, in April, 1804, he made the first "banding" experiment on the young of an American wild bird. Little could he or any one else then have thought that one hundred years later a Bird Banding Society would be formed in America to repeat his test on a much wider scale, in order to gather exact data upon the movements of individuals of all migratory species in every part of the continent. After a few trials, "I fixed," said he, "a light silver thread on the leg of each, loose enough not to hurt the part, but so fastened that no exertions of theirs could remove it." In the following spring he had the satisfaction of catching several pewees on their nests farther up the creek, and of "finding that two of them had a little ring on the leg," proving that the young of a migratory bird, steering by the "compass" which is carried in its brain, did sometimes return to its home region, if not to the actual cradle or home site.

Across the Philadelphia road, which today leads to the little railway station, and not more than a quarter of a mile from Audubon's farmhouse, stood another but more pretentious mansion of the Colonial era, called "Fatland Ford," pertaining to an extensive farm of that name which was noted for the fertility of its alluvial acres. A road from the present village of Audubon to the Schuylkill River and the ford runs through the "Fatlands of Egypt," as the most productive parts of this old farm were then called. From the house could be seen the camping grounds of the Revolutionary soldiers, and James Vaux, its owner and builder, is said to have entertained General Howe at breakfast and to have shown him the room which General Washington, his guest of the previous day, had left just in time to avoid an introduction.

Shortly before Audubon reached "Mill Grove," William Bakewell, an Englishman who had emigrated to New Haven in 1802, bought this farm, and with his wife and family took possession in the winter or spring of 1804.[89] Of the six Bakewell children, the two eldest, Lucy Green and Thomas Woodhouse, were but three years younger than the naturalist. The senior Bakewell, said Audubon, called at "Mill Grove" to pay his respects, but being then from home, and having brought with him a Frenchman's dislike for everything English, he failed to respond. In the autumn, however, when grouse had become plentiful in the woods, a chance meeting brought them together, and young Audubon, who was a great admirer of his neighbor's expert marksmanship and well trained dogs, duly apologized for his neglect and forthwith paid a visit to "Fatland Ford."

We shall let the naturalist tell in his own words of his first meeting with the young woman who afterwards became his wife:

When Mr. Bakewell returned, his daughter, Lucy, presided at the tea that was served, and Audubon received his first experience of hospitality in the English style, that was to be repeated in Britain at a later day on a more lavish scale. A hunting expedition was arranged and the men started out at once. Festivities of various sorts, and, later, skating parties, became the order of the day, and it was not long before hospitalities were exchanged, when Audubon, having secured, with the aid of his tenant's son, as many partridge as possible, had the whole Bakewell family to dinner under his roof at "Mill Grove."

Audubon's choice of a wife, thus quickly made, marked a turning-point in his career, and the curious fact remains that while he might have ransacked the country from Florida to Maine, as he afterwards repeatedly did in his search after birds, and woefully blundered, the woman who by her sterling qualities of mind and heart was the one to recognize and call forth the best that was in him, should have been placed by circumstances close by his door. Whatever the world has ever owed to Audubon is a debt due to Lucy Bakewell, for every leaf of oak that is plaited for his brow, another of lavender should be twined for hers.

During this gay but brief period of his life, Audubon has described himself as inordinately fond of dress, often cutting, as he said, an absurd figure by shooting in black satin breeches and silk stockings, and wearing the best shirts which the Philadelphia market could afford; he took pride, he adds, in riding the best horse that he could procure, and in having his guns and fishing tackle of the most expensive and ornate description. "Not a ball," he said, "a skating match, a house or riding party took place without me."

"MILL GROVE" FARMHOUSE, WEST FRONT, FACING PERKIOMING CREEK.

"FATLAND FORD," THE CHILDHOOD HOME OF LUCY BAKEWELL AUDUBON.

This and the above after photographs of August 16, 1914.

While freely acknowledging his follies at this time, he was able to say that he was addicted to no vices. His usual custom was to rise with the dawn, when his bird studies would begin, in the early hours which are best for this purpose. According to his own account, Audubon was extremely abstemious in his youth, for he declared that he had lived on fruits, vegetables and milk, with only an occasional indulgence in game and fish, and that he had not swallowed a single glass of wine or spirits until his wedding day. This was the more remarkable in a youth coming from a country which flowed with good wine, where school children are still served with watered wine for lunch, and where the cooks, as Goldsmith believed, could concoct seven different dishes out of a nettle-top, and who, if they had enough butcher's meat (a want that has since been abundantly supplied), would be the best purveyors in the world. Audubon attributed his iron constitution to this simple regimen, which had been followed, he said, from his earliest recollection, though he admitted that while in France it was extremely annoying to all about him; for this reason he would not dine out when his peculiar habits were likely to be the subject of unpleasant comment. To follow this account of himself:

William Gifford Bakewell, a younger brother of Lucy, has left this interesting record of a visit paid to "Mill Grove" in the summer of 1806:

Advent of a new agent at "Mill Grove"—Dacosta becomes guardian to young Audubon and exploits a neglected lead mine on the farm—Correspondence of Lieutenant Audubon and Dacosta—Quarrel with Dacosta—Audubon's return to France.

If young Audubon was playing the rôle of a prodigal son at the "Mill Grove" farm, which in a certain sense was doubtless true, an episode soon occurred which put a check to his carefree existence. Not long after the naturalist had arrived, William Thomas, the tenant, called his attention to the lead-ore deposits, which he thought had been discovered by a Mr. Gilpin in 1791, and the news of this prospect was promptly communicated to the elder Audubon in France. Though the presence of this mineral at "Mill Grove" had been known, as we have seen, at a much earlier day, its rediscovery excited great interest, and may have been a factor of influence in the steps which were soon to be taken. It should be noticed, however, that before May, 1803, a young Frenchman from Nantes, bearing the Portuguese name of Francis Dacosta, had preceded young Audubon to "Mill Grove," and apparently had acquired at that time a certain interest in the farm.[91] Dacosta soon succeeded Miers Fisher as Jean Audubon's agent, and becoming enthusiastic over the lead mine, was anxious to exploit it. Acting also upon the senior Audubon's request, he assumed a sort of guardianship over the son.

Dacosta began to dig for ore in the following year. News of his enterprise spread rapidly, and this long neglected mine was heralded in the newspapers as "one of the first discoveries yet made in the United States."[92] On December 15, 1804, Dacosta purchased a one-half undivided interest in "Mill Grove,"[93] giving, as we believe, a mortgage, and hoping to pay for his share out of the profits of the lead mine. Thereafter for about two years he continued to conduct the farm and develop the mine, upon the basis of a one-half interest, in addition to a small salary.[94] In case the mine proved a success, it was understood that young Audubon was to be taken into the business and thus obtain a means of self-support.

Dacosta was at first averse to forming a company, but the Quaker tenant, William Thomas, who caught the fever, and who was thought to possess more knowledge of the mine than he was ready to divulge, seems to have been taken conditionally into the partnership. Dacosta made full reports of his progress to the old sailor at Couëron, who came regularly to Nantes to send back to America his well considered answers and candid advice. Dacosta also called persistently for money, but as Lieutenant Audubon was unable to meet these demands, he applied to his friend François Rozier, a wealthy merchant at Nantes, to supply the needed capital. Rozier invested 16,000 francs, and to complicate matters took a mortgage upon one-half of the value of "Mill Grove," in which the earlier proprietor, John Augustin Prevost, as well as Francis Dacosta, was also interested. Jean Audubon, Dacosta and Rozier thus became partners in an enterprise which seems to have swallowed up all of the money which was advanced and never to have made any substantial returns.

The eventual failure of the lead mine must be attributed in part to the high cost of materials, as well as to the expense involved in uncovering the ore, a difficulty which all later exploiters seem to have found insuperable. Dacosta also discovered that the management of his youthful charge was quite as difficult as making a success of the mine. His grievances on this score were duly reported at Couëron, and if he was really trying to carry out the instructions which came from France, it was perhaps no wonder that he received the undisguised contempt of his rebellious pupil. How just the naturalist's charges against his hated tutor may have been, will be considered in the sequel, but Lieutenant Audubon's letters,[95] to be given presently at length, clearly show that in spite of the strained relations which later ensued, Dacosta continued to enjoy his confidence for some time after young Audubon's return to France in 1805. The more serious troubles that followed seem to have arisen from entanglements into which all were later drawn.

In the first two letters to be given, but the third and fourth of the series, Jean Audubon refers particularly to "Mill Grove" and the prospective mine, and to the proposed marriage of his son to Lucy Bakewell, concerning which he was reluctant to give his consent for reasons which he specifies at length; his sanction was in fact withheld until the young man was on the road to self-support two years later.

When the preceding letter was written young Audubon was on his way to France, to protest, as he said, against Dacosta's treatment of him. At the date of the letter which follows, he was at Couëron, hunting birds with Dr. d'Orbigny.

The foregoing letters show that Dacosta had been asked to oppose the proposed marriage of the younger Audubon to Lucy Bakewell until consent should be given; that he was calling for more money to exploit the lead mine and was urging Lieutenant Audubon to come to America; and that their relations were becoming strained, Dacosta, to prove his title to a one-half interest in the mine and farm, having threatened to take his case to the courts.

This mining experiment was spread over many years. Before turning to the sequel (see Chapter XI), let us glance at the picture which the naturalist has left of his unsympathetic tutor. "Dacosta," he said, "was intended to teach me mineralogy and mining engineering, but in fact" he "knew nothing of either; besides which he was a covetous wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father, and indeed swindled us both to a large amount. I had to go to France to expose him to my father to get rid of him, which I fortunately accomplished at sight of my kind parent. A greater scoundrel than Dacosta never probably existed, but peace be with his soul." In one respect only, said Audubon, did he receive any sympathy from his guardian: Dacosta commended his drawings of birds. "One morning," Audubon relates, "when I was drawing a figure of the Ardea herodias [the great blue heron], he assured me that the time might come when I should be a great American naturalist"; however curious it might appear, he adds, that praise "from the lips of such a man should affect me, I assure you that they had great weight with me and I felt a certain degree of pride in these words even then."

To follow Audubon's story further, not only did Dacosta take control of his finances, but he interfered with his personal liberty, first by objecting to his proposed marriage to Lucy Bakewell, and then by cutting off his stipend when he rebelled.[104] Audubon, being thoroughly aroused, determined to return to France and lay the case before his father in person. With this end in view he walked to Philadelphia, whither Dacosta had gone, to demand the money necessary to take him to Nantes. He was given, as he says, what purported to be a letter of credit to a Mr. Kauman, an agent and banker in New York. Returning with his letter to "Mill Grove," he then started on foot for New York, where he arrived on the evening of the third day. While there he stayed at the house of Mrs. Palmer,[105] "a lady of excellent qualities," who received him most kindly. Audubon called promptly upon Benjamin Bakewell, for whom he was the bearer of a letter from his brother, William Bakewell, of "Fatland Ford." Instead of an order for money, Kauman's letter, he said, contained only the advice that its bearer be "arrested and shipped to Canton." Perplexed and bewildered beyond endurance, Audubon said that for the first time he felt the call of murder in his blood, and his outraged feelings were not assuaged until his landlady, to whom he had opened his heart, and Mr. Bakewell, had come to his aid. Having secured from this gentleman the necessary funds, he bought a passage in the ship Hope, which was then about to sail direct for Nantes.

Thanks to an old cash account of William Bakewell, we can follow Audubon's movements at this time fairly closely. This record[106] extends from January 4, 1805, to April 9, 1810, during which time he advanced money to his future son-in-law and received credits due him from various sources. He did the same for the young partners when an association in business had been formed between Audubon and Rozier, and acted as their agent or attorney after the sale of their farm and their settlement in the West; as will be seen he aided Audubon very substantially later when money was needed at Louisville and for the more ambitious projects at Henderson, in which his son was also interested. This particular record shows that he supplied Audubon with small sums of money on January 4 and 12, 1805, just before his departure from "Mill Grove," and that on the eighteenth of the same month he paid his brother, Benjamin Bakewell of New York, $150 on the young man's account. This was undoubtedly the passage money which Audubon had borrowed from his friend, and as the ship was then ready to sail, the date of his voyage on the Hope is very closely fixed.

After his vessel had passed Sandy Hook and was opposite New Bedford, the captain, in order, as he averred, to make necessary repairs, ran her into that port, where they passed a week. This was thought to be only a ruse on the captain's part to gain time, for, having recently married, he wanted a holiday on shore; accordingly he had ordered a few holes bored below the waterline in the bows of his ship. When they finally put to sea in earnest, they passed "through an immensity of dead fish floating on the surface of the water," a remark which now recalls stories of the famous tilefish, once thought to be extinct, which have been found floating dead in vast numbers in that part of the Atlantic. After nineteen days out the Hope entered the Loire and anchored at Paimbœuf, the lower harbor of Nantes; this was in February, and not far from the eighteenth of that month.

Life at Couëron—Friendship of D'Orbigny—Drawings of French birds—D'Orbigny's troubles—Marriage of Rosa Audubon—The Du Puigaudeaus—Partnership with Ferdinand Rozier—Their Articles of Association—They sail from Nantes, are overhauled by British privateers, but land safely at New York—Settle at "Mill Grove."

Reaching his home at Couëron in the spring of 1805, Audubon took his parents completely by surprise. He found his father, then in his sixty-first year, still "hale and hearty," and his "chère maman as fair and good as ever." It was a time of momentous events in France; Napoleon had placed the crown upon his head but a few months before; defeat and victory followed in rapid succession. But this did not prevent the young naturalist from spending a year in "the lap of comfort" at Nantes and in the quiet villa of "La Gerbetière," where as usual he hunted birds and collected objects of natural history of every sort.

At this time also Audubon formed a friendship with a young man after his own heart, Dr. Charles Marie d'Orbigny, who "with his young wife and infant-son" was then living near his home. "The doctor," he said, "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."[107]

Charles d'Orbigny, who was Audubon's most intimate early friend and in all probability his father in natural history, was always spoken of in terms of great affection. While at Paris in October, 1829, Audubon learned from the naturalist Lesson that D'Orbigny was then in charge of the museum at La Rochelle and that "his son, Charles, then twenty-one," whom "he had held in his arms many times," was in the city; on October 8 he wrote in his journal: "this morning I had great pleasure in meeting my godson, Charles d'Orbigny. Oh! what past times were brought to my mind."[108]

EARLY UNPUBLISHED DRAWINGS OF FRENCH BIRDS: ABOVE, "LE FRIQUET MÂLE DE BUFFON. THE SEDGE SPARROW. NO. 13. NEAR NANTZ, 1805. J. J. A."; BELOW, "LE ROSSIGNOL DE MURAILLES—DE BUFFON—THE REDSTART. NO. 50. NEAR NANTZ, AUGUST, 1805. J. L. F. A."

Published by courtesy of Mr. Joseph Y. Jeanes.

In later life the elder D'Orbigny seems to have fallen on evil times. He appeared as a debtor to Lieutenant Audubon's estate, and the cordial relations that had long existed between the two families were broken; this is shown only too plainly by the following sharp letter[109] written by Gabriel du Puigaudeau and addressed to the doctor, on August 3, 1819, when the family had become reduced in means:

The following letter concerning D'Orbigny's affairs was also written by Gabriel du Puigaudeau to J. Cornet of Esnaudes, on June 26, 1819:

As early as the autumn of 1805, if not before, plans were laid for getting young Audubon again safely out of France, for fear, no doubt, that the remorseless conscription officers of Napoleon would send him to the war if he remained. At that time Lieutenant Audubon and his wife issued jointly to their son and to Ferdinand Rozier a power of attorney for the conduct of their business affairs in America. Parts only of this punctilious document, which was written in French, have been preserved,[111] and these through the translation of a "notary public and sworn interpreter of foreign languages for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, resident in Philadelphia." The names of the grantors, who signed this letter on October 21, 1805, were attested under the signature and seal of the mayor of Couëron; this official upon the same day declared that, in conformity with the rigorous requirements of the laws of the State of Pennsylvania, since "no other act, not even a notarial instrument, can in any manner supply the same," he had examined Anne Moynet Audubon apart, when she admitted that she perfectly understood the nature of the act, which she had "signed, sealed, and delivered of her own free will and accord, without being compelled thereto by her husband, either by threats, or by any other means of compulsion whatsoever." The mayor's signature was authenticated three days later by the subprefect of Savenay, and the formality was finally closed by the attestation of his signature by the prefect, on the 27th of November.

It was during this last visit to his home in France that Audubon's sister, Rosa,[112] was married to Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, who was not, however, as the naturalist has stated, either "the son of a fallen nobleman" or his father's "secretary." Du Puigaudeau came from a family of merchants in easy circumstances, and for a long time lived the life of a country gentleman of leisure—for a period at Port Launay, below Couëron, and later, after Lieutenant Audubon's death, at his own villa, "Les Tourterelles," in that commune, not far from "La Gerbetière." His father, though of a rich family, was not a "gentleman," that is, a member of the aristocracy, as the term was then used in France. Du Puigaudeau was without any settled business, but his revenues, upon which he depended, failed not long after the death of his father-in-law. He and young Audubon appear to have been good friends for many years, and after the latter's return to America they corresponded to as late as 1820, when for some reason their relations were broken.

In the spring of 1806 Lieutenant Audubon arranged a business partnership between his son and Ferdinand Rozier, to endure for nine years, and also secured passports for both to enable them to emigrate immediately to the United States. To the same hand can also be traced their "Articles of Association," which were drawn with the utmost care and designed to govern them in all their future business relations in the New World: these were signed by "Jean Audubon," and "Ferdinand Rozier," at Nantes, on March 23, 1806. Moreover, eight days before they embarked, a second and more elaborate letter of attorney was issued to them jointly by the Lieutenant, his wife, and, in this instance, the aged father of Ferdinand, under date of April 4, 1806.[113] According to the terms of this admirably executed paper the partners were entitled to conduct all the affairs of the grantors in reference to their property in the United States to the best of their judgment and ability; to carry on the "Mill Grove" farm, to the extent of their part ownership in the estate, or to dispose of this interest; "to exploit or cause to be exploited the mine recently discovered on the said farm, to consult in every important matter Mr. Miers Fisher, merchant of Philadelphia,—as a common friend and good counsellor, to keep all necessary books and registers, and at the end of each year, or sooner, to strike a balance of the receipts and expenses of the said farm and the exploitation of the mine, should there be reason for it."

RECEIPT GIVEN BY CAPTAIN S. SAMMIS OF THE "POLLY" TO AUDUBON AND FERDINAND ROZIER FOR THEIR PASSAGE MONEY FROM NANTES TO NEW YORK.
From the Tom J. Rozier MSS.

To secure at this time the necessary passports for their young men no doubt taxed all the resources of the elder Audubon; Rozier's, said the naturalist, was written in Dutch, of which he did not understand a single word, while his own letter stated that he was born in New Orleans. These subterfuges worked so well that the inspection officer, after reading Audubon's paper, promptly offered him his congratulations, adding that he would be only too glad to leave his unhappy country under as favorable conditions. Audubon and Rozier sailed from Nantes on Saturday, April 12, 1806, on the ship Polly, Captain Sammis, but they did not land in New York until Tuesday, May 28, after a perilous voyage of nearly eight weeks. A fortnight had been passed at sea when they sighted a suspicious looking vessel which immediately gave chase, fired several shots across their bows, and compelled the captain to heave to and submit to being boarded and searched. This proved to be an English privateer, named the Rattlesnake. She was rather considerate for a British cruiser of the period, for she merely impressed two of their best seamen and robbed them of their provisions, carrying off, said Audubon, all of their "pigs, sheep, coffee and wine,"[114] in spite of loud remonstrances of the captain and of an American Congressman who happened to be among the passengers. "The Rattlesnake," he continued, "kept us under her lee, and almost within pistol-shot, for a day and a night, ransacking the ship for money, of which we had a great store in the run under the ballast which was partially removed, but they did not go deep enough to reach the treasure. The gold belonging to Rozier and myself I put away under the ship's cable in the bow, where it remained until the privateers had departed."

Upon reaching a point thirty miles off Sandy Hook, they learned from a fishing smack that two British frigates lay off the harbor and were impressing American seamen, that, in short, they were even more unwelcome than pirates who sailed under letters of marque. The captain, thus forewarned of one danger, had the misfortune to run into another, for upon taking his vessel into Long Island Sound, she encountered a storm and was stranded in a gale; no great harm was experienced, however, for the vessel was finally floated off and reached New York on the following day. The passage money paid by Audubon and Rozier to Captain Sammis amounting to 525 livres, or $125,[115] was entered, according to their articles of agreement, as the first item of their "social expenses." After a brief visit with Benjamin Bakewell they hurried to "Mill Grove," and Audubon to the home of his sweetheart, Lucy.

Home of Audubon's youth at Couëron—Its situation on the Loire—History of the villa and commune—Changes of a century.

Before following further Audubon's history in America, we shall return for a more intimate view of the happy home which he had left behind him in France. This was at Couëron, a small commune in the arrondissement of Saint-Nazaire, on the right bank of the Loire, nine miles west of Nantes. Here, as we have noticed, his father had acquired a country place at about the outbreak of the Revolution. The old house still stands, though in decay, and is still known as "La Gerbetière," a name possibly referring to the wheat which is harvested from the surrounding fields as of yore. In the records of that district country places are always designated by their proper names, and it is a curious fact that while such names survive, they are seldom or never displayed on door or gate.

"LA GERBETIÈRE" JEAN AUDUBON'S COUNTRY VILLA AT COUËRON, FRANCE, AND THE NATURALIST'S BOYHOOD HOME.

From a photograph of August 18, 1913.

In a journal written before 1826, Audubon says: "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 of a superior cast." Though it was occupied for many years previously as a refuge from the turmoil or heat of the city, Lieutenant Audubon made "La Gerbetière" his permanent abode only when he retired from the navy in 1801, still maintaining, as we have seen, a foothold in Nantes.

Upon Audubon's first return from the United States in the spring of 1805, he said that his vessel entered the mouth of the Loire and anchored off Paimbœuf, the lower harbor of Nantes. "On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs," the narrative continues, "he came on board, and afterwards sent me to my father's villa, La Gerbetière, in his barge and with his own men." It is to be noticed, incidentally, that as the distance to be covered between the lower and upper harbors was twenty-five miles, or sixteen miles to Couëron, such journeys no doubt were made upon the arrival of incoming vessels for the regular business of the service.

It has been suggested, without proof, that Couëron represents the ancient town of Corbilo, mentioned by Strabo at the beginning of our era. Though unquestionably ancient, at the time of the Revolution it was a small and unimportant parish of poor but industrious farmers. It occupies rolling ground, but little raised above the Loire, to the east of Port Launay and nearly opposite Pellerin. As this commune was easily accessible by river-barge from Nantes, the revolutionists seem to have thought it worth watching, though Citizen Audubon found its people in a tranquil mood when he canvassed their district in behalf of the Central Committee in April, 1793. Couëron is still a farming community, but its population[116] has been considerably swelled in recent years by the development of a large industry for the treatment of lead; it is the shot tower and forest of chimneys of these great metallurgical works that arrest the eye of the traveler as he approaches Couëron by river at the present day. The town is also accessible by railroad, but the steamer journey from Nantes, which is made in less than an hour, is more attractive as well as more direct. In this section the Loire is flanked on either side by bottom lands, reduced in places to narrow strips, which are followed at intervals by elevations called, by courtesy, hills or buttes. To the west of Couëron, and especially at Pellerin, which stands high, these buttes come close to the river, which is eating them away.

My visit to Couëron, which was made on a warm midsummer's day in 1913, served to correct certain previous impressions, but I found the old Audubon homestead in its essential aspects but little changed, considering that over a century had rolled by since the naturalist's visit which we have just described. After leaving Nantes at the Gare de la Bourse by one of those quaint little trains which still do service in the less traveled parts of France, we traversed the broad Quai with requisite deliberation, passing shops, warehouses and factories in long array. A slight swerve from the river soon brought us to Chatenay, now a part of the city; it is still some distance from that point before the real countryside is reached, and scenes familiar to southern Brittany are in a measure reproduced. There were the old farmhouses of rough stone, dear to every painter's heart, mellowed by age and lichens, and surrounded by great ricks of straw, for the harvest had been gathered and the stubble fields were brown. There also the farms were divided into small plats, marked by willows or ramparts of stone. On higher ground stood the windmills, characteristic of Brittany also,—stalwart towers of stone, with broad arms of latticed wood ever ready to take the sails.

The small station for Couëron lies in the commune of Sautron, and at this isolated point the traveler will sometimes find a country conveyance to take him to the village. While we were raising the dust from this old Couëron pike on the eighteenth day of August, swallows hawking with characteristic energy for their insect prey were the only birds we saw to remind us of the ornithologist, who as a youth had doubtless passed this way many times, over a hundred years before. The most direct approach to the old Audubon place from Sautron, as we afterwards learned, is by a path which diverges on the right and leads through stubble fields and cabbage patches, along hedgerows and stone walls. We, however, fared on to the town and soon began to pass shops and small modern houses. On the side of the village the traveler's eye is certain to be arrested by a great crucifix in stone,[117] which rises high above the street from a lofty pedestal, and is approached by tiers of stone steps. Nearly opposite stands the secrétariat, or official bureau of the commune, where a solitary clerk, who seemed to welcome my intrusion in a place where business was utterly stagnant, closed his office and with characteristic courtesy cheerfully showed me the way. This led directly westward to one side of the center of the town, and after passing down a street of old houses of the humblest description, we were again in the region of brown fields and old farmsteads.

Couëron village, which is marked by a modern church with an aggressive spire, extends along the river bank, but since its streets run parallel with it, the river itself is seen only at certain openings, occurring at irregular intervals. In going to "La Gerbetière" by the course I have described, the Loire was not visible at any point, and was not seen until we emerged from one of the village streets at the steamer's pier. My guide had said that from the rise at the next crossroads we should see the roof of the house which we had come to visit, and his prediction was verified when I recognized immediately its cupola raised above the gray stone walls which there bound every highway and field. The old villa is rather less than a mile from the village, but owing to the rolling nature of the country, it is completely hidden until at close approach it stands suddenly revealed. It lies in a fork of the road, securely inclosed by high, massive walls of stone, now hoary with age, while on the front it is further screened by a natural growth of bushes and trees. Immediately behind and to the west rises a prominent butte which cuts off the view to Port Launay on the river; this forms the one distinctive landmark of the district, as its two windmill towers are visible from all surrounding points. In Audubon's day the house commanded a wide view of the Loire, but the river is now so completely masked by foliage as to be visible only from the upper windows; apparently it once flowed nearer to the house but has been pushed away by the construction of modern dykes. The hilltop to which I have just referred, like the roof of the villa, commands a panorama of the whole region, including Nantes and all the surrounding communes.

"La Gerbetière" is now a small estate of less than fifty ares, or one and a half acres, of land. The buildings, which form a quadrangle with enclosed court, occupy a corner next the side street, and stand about 200 feet back from the main highway leading from Couëron to Port Launay. The extent of the original property cannot now be determined, but Lieutenant Audubon, who retired at the age of fifty-seven, was never a farmer on a large scale. The original house, which probably dates from early in the eighteenth century, has an easterly wing or L, continued into a long, low section through which the court is now entered from the road at the side; this was probably added by Jean Audubon, but the westerly end and wing are a more modern accretion, built for the accommodation of additional tenants, as many as three families having occupied the place in 1857.

"La Gerbetière" was entered from the main street by a small door which pierces the high enclosing wall, and leads the visitor into what was formerly an ornamental garden, the original design of which can still be traced. At the time of my visit, however, this entrance had long ceased to be an avenue of response. Encouraged by the sight of a peddler's cart, I walked up the side street and entered the court. Here the response was prompt and vigorous enough, and from the guardians of the place, one of which was chafing at his chain close to the doorway. I crossed rather gingerly to an open hallway, opposite the main entrance, and knocked repeatedly, noting here that rooms opened to this small entrance hall on either side, and that a steep stairway led to others above. At last, during a temporary lull in the barking of dogs, the "tok-tok" of sabots was heard on the stairs, and I handed up my card with one from the director of the Natural History Museum at Nantes. After various messages had been shouted back and forth, I was led through another passage to the tenant, who was talking with the peddler in the garden. Julien Lebréton, who was a farmer on a small scale, received me kindly and answered my questions to the best of his ability; it did not surprise me that he was both puzzled and suspicious, or that his first thought was of our coming to look over the place with a view to its purchase.

The decayed villa, which stands in the midst of scattered farmhouses of a humble order, reproduces a style characteristic of many parts of France. The original house, of two stories, was built of cream-colored limestone, similar to that for which many French towns are famous. It has a swelled slated roof with beveled gables. Surmounting the roof is a cupola which suggests a third story, carried out in harmony with the lower structure. A narrow balcony, resting upon a molding of stone and protected by an iron grill, without which no such house would be considered complete, runs the length of the second story, and is accessible from every room by glass doors. From the main entrance below one passes directly through to the court, about which are now grouped various stables and other low buildings, not all of which date from Audubon's day.

"LA GERBETIÈRE" AND COUËRON, AS SEEN FROM THE WINDMILL TOWERS ON THE RIDGE OVERLOOKING PORT LAUNAY, ON THE LOIRE.

"LA GERBETIÈRE," AS SEEN WHEN APPROACHED FROM COUËRON VILLAGE BY THE ROAD TO PORT LAUNAY.

PORT LAUNAY ON THE LOIRE.

What was once a small formal garden is still marked by solid boundaries of cut limestone. This was evidently constructed by Jean Audubon, since it occupies the area in front of the original house and the easterly extension which is attributed to him. The remaining available land was devoted to fruit, vegetables, and possibly to the greenhouses which the naturalist mentioned. At one time an orangery occupied some part of the house or court. There are now no large trees on the property; the fruits are all of recent and inferior growth, while the garden I saw was planted to cabbage and running riot with weeds.

When Jean and Madame Audubon passed through the door leading from the main street, they entered upon a paved alley which ran parallel with the high wall, whence they could reach the house by any one of several walks or enter the fruit garden by another. If so inclined, they could turn to the right, ascend a flight of granite steps to a platform on a level with the top of the wall, and under a shady bower of vines and leafy shrubbery, look off on the racing waters of the Loire, scrutinize their visitors before admitting them, or observe such manifestations of life as lonely country roads of that period had to offer. As they passed up the central garden walk they could admire the beds of old-fashioned flowers, kept, we may be sure, in perfect order, for Jean was a very methodical man, and his wife, we believe, an excellent home maker. This walk led to a low terrace, flanked with a heavy wall, which ran the whole length of the house.

What little I saw of the interior of "La Gerbetière" was wholly devoid of interest, which agrees with the experience of another traveler who visited Couëron at a slightly earlier date;[118] at the time of his visit the place was unoccupied and forlorn, and the vegetation on the garden side so dense that it was utterly impossible to see any distance from the lower windows.

When "La Gerbetière" came into Jean Audubon's possession it was already venerable with age, and it was completely restored for him by an architect named Lavigne.[119] In an inventory drawn up shortly after Madame Audubon's death in October, 1821, the property of "La Gerbetière" is described by reproducing the account given in an early deed bearing date of November 11, 1769, which reads as follows:

"La Gerbetière," never more than an unpretentious country house with an attractive garden, was idealized in the fervent imagination of Audubon when in after life he drew upon the memories of his youth in France; for it had meant to him escape from the city, which he detested, to the fields and river which he loved. Yet, in spite of the abuse which a long line of poor tenantry inevitably entails, with intervals of total neglect lasting for nearly a century, this decayed villa of pre-Revolutionary days still stands in marked contrast to its neighbors, and bears witness to a taste to which they were strangers. The greenhouses, the fruit and shade trees, if such it possessed, and all lesser adornments of the place have vanished long ago, but thanks to the durability of French stone and mortar, much about this old country seat is still well preserved. Whether Audubon ever saw his old Couëron home again after leaving it in 1806 is doubtful, though one of his sons visited the place, and the naturalist incidentally speaks of a pilgrimage to Les Sables d'Olonne which might have occurred in 1831 or a little later. In following the fortunes of the naturalist's family in France it will be necessary for us to return to La Gerbetière.[122]

Audubon and Rozier at "Mill Grove"—Their partnership rules—Attempts to form a mining company lead to disappointment—Decision to sell their remaining interests in "Mill Grove" to Dacosta—Division of the property and legal entanglements—Audubon as a clerk in New York—Business correspondence and letters to his father—Later history of the lead mine and Dacosta—Audubon continues his drawings in New York and works for Dr. Mitchell's Museum—Forsakes the counting room for the fields—Personal sketch.

When Audubon and Rozier reached "Mill Grove" at the beginning of the summer of 1806, they found the troublesome Dacosta installed as its master by virtue of his interest in the property and his former position as agent, to which they were now to succeed. No doubt they found difficulties in carrying out all the articles of agreement[123] in their business constitution, for they were to take possession and call Dacosta to account. They were also in duty bound to investigate the lead mine on the farm, and ascertain whether it promised any success, and if the expenses already incurred were warranted, before committing themselves to further development. One-half the product of the mine and farm was to be equally divided between them, and in order to visualize clearly their profit and loss, they agreed to keep a "special book for the purpose." "On one side," their third "Article" read, "will be entered the items of expense, day by day, and at the moment this is done, on the other side [shall also be entered] the sales and products of the farms, and of all that can result from this business, in such a way that the profit shall be always apparent by the addition of the items which compose the debit and the credit."

BEGINNING OF THE "ARTICLES OF ASSOCIATION" OF JOHN JAMES AUDUBON AND FERDINAND ROZIER, SIGNED AT NANTES, MARCH 23, 1806.

After the original manuscript of Rozier's copy, in possession of Mr. Charles A. Rozier.

The house at "Mill Grove" was to be treated as an object separate from all business, "in order," so the "Articles" read, "that we may settle matters as completely as we desire." It was also agreed, in the fourth "Article," that they should "add to the expenses of this exploitation those necessary for life, and others of a mutual character, so long as it should suit them to live and dwell together." It was further stipulated that even if the mine proved a failure, they should remain six months on the farm, in order to gather useful information from the country, before embarking in any form of commerce, whether inland or maritime. The cost of their journey to America was to be entered as the first item of their "social expenses," and any expenditure for travel in their mutual interests was to be considered under the same head. In case they should persuade any merchants in America to send goods to M. Rozier, Senior, at Nantes, he should be entitled to one-half the profits, while the partners should divide the other half between them. All other profits and losses resulting from their commercial transactions were to be shared equally. The partners resolved to maintain friendship and a mutual understanding, but "upon the least difficulty" each should choose one arbitrator, and the two thus chosen were authorized to select a third; the partners were bound to accept the decision thus reached without appealing to any court. In the case of the death of one of the associates, read the tenth "Article," the survivor should have sole charge of making a settlement of the business and should report to the proper heirs. The survivor, in such an event, would be entitled to a commission of ten per cent [in addition to his one-half interest], but in no case should the partnership be dissolved "until after nine years, counting from the day of the date of the present [instrument]." As will be seen, Audubon and Rozier were unable to fulfill all the conditions thus carefully laid down.

Young Audubon's dislike of Dacosta, the uncertainty of the mining project, and other difficulties of the situation soon decided the partners to cut short their stay at "Mill Grove." Both were equally interested in the lead mine, but after working several months without success in an attempt to form a mining company, they wisely decided to leave such experiments to the enthusiastic Dacosta and to seek an opening in trade, where the hazard would be no greater and their ignorance less profound. Following the advice of their Quaker friend, Miers Fisher, they decided to sell to Dacosta their remaining rights in "Mill Grove." As a preliminary it was necessary to divide the property which had been held in common by him and Lieutenant Audubon since 1804, and this division was effected by an agreement drawn up at Philadelphia on the fifth day of September, 1806.[124] Ten days later the remainder of "Mill Grove" was conveyed to Francis Dacosta, representing a number of capitalists whom he had managed to interest in the mine, of whom the astute Stephen Girard is said to have been one. The sale was subject to conditions,[125] dependent upon their success in mining lead, which, as will appear eventually, could not have been fulfilled. These various transactions are so clearly set forth by Ferdinand Rozier in writing to his father at Nantes that we shall reproduce his letter in full:[126]

The inbred caution, sound sense, and sterling integrity which this letter displays would be a good foundation for any career, and we are not surprised to find that in after life Ferdinand Rozier became a keen and successful trader on the western frontier.

FIRST PAGE OF THE POWER OF ATTORNEY GRANTED BY JEAN AUDUBON, ANNE MOYNET AUDUBON AND CLAUDE FRANÇOIS ROZIER TO JOHN JAMES AUDUBON AND FERDINAND ROZIER, NANTES, APRIL 4, 1806.

After the original manuscript of Ferdinand Rozier's copy, in possession of Mr. Tom J. Rozier.

SIGNATURES OF JEAN AUDUBON AND ANNE MOYNET AUDUBON, AND DR. CHAPELAIN AND DR. CHARLES D'ORBIGNY, AS WITNESSES, TO THE POWER OF ATTORNEY GRANTED TO JOHN JAMES AUDUBON AND FERDINAND ROZIER, COUËRON, NOVEMBER 20, 1806.

After the original manuscript in possession of Miss Maria R. Audubon.

The division and sale of "Mill Grove" probably ended the joint interests of the elder Audubon and Rozier, for in November, 1806, a new power of attorney[129] was given to the young men by Lieutenant Audubon and his wife; as later events will prove, however, their rights in the property were not completely surrendered with its transfer to Dacosta and his mining company in the autumn of this year. The partners were now free to "choose some kind of serious work," and Ferdinand, who was then twenty-nine, was anxious to make a beginning at once. Since he was not as yet proficient in the English tongue, Rozier engaged as a clerk in the French importing house of Laurence Huron, of Philadelphia, while Audubon, following the advice of his future father-in-law, entered the office of the latter's brother, Benjamin Bakewell, in New York.

In the autumn of 1806 Benjamin Bakewell was conducting a successful wholesale importing business at 175 Pearl Street. He then owned several vessels, and his correspondents were scattered over England, France, the West Indies and the Southern States. With him were associated at this time a number of young men, including his nephew, Thomas W. Bakewell, Thomas Pears, a nephew of his wife, Thomas Bakewell, his son, as well as John James Audubon. The hospitable family to which young Audubon was now admitted on terms of intimacy, in accordance with the custom of the day, lived in the rear of the counting-house during the winter months but in summer migrated to the country, the Bakewells going five miles out on the Bloomingdale Road. Benjamin Bakewell had come to this country in 1794, in the same year as the famous chemist, Joseph Priestley, whose friendship he enjoyed and whose religious teachings had drawn both him and his brother, William, from rigid Calvinism to the greater tolerance of the Unitarian belief. At twenty-four he was an independent mercer in Cornhill, London, and was well acquainted in France, where he had spent considerable time during the Revolution, which had destroyed his trade. One of his patrons at this time was Claude François Rozier of Nantes, and inasmuch as the correspondence with him had to be conducted in French, and may possibly in this instance have been due to young Audubon's initiative, it was naturally intrusted to him.

Seven letters of the naturalist, dating from January 10, 1807, to July 19 of that year, by good fortune have been preserved, and they throw into full light another shaded corner of his interesting life. From the contents of these letters,[130] as well as from other facts, we know that Audubon remained in Bakewell's office for nearly a year, from the autumn of 1806 to the summer of 1807. Bakewell's house imported linens, lace, gloves, wines, firearms and any kind of merchandise that promised a ready and remunerative sale in New York; in return they forwarded coffees, sugars and other commodities to Rozier, receiving from him also prices current and introductions to other merchants in France. Another correspondent was the Huron firm in Philadelphia, so it is probable that Ferdinand owed his employment there to Benjamin Bakewell.

While Audubon expressed himself at this time as freely in English as in French, in the former language the tendencies of his French tongue and the influence of his Quaker friends were strangely blended. He never bothered with accents, and took as many liberties with the spelling of French as of English. Some of these lapses are purely phonetic, while others are more original, as "schacket" for "packet," "fither" for "Fisher"; two variations of Rozier's name and of Nantes occur in the same letter. It should be remembered, however, that at the beginning of the nineteenth century bad or random spelling was a very venial offense, which gentlemen of quality, or even scholars, could commit with impunity. In this respect Audubon's early essays in English would probably compare favorably with Gibbon's youthful French.

The following quaint and charming letter, which young Audubon enclosed with the preceding and under separate seal, but which his "good father" may not have received, will be transcribed in full, without the change of a letter or mark. Lieutenant Audubon, who was then in his sixty-third year, was living, as we have seen, at Couëron, the small river town nine miles west of Nantes, the center of the mails for the Loire Inférieure, and came frequently to that city to conduct his business correspondence.

Audubon's loyalty to his kind-hearted employer is evident in every one of these amiable letters, yet it is plain that they were written upon his own initiative, and a merchant of today might seriously object to such a candid exposition of his dealings as young Audubon's friendly epistles occasionally revealed.

The numerous references which these letters contain regarding the disposition of the "Mill Grove" farm may well puzzle the reader who has followed the story to this point; we must therefore attempt to unravel the tangled threads of this intricate affair. In the spring of 1807 Audubon, who was then anxious to start a "retail shop," complained that the land, which could not be sold to advantage, kept them short of capital and prevented them from dealing on so large a scale as they could wish. On the 24th of April he wrote that three weeks before he had gone to "Mill Grove" and closed an agreement for renting the property (evidently referring to the farm as distinct from the mine) for a year, being unable to do better, and that Ferdinand was then in Philadelphia trying to settle his father's accounts with Dacosta, who did not readily forget his trickster's rôle. In Audubon's letter of the same day, inclosed in the same packet with the request that it be delivered to his father, there is a similar reference, with the note that Ferdinand, who had charge of the settlement, had chosen Mr. Huron as arbitrator, but that he would not agree unless honest Miers Fisher had a part in it. Finally, as late as the 19th of July of that year he wrote to Rozier, the elder, that they were hoping to sell "Mill Grove" in the autumn, but would do so only at a good profit; yet at this time the property had been out of their possession, technically at least, for nearly a year.

Still more curious is this statement in Audubon's autobiography,[144] relating to the year 1813; "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 Wetherill, of Philadelphia, for a good round sum, and with this I returned through Kentucky and at last reached Henderson once more."

When "Mill Grove" was conditionally sold to Dacosta and his mining company in September, 1806, he gave a mortgage and bond to Miers Fisher, who again became Lieutenant Audubon's agent. Many months elapsed before the necessary legal papers could arrive from France, and meanwhile Dacosta's yearly accounts were contested, and gave no end of trouble.[145]

After operating the lead mine for five years, Dacosta's company failed, and "Mill Grove" again passed into other hands; it was finally sold to Samuel Wetherill in 1813.[146] If our inferences are correct, the mortgages by which the Audubon and Rozier interests were protected were repeatedly transferred, and the first considerable amount of ready money that had appeared in the entire series of transactions was furnished by Mr. Wetherill. It is doubtful if Jean Audubon ever received any returns from his American farm after the advent of Dacosta in 1803. The ultimate failure of the lead mine was assuredly not the fault of this exploiter, but his dubious methods of accounting and probable failure to keep his contracts no doubt led the naturalist to denounce him as a swindler.

It may be recalled that in their "Articles of Association" Audubon and Rozier had agreed that the house at "Mill Grove" should be "an object separate from all business, in order that we may control this property as long as we desire," but the conditional sale to Dacosta apparently included the farmhouse as well as the land.

Many of Audubon's references to "Mill Grove" were apparently wide of the mark, but viewed in the light which we have endeavored to shed upon this involved affair, they would be in harmony with the essential truth; in writing to the elder Rozier, who became a partner in the enterprise, there was no motive which could have led him to depart from it.[147]

We will now return to the story of Audubon's life in New York. While he was supposed to be learning the exporting business with Benjamin Bakewell, his heart was in the woods and fields, and every hour that could be snatched from the counting-room found him in the pursuit of birds or drawing their portraits. He used the pencil and black crayon point combined with pastels, and while much of his artistic work at this time was hastily done, he was capable of producing excellent likenesses. A very delicate drawing of the Wood Thrush, signed with his initials, and dated at "Mill Grove, Pennsylvania, 14 aout, 1806," is numbered 209, showing that his collection of American birds was already extensive, even if it did not include many that were well known. In the winter of 1806-7, while in New York, Audubon paid most attention to the waterfowl, frequently visiting the shore and the markets for his subjects. The sketches which he then made were all in full size, and, as an evidence of the rapidity with which he worked, it may be noticed that he would often complete two or more large drawings of ducks on the same day. New York at this time was a city of about 75,000 people; Audubon said that by walking briskly he could pass from one end to the other in a few minutes.

In the foregoing letters we have seen young Audubon sending seeds and live birds to his father and to Francois Rozier, and reptiles and dried plants to Charles d'Orbigny, and ordering for his own use the best drawing materials from France. While at New York he had the good fortune to become a friend and protégé of the most distinguished naturalist of the metropolis, Dr. Samuel L. Mitchell,[148] eminent in many walks of life, and at that time a member of the United States Senate. Audubon prepared many birds and mammals for Dr. Mitchell's collections, and the friendship thus early formed proved of much service to him later. He was probably working for Dr. Mitchell when, as the story goes, some of his neighbors lodged a complaint with the municipal authorities on account of the strong odors that habitually issued from his workroom, and a constable was sent to investigate.

Audubon remained in New York as late as August 22, 1807, for on that day he made a drawing of the "Sprig-tail Duck," but without doubt he had come to feel the incongruity of his position in a business to which his heart was a stranger. As an instance of his preoccupation at this time, he confesses to have once forwarded but forgot to seal a letter containing $8,000. If Benjamin Bakewell failed to make a business man out of Audubon, it was not from lack of kindness, and probably no one else would have been more successful. As it happened, Audubon did not leave his employer any too soon, for at the close of 1807 Benjamin Bakewell's exporting business was ruined by the Embargo Act, through which President Jefferson had hoped to bring Great Britain and France to terms by cutting off their American trade, and for a year or more his estate was in the hands of creditors for settlement.

The naturalist has left a characteristic sketch of himself at this time: "I measured," said he, "five feet, ten and one half inches, was of fair mien, and quite a handsome figure; large, dark, and rather sunken eyes, light-colored eyebrows, aquiline nose and a fine set of teeth; hair, fine texture and luxuriant, divided and passing down behind each ear in luxuriant ringlets as far as the shoulders." The habit of wearing his hair long, thus early acquired and later favored by his wandering mode of life, appears to have lasted more than twenty years.

Child and man—His ideals, perseverance and progress—Study under David at Paris—David's pupils and studios—David at Nantes arouses the enthusiasm of its citizens—His part in the Revolution—His art and influence over Audubon—Audubon's drawings of French birds—Story of the Edward Harris collection—The Birds of America in the bud—Audubon's originality, style, methods, and mastery of materials and technique—His problem and how he solved it—His artistic defects.

Audubon began to draw birds and other animals when a child, and, like most children, was ready to believe that his crude sketches were finished pictures if only they possessed some sort of a head, a tail, and sticks in place of legs. But, unlike the majority of youth, he went direct to nature for his subjects, and his "family of cripples" failed to satisfy him long. He gradually developed a high ideal, and at an early age felt stirring within him the impulse and the power to express it. On stated anniversaries his masterpieces, he tells us, were burned, in spite of the praise and flattery they had evoked; he would then exert all his powers to do better, and this commendable practice was kept up for years.

In this respect the child was father of the man, for on the 5th of March, 1822, when Audubon was living in New Orleans, too poor to buy even a blank-book for a journal, he thus wrote of his work during the previous months: "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 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." Seldom satisfied with the results attained, he kept up this laborious process of revision and selection by which he approached more closely to his ideal, the truth of living nature, for more than forty years, until, in fact, the last plates of his Birds of America came from the press in England in 1838. An examination of the originals of those plates today[149] proves that many of their defects were inevitably caused by the makeshifts to which he was sometimes forced by lack of time.

Audubon has credited his father with the only judicious criticism which he ever received at the youthful stage of his art. "He was so kind to me," said the son, "that to have listened lightly to his words would have been highly ungrateful. I listened less to others and more to him, and his words became my law." When he was about seventeen years old, or probably not far from the year 1802,[150] he was sent to Paris to study drawing under Jacques Louis David, the acknowledged leader of French art during the period of the Revolution. This popular artist, who had uttered fierce invectives against "the last five despots of France," became nevertheless court painter under Napoleon; like many another Conventional regicide, he was destined to end his career as an exile from France, and died in Brussels in 1825.

EARLY UNPUBLISHED DRAWINGS OF FRENCH BIRDS: ABOVE, EUROPEAN CROW WITH HEAD OF ROOK, "LE CORBEAU OU CORNEILLE NOIRE DE BUFFON, ENGLISH CROW, EN COMPAGNE AUTOUR DE NANTES, GROLE, PETITE GROLE, NO. 155;" DETAIL, "BEC DE LA FRAGONNE OU FREUX BUFTON—BEC OF THE JAIG DAW NO. 166;" BELOW, WHITE WAGTAIL, "LA LAVANDIERE DE BUFFON. WAG-TAIL, WHATTER WAG-TAIL, WHITE WHATTER WAG TAIL, COMMON DISH WASHER, THE 22 OF DÉCEMBER, 1805. NEAR NANTZ. NO. 65."

Published by courtesy of Mr Joseph Y. Jeanes.

Audubon has said but little of this Paris experience, but he remarked: "At the age of seventeen when I returned from France, whither I had gone to receive the rudiments of my education, my drawings had assumed a form. David had guided my hand in tracing objects of large size."[151] An interesting sidelight is thrown upon this incident by the fact that, not many years before, David had been warmly welcomed in the city of Nantes, when it is not unlikely that the naturalist's father was one of the throng of citizens who made his acquaintance. The occasion to which I refer was so noteworthy in the annals of Audubon's paternal city as to make a digression at this point of our narrative inevitable. In March, 1790, Daniel de Kervegan, a wealthy merchant who was then serving his second term as mayor, had aroused so much enthusiasm by his public spirit and sterling character that the citizens had voted the sum of 300 livres, or about $60, for his portrait, to be executed in oils and placed in one of their public buildings. The commission was offered to David, who accepted it, and with such enthusiasm did he set to work, that upon reaching Nantes he asked the privilege of paying his respects to the Municipal Assembly, which was in session. Upon being admitted to the Chamber, on the 24th of March, he expressed these sentiments:

David worked on this portrait for about a month, and on April 23, before his departure for Paris, he asked the privilege of again addressing the Assembly. Not only was the request granted, but he was publicly thanked for the trouble he had taken in coming to their city, and a committee was appointed to express the sentiments of esteem with which he had inspired the whole community. We may add that David seems to have taken this canvas to his studio in Paris, where it was subsequently lost or destroyed in the period of turbulence that followed.

David's radical speeches from the tribune, added to his popularity as an artist, no doubt brought him pupils in plenty from every quarter of republican France. Young Audubon was probably admitted to the most elementary class, for he received no instruction in the use of oils but was directed to study the rudiments of drawing from the cast. As he had hoped to perfect himself in the art of depicting animals, he was disappointed. "Eyes and noses belonging to giants," he said, "and heads of horses, represented in ancient sculpture, were my models." He also spoke of drawing "heads and figures in different colored chalks," and of "tolerable figures" obtained by use of the manikin, but adds: "These, although fit subjects for men intent on pursuing the higher branches of the art, were immediately laid aside by me"; yet he "returned to the woods of the New World with fresh ardor,"[153] and there began a series of drawings which were later published.

While this is virtually all that has been recorded of this incident in Audubon's career, a number of interesting facts might be added which throw light upon the surroundings of his life at Paris while under the tuition of this master. At that time David was enjoying the privilege, accorded to eminent artists from an early day, of living with his family and of having his studios in special quarters set apart for the purpose in the palace of the Louvre; this was continued until all the artist tenants were turned out by one of Napoleon's peremptory orders in 1806. David's principal studio was at the corner of the Quai de Louvre and the square, facing the church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, at a point occupied in the present structure by the grand staircase leading to the Egyptian Gallery. It was here that his more advanced pupils studied; the appearance of its interior, with his pupils at work, as well as the view from one of its windows, by means of which its exact position can be determined, may be seen today in the interesting painting by Matthew Cochereau. This small picture, first exhibited in the salon of 1814, now hangs in the Louvre in company with some of the finest of David's works, and immediately beneath his huge canvas representing the coronation of Napoleon. Over his principal room David had also a private studio, and at one time he had another on the Quai, opposite the Institute of France, while his numerous pupils occupied a series of rooms, one above another, not remote from the first. Access to these apartments was gained from the street by means of a spiral stairway, the opening of which may still be seen in the Egyptian Hall.

It is common to speak of this gifted man as if he alone had stifled all the art of the eighteenth century in France, as if he were the molder of his age and not a part of it. Too often has he been judged on the basis of a few, unfortunately conspicuous, theatrical pieces, while his excellent portraits, of which there are many, entitle him to the gratitude of posterity. Buchanan remarked that the mannerism of David could "still be traced in certain pedantries discernible in Audubon's style of drawing," which is a fancy without any basis in fact. If it could be shown that drawing from the casts of antique statues could develop mannerisms in the careful delineation of birds and mammals, it would still appear that Audubon's style was really formed at a later period.

This brief Paris episode, which at most could have lasted but a few months, represented all the formal instruction which Audubon ever received in drawing, although he enjoyed some private tuition at a much later day. As to the sciences now embraced in biology, that is, zoölogy and botany, which would have been most useful to him, the score was blank; even books on any of these subjects were rare in America at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

When Audubon first came to the United States, he brought with him all his drawings of French birds, and a few pieces which may belong to this early period have been described.[154] Done in a combination of crayon and water color, they represent a European Magpie, a Coot and a Green Woodpecker, the latter especially, which bore the number "96," showing evidence of care and skill. The year passed at "Mill Grove" was not particularly fruitful, but during the Couëron visit which followed in 1805 and 1806, Audubon said that he made drawings of "about two hundred species of birds," all of which he brought to America and gave to his Lucy. After finally reaching this country in the latter year, these studies were continued, with an alacrity that seldom failed, until 1822, when he began to revise much of his earlier work, substituting water colors more completely for pastels, pencil and crayon point.

In writing to Bachman in 1836, Audubon thus referred to the work of his apprenticeship: "Some of my early drawings of European birds are still in our possession, but many have been given away, and the greatest number were destroyed, not by the rats that gnawed my collection of the 'Birds of America,' but by the great fire."[155] When the naturalist was in Philadelphia in 1824, in search of a publisher and sadly in need of funds, he made the acquaintance of Edward Harris,[156] who looked at the drawings he had for sale and said at once that he would take them all and at Audubon's own prices. Upon his leaving that city, this generous friend, we are told, pressed a $100 bill in his hand, saying: "Mr. Audubon, accept this from me; men like you ought not to want for money." "I could only express my gratitude," continues the naturalist, "by insisting on his receiving the drawings of all my French birds." The worthy Harris cherished this large series of Audubon's early studies and added to it many specimens of his later work. The entire collection remained in his family unbroken and unimpaired until 1892.[157]

This beautiful and unique collection, which represents The Birds of America in the bud, illustrates the development of Audubon's art from about 1800 or a little later to 1821,[158] and clearly shows that the fuller mastery which he attained after the latter date was manifested in no small degree at a much earlier period. His drawings of the Wood Thrush (1806), the Whippoorwill and Kingfisher (1810), the Carolina Parrot (1811), and the Nighthawk (1812), though detached and less ambitious as pictures, for truth of line and delicacy of finish would compare favorably with the best of his later work. After 1820 his ability had so far outstripped his ambition that there was needed only the stimulus of a powerful motive and a well defined plan to bring his powers into full fruition at once. A little later, when he began to revise, enrich and standardize all of his previous work, he used the brush and water colors more freely than ever before. Hundreds of his earlier studies were cast aside; many, to be sure, were hastily drawn in pastel, crayon and pencil, and had not time failed him at the end, nothing of his earlier American period would have remained in the final product.

Nearly all of these rejected drawings bear serial numbers, which from the lack of sequence now observed, show that they were subject to constant change and that their total number must have been great. All bear the scientific and common names in French or English or both, and many are signed with the artist's initials or name; besides giving the place and date, in some cases the weights and measurements of his subjects are added, with detailed sketches of foot, bill, or eggs.[159]

A large crayon sketch of a groundhog, in excellent drawing, is labeled "Marmotte de sauvage, No. 159, le 6 juin, 1805." The Redstart, executed in August of the same year, is a good example of Audubon's more delicate early work; it shows also the attention which he was then beginning to pay to accessories, his bird being perched on a spray of ripening blackberries. The Wagtail, on the other hand, was a rough crayon sketch, dashed off on December 22 of the same year. A pencil and crayon drawing of the Mountain Titmouse, which is a European bird, was probably made from a captive, and at sea, since it bears the date of January 22, 1805, when Audubon was, I believe, aboard the Hope.[160] The latest of these French pieces, designated "No. 94. Woodpecker, le 8 mars, 1806. près Nantes; 12 to the tail," was executed, about a month before the naturalist finally left France with Rozier to settle permanently in the United States. The excellence of such a drawing as that of the Wood Thrush (1806) is in marked contrast to the more ambitious "Fish Hawk or Osprey, A. Willson, Perkioming Creek, 1809," in which the bird holds a white sucker in its talons but is less happily rendered. Nine large pastels of waterfowl and two smaller pieces, representing a Robin and Brown Thrush, in the same style, are good examples of Audubon's cruder efforts of that time; they were merely hurried sketches or practice work, with no attempt to finish with all the perfection of detail of which he was then capable.

In a full-size pastel of the Black Surf or Velvet Duck, drawn on December 28, 1806, and signed "J. J. L. Audubon," the note is added: "the only specimen of the kind I have ever seen." He became well acquainted with the Velvet Ducks, now better known as the White-winged Scoters, and in his account of the species says: "As we approached the shores of Labrador, we found the waters covered with dense flocks of these birds, and yet they continued to arrive there from the St. Lawrence for several days in succession. We were all astonished at their numbers which were such that we could not help imagining that all the Velvet Ducks in the world were passing before us."[161]

Several of these drawings are credited to "The Falls of the Ohio," as the rapids of this river at Louisville were then generally called; a number to "Red Banks," the old name of Henderson, Kentucky; while five were done in Pennsylvania, probably when Audubon was at the home of his father-in-law, William Bakewell, in the spring of 1812. An excellent drawing of the Chuck Wills Widow was probably made on the Red River,[162] in Arkansas, when Audubon was exploring that country and slowly making his way to New Orleans in June, 1821, though it should be noticed that a steamboat on which he sometimes traveled was called the Red River.

EARLY UNPUBLISHED DRAWING OF THE GROUNDHOG: "MARMOTTE DE SAVAGE, LE 6 JUIN, 1805, NO. 159."

Published by courtesy of Mr. Joseph Y. Jeanes

WATER-COLOR DRAWING OF A "YOUNG RACOON OF THIS YEAR, SEPTEMBER 10, 1841."

Published by courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Audubon began in the usual way, by representing his birds in profile, and often on a simple perch, but gradually introduced accessories which eventually became such an important part of his plan that, after 1822, his plates took on more the character of balanced pictures, literally teeming with the characteristic fruits and flowers of America, as well as with insects and animals of every sort, suggestive of the food and surroundings of his subjects, not to speak of American landscapes drawn from many parts of the country.

Dissatisfied with the older methods of drawing birds in the stereotyped attitudes of most stuffed specimens, Audubon made many experiments at "Mill Grove" before hitting upon what he called his "method" of using wires to pierce and hold the body of the bird in any attitude which he desired to represent. His device, which was simple only for one who possessed the requisite knowledge and skill, was publicly exhibited at a meeting of the Wernerian Society at Edinburgh on December 16, 1826. A recently killed bird was fixed in the position desired by means of wires, and placed against a background ruled with division lines in squares to correspond with similar lines on Audubon's paper. The parts, measured if necessary with compasses, were then drawn in, and every part was rendered in due proportion. As to the difficulty of thus securing natural attitudes, aside from any question of draughtsmanship, we have only to recall the bungling work of most taxidermists; there are careful students of animal life who are able to reanimate their subjects, even when reduced to dried and mounted skins, but such ability is not easy to acquire or impart. Method is always subordinate to power, and Audubon at his best, when not hampered by lack of time, was able to represent the living, moving bird in a hundred attitudes never attempted before, which surprised the world of his day by the remarkable skill, freshness and fidelity they displayed.

Some have complained that Audubon, in striving for effect, too often exaggerated the action of his subjects; his birds, like the Frenchman he was, gesticulate too much, while Wilson's were more cautious or sedate, as became a canny Scot. The complaint may be well founded, but the explanation is too trivial for serious consideration. Wilson, like his predecessors, regardless of nationality, merely followed custom, which led by the path of least resistance. Barraband and all the best French artists before him in depicting bird and animal life had done the same, and in their hands the perch, were the subject a bird, became stereotyped to the last degree, as if inserted with a rubber stamp. Audubon followed the same course until he became imbued with the desire of endowing his animals with all the moving energy of which they were capable, whether in seizing their prey, feeding their young, or fighting their enemies. It is well known that many an animal, though ordinarily cautious or even timid, can be roused to vigorous action under the spur of emotion, as when its young are suddenly threatened, and be it warbler, bluebird, or cuckoo, may become a contortionist at a moment's notice. Very few of the 1,065 life-size drawings of birds which appear in his large plates could be truly described as fantastic or unnatural.

Audubon's problem was rendered more difficult by the fact that all of his animals were drawn to the size of life, and because his desire and style compelled him to represent the utmost detail, even to the barbs of a feather or the individual hairs of a mammal. When a landscape was to be included it was not an easy task to harmonize life-sized objects in the foreground with receding objects, and here he sometimes failed. Some of his least happy compositions, however, were the result of haste, as an examination of the originals of his Birds of America has clearly shown; when hard pressed for time he would resort to the scissors and paste, in order to combine the parts of several distinct drawings into one plate, and often leave the backgrounds to be supplied entirely by the engraver. One of the few grotesque results of such methods is seen in plate 141, wherein are represented the Goshawk and the Stanley Hawk; the latter, which was originally designed for different surroundings, has quite lost its center of gravity on an islet amid stream. An early reviewer thought that the artist must surely have intended this for a caricature, as in the case of one of Hogarth's famous prints, in which a man on a distant hill is lighting his pipe at a candle held out of a window in the foreground.

The action of Audubon's subjects was sometimes exaggerated; his birds on the wing were occasionally ill drawn, and other defects might be mentioned. But we must admire his boldness for attempting so many difficult positions, and admit that, when all is considered, he succeeded to admiration, and set a new standard for the illustration of works on natural history.

Audubon and Rozier decide to start a pioneer store at Louisville, Kentucky—Their purchase of goods in New York—"Westward Ho" with Rozier—Rozier's diary of the journey—An unfortunate investment in indigo—Effect of the Embargo Act—Marriage to Lucy Bakewell—Return to Louisville—Life on the Ohio—Depression of trade—William Bakewell's assistance—Audubon's eldest son born at the "Indian Queen"—The Bakewells—Life at Louisville.

In the summer of 1807 Audubon and Rozier had decided to try their fortunes in the West, which then meant the Ohio Valley and the wilds of Kentucky, and had fixed upon Louisville as a promising point for pioneer trade. On August 1 they purchased a considerable stock of goods through the commission house of their friend, Benjamin Bakewell, and three days later gave their note, payable in eight months, for over $3,600.[163] Then, or a little later, they had dealings also with Messrs. Robert Kinder & Company, of New York, as well as the French importing house of Laurence Huron, with which Ferdinand had been recently associated in Philadelphia; apparently also they sent goods to François Rozier at Nantes, and from him received imports through the Bakewell firm, but, as we shall see, all foreign trade was soon cut off. When their plans were complete and their goods had started for the frontier, they set out themselves for Louisville on the last day of August, 1807.

Ferdinand Rozier kept a record[164] of this journey, the formidable nature of which will be best appreciated by reading his matter-of-fact narrative composed from notes daily jotted down. In these easy-going times, when oceans and continents are crossed with ever increasing ease and speed, this simple chronicle of early travel in America is worth preserving, if only for its historical contrasts.

At Louisville the partners were attracted by the country and its prospects, as well as by the hospitable character of the people. Their choice, as they then thought, had been well made, and they decided to make it their future home. "We marked Louisville," said Audubon, "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."[167]

Rozier did not say when either they or their goods reached the pioneer settlement, but from an item in their account current with the Bakewell house,[168] it is evident that they opened a retail shop in Louisville at once, for on September 29 they were charged with $57 for an order of powder horns and shotbags. In the same record there is a more interesting entry under date of December 31, 1807: "advanced per [sailing packet] Jane, for indigo and expences ... $1,516.43," ordered evidently through Mr. Bakewell, presumably for export to France. This incident Audubon must have had in mind when in after life he wrote: "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." It may be recalled that in his letter of April 24 of this year, Audubon wrote Francois Rozier[169] that the Bakewell house had sent him a consignment of indigo by the same ship, Captain Sammis, and hoped for its favorable sale in France. No doubt the venture succeeded so well that the young traders were induced to repeat the experiment. As it happened, however, on December 22, a week before this entry for the indigo was made, the famous Embargo Act of President Jefferson had taken effect, with the result of cutting off all exports to England and France and at the same time of paralyzing American trade. The Bakewell house, as we have already noticed, like so many others, immediately went down, and the partners found that their tobacco and other western produce found so little sale in New York that by April 7, 1808, they were obliged to call for an extension of their notes.

Notwithstanding the gloomy outlook for trade, Audubon had no fears for the future. As early as March, 1808, he left Rozier in Kentucky and returned to Pennsylvania. No time was lost in making known his plans to Lucy Bakewell and her family, and having received their approval, the lovers prepared for the adventurous journey that was to celebrate their wedding. Audubon was married to Miss Bakewell, at "Fatland Ford," on Friday, April 8, 1808, by the Reverend Doctor Latimer, an Episcopal clergyman of Philadelphia, and on the next morning started with his bride for the frontier. This event must be regarded as the most auspicious in his career, for in all probability the world would never have heard of Audubon had it not been for the spur to his ambition and the balance wheel to his character which came through his admirable wife.

The first stage of their honeymoon involved the long ride of over 250 miles to Pittsburgh, the hazards and discomforts of which we have learned from Rozier's description; it was marked in this instance by an accident, for in crossing the Alleghany mountains their coach was upset and Mrs. Audubon did not escape without severe bruises. At Pittsburgh the Audubons met a number of young emigrants bound westward like themselves, and in their company they prepared to float down the beautiful Ohio in a flatboat or ark. Their entire journey, which, owing to the windings of the river, could not have been much less than a thousand miles, was made in twelve days, and without further mishap.

The wild and varied beauty of the Ohio of that day had great attractions for the naturalist, who often regretted that no facile writer had left a true and vivid picture of it for the benefit of posterity, for he foresaw with great concern the inevitable changes which advancing civilization would quickly produce along its delightful banks. Audubon traversed this mighty highway countless times in after life, and some of his musings have lost none of their interest with the flight of time, for he had witnessed the advance of the white man and the retreat of the red, along with the great herds of deer, elk and buffalo that once found peaceful pasturage on its banks. Speaking of a later but hardly less romantic journey,[170] he said:

Louisville at this time was a small trading and agricultural center of barely a thousand people.[171] Though the early promises of business there were not fulfilled, Audubon and his wife at once entered upon a happy period, for they made many friends in a new country settled by whole-hearted, well-to-do planters; the men were fond of good horses and of hunting, and the naturalist, who was also a merchant, was welcomed among them as a kindred spirit. But, said Audubon, "birds were birds then as now, and my thoughts were ever and anon turning towards 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 that I really cared not.... I seldom passed a day without drawing a bird, or noting something respecting its habits, Rozier meantime attending the counter."

To revert again to the business affairs of the Audubon-Rozier firm at Louisville, an interesting record has been preserved in a letter[172] written by Thomas Bakewell, a former fellow-clerk of the naturalist in the senior Bakewell's counting-house in New York; this was included with the statement of account, referred to above.

Audubon fraternized with the sporting men of his district, who gladly sent him every rare bird that fell to their guns. At Shippingport also, then an independent center below the falls or rapids, he found a sympathetic spirit in Doctor W. C. Galt, a local botanist, as well as in Nicholas Berthoud, who had become his wife's brother-in-law, and who was a friend on whom he could always rely. The spirit of hospitality so manifest in all these new friends won the heart of Audubon and of his attractive wife, to whom the door of a neighbor's house was sure to open whenever business or adventure called her husband away. "We lived," said Audubon, "two years at Louisville, where we enjoyed many of the best pleasures which this life can afford; and whenever we have since passed that way, we have found the kindness of our former friends unimpaired." It was while they were living at Gnathway's hotel of the "Indian Queen," in Louisville, that Victor Gifford Audubon, who was destined to become his father's right hand in the publication of his most important works, was born on June 12, 1809.

When Audubon had reached his twenty-fourth year, nature, his fond nurse from infancy, was calling to him more loudly than ever before, but to most of his contemporaries his devotion to natural history could have seemed little else than sheer madness, or, at best, an utter waste of time. By the year 1810 his portfolios were swelling with upwards of two hundred pictures of American birds, produced, to be sure, without any plan, and far inferior to the best of his later work, but still done to the size of life, in the natural colors, and far excelling in fidelity and charm anything that had been attempted before. At this time, however, the young traders needed money for more practical affairs, and Audubon's father-in-law, William Bakewell of "Fatland Ford," consented to sell a portion of this estate, amounting to 170 acres, in order that his daughter, Lucy, might immediately realize her interest in it. From this sale nearly $8,000 was obtained; the money was deposited with Messrs. Robert Kinder & Company of New York, a firm with which Audubon and Rozier had dealt from the opening of their business at Louisville. This is clearly shown by the following interesting letter:[173]

Lucy Green Bakewell, Audubon's wife, was three years younger than her husband, having been born at Burton-on-Trent, England, in 1788. Her family were descended from John Bakewell of "Castle Donnington," in Leicestershire; Robert Bakewell, the geologist, who came to the naturalist's defense many years later, and who lived until 1843, was a nephew of her grandfather, Joseph Bakewell of Derby. Left an orphan at an early age, Lucy's father, William Bakewell, was brought up by an uncle, Thomas Woodhouse, a rich bachelor of Crith, Derbyshire, who eventually left him a fortune.

When William Bakewell succeeded to his uncle's estate and manor, he lived the life of a country gentleman, devoting himself mainly to shooting and to the study of chemistry and natural philosophy, while he enjoyed the friendship of such men as Joseph Priestley and Erasmus Darwin. His advocacy of Priestley's republican and liberal religious doctrines is said to have cost him the honorary office of justice of the peace in his community and to have determined his emigration to America. His first visit to America was made in the summer of 1798, when, with his brother Benjamin,[176] he started an establishment for brewing English ale at New Haven; through his chemical knowledge and skill he is said to have reproduced to perfection the famous Burton ales. William Bakewell brought his family to the United States in 1802, and when a disastrous fire destroyed his business at New Haven, he took up the large farm of "Fatland Ford" in 1804, as already related (p. 108). In that retired spot he devoted much time to his library and laboratory, while living a life of easy independence. If abrupt in manners and inclined to severity in discipline, he was generous, kind-hearted and an ardent republican. Mrs. Audubon's mother, who felt keenly the separation from her own people, died in September, 1804, a few months after reaching "Fatland Ford," and in the following year William Bakewell was married to Rebecca Smith. This lady seems to have taken a strong dislike to Audubon, for when her death was announced in 1821,[177] he referred to her as "my constant enemy ... God forgive her faults."

At this time Audubon studied nature for the pure love of it, without the faintest expectation that his labors in natural history would ever be of any service to the world. But in the year 1810 occurred an event, of seemingly small moment at the time, which nevertheless left a distinct mark upon his career, as will be now related.

Alexander Wilson and his American Ornithology—His canvassing tour of 1810—His retort to a Solomon of the Bench—Descriptions of Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Louisville—Meeting with Audubon—Journey to New Orleans—Youth in Scotland—Weaver, itinerant peddler, poet and socialist—Sent to jail for libel—Emigrates to the United States—Finally settles as a school teacher near Philadelphia—His friendships with Bartram and Lawson—Disappointments in love—Early studies of American birds—His drawings, thrift, talents and genius—Publication of his Ornithology—His travels, discouragements and success—His premature death—Conflicting accounts of the visit to Audubon given by the two naturalists—Rivalry between the friends of Wilson, dead, and those of Audubon, living—The controversy which followed—An evasive "Flycatcher"—Singular history of the Mississippi Kite plate.

On January 30, 1810, a man of rather coarse features, with a head of sandy hair, and possessed of manners that could be winning or aggressive according to his mood, might have been seen leaving Philadelphia afoot, for he had planned to keep his expenses down to a dollar a day and traveling by coach or on horseback suited neither his purse nor the objects of his mission. His clothing was coarse; his luggage, with the exception of a fowling-piece and two red-backed volumes of quarto size, was of the lightest description. But, could we have peered between the covers of those books, our curiosity would have been whetted, for they were filled with colored plates of American birds, the first-fruits of their bearer's untrained eye and hand; the text, moreover, was printed in a style which would have done honor to any country.

This man was Alexander Wilson, who, like Audubon, was a pioneer in the study of the birds of his adopted land, but who was twenty years his predecessor in point of publication. The books which he then carried were part of the first edition of his now famous American Ornithology, the second volume of which had appeared in Philadelphia at the beginning of that year. Though not destined to be completed until after his death, this work was to become one of the scientific and literary treasures of the nation, but it is not likely that one in ten thousand had then ever heard of him, whether as poet or as ornithologist, or cared anything about his work or his mission.

Wilson at that moment was starting on his last long journey through the West and South, in search of new birds. He also carried in his pocket a subscription list, and therefore belonged to that class of visitor which is seldom welcomed with rapture. At Lancaster, Pennsylvania, Wilson's first important stopping-place, and at that time the capital of the State, Governor Snyder put down his name for $120, the price of the completed work. This seemed a good omen, but, at Hanover, in the same state, an incident occurred which might have discouraged a less determined man; the interview has become historical, and we shall give Wilson's own relation of it:[178]

At Pittsburgh Wilson met Audubon's old employer and relative by marriage, Benjamin Bakewell. The picture which he then drew[179] of that growing hive of industry will be read with interest:

Eight days after he had reached Pittsburgh, Wilson bravely launched a little skiff, which he christened the Ornithologist, and began an arduous and perilous journey to Cincinnati, Louisville and New Orleans, a distance of two thousand miles. "In this lonesome manner," he wrote, "with full leisure for observation and reflection, exposed to hardships all day, and hard berths all night, I persevered from the 24th of February to Sunday evening, March 17th, when I moored my skiff safely in Bear Grass Creek, at the rapids of the Ohio, after a voyage of seven hundred and twenty miles."

Cincinnati, then a town of five hundred houses, was reached on the ninth of March; while there Wilson made the acquaintance of Dr. Daniel Drake, who was later Audubon's friend, and examined a collection of Indian relics which had been taken from a freshly opened mound. He left Cincinnati convinced that its well-to-do class must be a very thoughtful people, so many of them, when approached for a subscription to his work, having replied that they would "think about it." Upon nearing Louisville at nightfall he became alarmed lest he should be drawn into the suction of the Falls, as no lights could be seen on the banks: cautiously coasting along the shore, where he encountered many logs and sawyers, at last he entered the Creek and secured his skiff to a Kentucky boat; then, "loading myself with my baggage," he wrote, "I groped my way through a swamp up to the town."[180] When Wilson had seen the Falls by daylight, he felt that his fears of the night before had been groundless, and declared that he should have no hesitation in navigating them single-handed.

It will be interesting to follow Wilson's journey a little further, before returning to the Louisville visit. After passing a few days in Audubon's town, he struck out into the heart of Kentucky, calling at Shelbyville, Frankfort and Lexington, and eventually reaching Nashville, Tennessee. Not far from the latter place he met a landlord of admirable discrimination, Isaac Walton by name, who showed himself worthy of his illustrious ancestor by declaring that Wilson was evidently traveling for the good of the world, and added: "I cannot, and will not charge you anything. Whenever you come this way, call and stay with me; you shall be welcome."

At Nashville Wilson wrote to Miss Sarah Miller, the lady to whom he was engaged but whom he did not live to marry: "Nine hundred miles distant from you sits Wilson, the hunter of birds' nests and sparrows, just preparing to enter on a wilderness of 780 miles—most of it in the territory of Indians—alone but in good spirits, and expecting to have every pocket crammed with skins of new and extraordinary birds before he reach the City of New Orleans." Continuing on his course in search of new birds and subscribers, Wilson arrived at Natchez on May 18, and, passing through Louisiana, on the sixth day of June he entered New Orleans, where his spirits were immediately raised by the accession of sixty new names to his list. After six months of continuous effort, traveling now in a small boat, now on the back of a horse, but frequently on foot, drenched by torrents of rain or scorched by the unaccustomed heat, often compelled to drink the poisonous water of cane brakes in Mississippi (to which must be attributed an attack of malarial fever, which he was able with difficulty to throw off, but from which, in all probability, he never fully recovered), he returned to New York by sea, and on September 2, 1810, was again in Philadelphia.

On this journey Wilson was a pioneer in much of the territory which Audubon had hardly begun to explore, but which later became the scene of his wanderings and adventures for many a year. At Louisville the two naturalists met, but they did not become good friends; though devoted to the same objects, differences in temperament might in any event have kept them apart. Unfortunately, the feelings of jealousy which were then aroused, or which were stirred up at a later day, were fostered by some of Wilson's injudicious friends to such an extent that from the moment Audubon's work became known, and long before he had published a line, they became as thorns in his path, and they continued to vex him for thirty years. It is not easy to reach a fair judgment in this matter now, and it would be impossible to do so without a better understanding of the man who suddenly appeared upon Audubon's horizon at Louisville in 1810 and then vanished. Because of the peculiar relations which existed between these two pioneers, we must follow the history of the elder man a little more closely.

Alexander Wilson was the son of a weaver at Paisley, Scotland, where he was born in 1766; he was thus Audubon's senior by nineteen years. His father, who was esteemed for his honesty and intelligence, had tasted prosperity, but irremediable poverty fell to his lot in later life. Alexander, the younger son, was motherless at ten, and the stepmother that soon appeared seems to have shown him scant sympathy, or, at all events, never won his affection. Alexander Wilson's youth unhappily coincided with an era of bad feeling in his native land; the times were hard in bonny Scotland, education was stagnant, and the public morals were debased. Wilson was a child of his times; like thousands of other youths, he was bound to suffer from the conditions of his early environment, but unlike many thousands of his day, he was possessed of talents and ambition which bitter adversity tended to sharpen and could never repress.

At thirteen young Wilson was taken from school and apprenticed to a weaver, William Duncan, his brother-in-law, and for three years he was no stranger to hard work and the birchen rod. For nearly three years more, as master weaver, he knew little beyond the grind and grime of the factory and the society of factory hands. At eighteen, however, his rebellious spirit struck, and for ten years he appeared in the rôle of itinerant peddler, poet and orator, and as socialist to the extent of championing the oppressed weaver class. At one time Wilson came into correspondence with Robert Burns and later made his acquaintance. His best dialect poem, "Watty and Meg, or The Taming of a Shrew," published anonymously as a penny chap-book in 1782, was his one popular success in the character of poet; according to report it was attributed to Burns, who admitted that he would have been glad to have written the verses, which sold so freely that a hundred thousand copies were disposed of in a few weeks.[181] In the disputes between capital and labor which arose at Paisley, Wilson took an active part. In connection with them he published a number of lampoons in verse, for which he was convicted of libel and was compelled to burn his satires at the town cross. In one instance, which occurred in February, 1793, a petty tyrant whom he had riddled exacted the fine,[182] and because of his inability to pay Wilson was sent to jail, where he languished for over three months.

Under the pressure of such persecutions, hard times, and possibly from disappointment in an affair of the heart, Wilson decided to emigrate. Practically driven out in rags from the country which one day was to raise a monument to his memory, at the age of twenty-eight he sailed from Belfast with his nephew, William Duncan, for the Eldorado of the New World. Wilson slept on deck throughout the entire voyage of fifty-three days, and landed at New Castle, Delaware, with the clothes on his back and an old fowling-piece as his only possessions. This was on July 14, 1794, nine years before John James Audubon left Nantes. Taking train "number 11," in the parlance of knights of the road, the two immigrants first walked to Wilmington in search of employment, and finding none there, went on twenty-nine miles farther to Philadelphia.

The story is told that while they made their way through the woods of Delaware, Wilson shot a Red-headed Woodpecker and met with the Cardinal Grosbeak; as he often referred to the pleasure which the sight of these beautiful birds had given him, the incident, if it really occurred, may have played a part in the inspiration, which later came to Wilson, of becoming the historian of American bird life.

After eight hard years of shifting about, during which Wilson tried day-labor, weaving, peddling and school teaching, working long hours at miserable pay, he finally settled as a country school teacher near New York. On the twelfth of July, 1801, he wrote to a fellow teacher and friend, Charles Orr, who was then living at Philadelphia: "I live six miles from Newark and twelve miles from New York, in a settlement of canting, preaching, praying, and snivelling ignorant Presbyterians. They pay their minister 250 pounds for preaching twice a week, and their teacher 40 dollars a quarter for the most spirit-sinking, laborious work—6, I may say 12 times weekly." To the same friend, in 1802, he confided: "My disposition is to love those who love me with all the warmth of enthusiasm, but to feel with the keenest sensibility the smallest appearance of neglect or contempt from those I regard."

In 1802, at the age of thirty-six, Wilson decided to take up a school at Gray's Ferry, on the Schuylkill River, in Kingsessing Township, then a small settlement four miles from Philadelphia. A year later, in 1803, John James Audubon was sent to America to learn English and enter trade, and, as chance would have it, settled on the banks of the same river, not many miles from Wilson's old schoolhouse. In one respect the older man was the more fortunate, for, as will be seen, he found close by his door an excellent naturalist who played the part of mentor.

On February 14, 1802, while at Philadelphia, Wilson wrote to Orr:

At Gray's Ferry, where he was then settled, Wilson again wrote in July: "Leave that cursed town at least one day. It is the most striking emblem of purgatory, at least to me, that exists. No poor soul is happier to escape from Bridewell than I am to smell the fresh air and gaze over the green fields after a day or two's residence in Philadelphia...."

George Ord, Wilson's staunch friend, literary executor, biographer, and editor of the last two volumes of the American Ornithology, thus characterized him: "He was of the genus irritabile, and was obstinate in opinion." He would acknowledge error when discovered by himself, "but he could not endure to be told of his mistakes. Hence his associates had to be sparing of criticism, through fear of forfeiting his friendship. With almost all his friends he had occasionally, arising from a collision of opinion, some slight misunderstanding, which was soon passed over, leaving no disagreeable impression. But an act of disrespect he could ill brook, and a wilful injury he would seldom forgive."

In 1801, while teaching and studying German at Milestown, Pennsylvania, Wilson had another unfortunate love affair, in this instance with a woman already married. To this he alluded in letters written in the summer of that year to his friend Orr, with whom he later quarreled. On August 7, 1801, he wrote: "The world is lost forever to me and I to the world. No time nor distance can ever banish her image from my mind. It is forever present with me, and my heart is broken with the most melancholy reflections."

At Gray's Ferry, however, Wilson soon found in the estimable William Bartram, then in his sixty-first year, the sympathetic adviser, kind teacher, and judicious friend that he most needed, for though Wilson took the initiative in his ornithological plans, it was the kindly Bartram who eventually extended a helping hand. Both Bartram and Lawson, the engraver, urged him to devote his leisure to drawing, as a foil to his melancholic tendencies. Wilson did not hesitate long, for on June 1, 1803, he confided to a friend in Scotland that he had begun to make a "collection of our finest birds." Early in 1804 his purpose was clearly fixed, and on March 12 of that year he wrote to Alexander Lawson: "I am most earnestly bent on pursuing my plan of making a collection of all the birds in this part of North America.... I have been so long accustomed to the building of airy castles and brain windmills, that it has become one of my earthly comforts, a sort of rough bone, that amuses me when sated with the dull drudgery of life." A little later in the same month we find him appealing to Bartram for exact names, when he writes:

Alex Wilson

AFTER AN ENGRAVING BY W H. LIZARS, FROM A PAINTING BY JAMES CRAW.

Will. Bartram

REPRODUCED FROM "CASSINIA" FOR 1906.

Wilson, practically self-taught in everything, with no experience or training in drawing from nature, thus began at the age of thirty-eight to make his drawings of birds, before he knew the names of his subjects, and twenty years before Audubon's talents were known to any but members of his own family and a few intimate friends. The only aid in drawing which Wilson ever received appears to have come from the hints which Lawson supplied. Nevertheless, the best of Alexander Wilson's original drawings represent a degree of excellence and honest workmanship of which he had no need to be ashamed, and in many instances he owed far less to his engraver, Alexander Lawson, than did his great rival to Robert Havell.

In 1880 Dr. Elliott Coues examined a large collection of original Wilson and Audubon drawings and manuscripts, "owned and kept with the greed of a genuine bibliomaniac" by Joseph M. Wade, then editor of Familiar Science and Fancier's Journal. If not Wilson's portfolio itself, its contents, at least, said Dr. Coues, were then in Mr. Wade's possession, and this series of Wilson's drawings included, he thought, more than half of the originals of his famous plates. To quote Dr. Coues:[183]

I know full well that in 1804, when Wilson had fairly begun his work on birds, he was poor enough, but I hesitate to believe upon such evidence that he was too poor to buy decent drawing materials. Wilson doubtless practiced economy in these matters as in everything else, through his ingrained habit of Scotch thrift, and he was probably quite as well-to-do then as five years before, when out of his slender earnings he was able to lay money aside.[184] Later, to be sure, his modest savings were quite consumed by his Ornithology, and then William Bartram came to his aid, even giving him a home in his own house. It is also wide of the mark to conclude from his fugitive letters or from his drawings, as this critic has done, that Wilson was possessed of genius only, and "had nothing else, not even talent and ability." Wilson certainly had a talent for writing and cultivated it with marked success; even his verse was not all of a "despicable mediocrity." In the art of drawing, however, his natural gifts were of a very modest sort, and what he achieved was the result of the most painstaking effort. Of course he was not a finished scholar, as graduates from the school of adversity seldom are, but he had a passion for knowledge and the determination to excel. His genius was not fully displayed until a powerful motive, the ambition to make known the birds of his adopted land, had possessed his spirit and taxed his powers to their utmost capacity.

Shortly after he had settled at Gray's Ferry, Wilson's susceptible nature was touched by another romance, which was again unfortunate for the poet and dreamer, but was probably the making of the ornithologist. Bartram's Botanic Gardens, on the outskirts of Philadelphia, had long been famous for their large and choice collection of native plants, gathered by the indefatigable zeal of their worthy founder, John Bartram, Quaker philosopher, traveler, botanist, agriculturalist and nurseryman; but the fairest flower in the whole collection at that time is said to have been Miss Anne Bartram, daughter of John the younger, niece of William, who then superintended the "Kingsess Gardens," granddaughter of the founder, and heiress to the estate. To this Quaker maid Wilson addressed a number of his poems, and he interested her in the drawing of birds; on March 29, 1804, he wrote to her uncle: "I send a small scroll of drawing papers for Miss Nancy. She will oblige me by accepting it." This little incident would show that Wilson was no stranger to the use of good drawing materials, however frugal his habits in this respect may have been. The young lady is said to have been not indifferent to her poet lover, and some of her family were friendly; the father, however, had no notion of bestowing his daughter's hand upon a poor schoolmaster, and for the third time Wilson's dreams of domestic bliss were shattered.

Such experiences no doubt tended to chasten the sensitive spirit of this real genius, whose whole life seemed to have been a continuous and losing struggle, while he felt within him an inspiration and a power that had failed to find adequate expression in labor at the loom, in verse, or in the hated vocation of teaching rough country schools at starvation wages. Though depressed by his misadventures in love, Wilson does not seem to have been embittered, and by way of diversion, he set out in the autumn of 1804, on a long walking tour from Philadelphia to Niagara Falls and back; in the following winter the experiences of this journey were embodied in a descriptive poem of 2,018 lines which he called "The Foresters," an effort which would have been less prosaic if frankly expressed in prose. Wilson's friendship for the Bartrams continued under the changed conditions, and he was invited to make his home under their hospitable roof. He was now free to devote himself heart and soul to birds and to birds alone.

Wilson etched the first two plates of his American Ornithology before he had obtained an engraver or a publisher. In April, 1806, he resigned his school at Gray's Ferry to accept an editorial position on a New American Cyclopædia,[185] then in course of preparation, at a salary of $900 a year. Samuel F. Bradford, the publisher of this work, soon became interested in Wilson's projected American Ornithology and agreed to publish it. It became the ambition of both author and publisher to produce the work in a superior style, and to make it as perfect and complete an American product as possible. Only the pigments used in coloring some of the plates were imported from Europe.[186]

Wilson issued in April, 1807, an elaborate prospectus of his proposed Ornithology, in which he stated that the completed work would comprise ten volumes, to cost $120, and that it would be illustrated by plates, engraved and colored by hand, after the manner of a carefully prepared sample which was issued with the printed announcement. In September, 1808, as already intimated, the first volume of the American Ornithology[187] appeared in an edition of 200 copies. Wilson immediately started on a canvassing tour of New England, in the course of which he visited the principal towns and colleges, going east to Portland, Maine, and as far north as Dartmouth College, in New Hampshire, where President John Wheelock and the professors received him with marked attention. On this journey Wilson did not average one subscriber a day, and he was forced to conclude that he had "been mistaken in publishing a work too good for the country"; "it is a fault," he said, "not likely to be repeated, and will pretty severely correct itself." Daniel D. Tompkins, Governor of New York, coolly said to him: "I would not give one hundred dollars for all the birds you intend to describe," not even if "I had them alive"; but a future Governor of that State, De Witt Clinton, the friend of science and scientific men, gave him the substantial encouragement he craved. When his second volume was ready for issue, Wilson wrote to Bartram: "This undertaking has involved me in difficulties and expenses which I never dreamt of, and I have never yet received one cent from it. I am, therefore, a volunteer in the cause of Natural History impelled by nobler views than those of money."

In the autumn of 1808 Wilson made a long and arduous tour of the South, in the course of which he visited every important town along the southern Atlantic seaboard, and though it cost him dear, he obtained 250 subscribers; it was then that his publishers decided to extend the original edition of his work to 500 copies. His longer and more perilous journey of 1810, when his meeting with Audubon occurred, has already been described. In 1812, after the sixth volume of the Ornithology had appeared, he again resumed his travels in the East and went as far north as Burlington, on Lake Champlain; at Haverhill, New Hampshire, he was summarily arrested and thrown into jail, the people of the town, utterly unable to comprehend the nature of his pursuits, suspecting that in his real capacity he was acting as a spy in the employ of the Canadian Government. The seventh and last volume of the Ornithology which Wilson lived to complete made its appearance in the spring of 1813. He had then been obliged to relinquish his work on the Cyclopædia, and was reduced to the pittance derived from the coloring of his own plates.

Alexander Wilson died at Philadelphia, after a brief illness, on August 23, 1813. A story was current that his end was saddened, if not hastened, by the dishonesty of his publishers, but I cannot vouch for it. Audubon may have had this report in mind when he wrote his name in the hotel register at Niagara Falls[188] on August 24, 1824; and added that he would never die, like Wilson, "under the lash of a bookseller." Even as late as 1879 Miss Malvina Lawson, daughter of Wilson's friend and engraver, left no doubt as to her belief when she wrote: "and to his other trials was added the fact that killed him,—the dishonesty of his publisher."[189]

When we consider that Wilson's entire working period on the Ornithology was not over ten years, and that at the age of forty-seven he was called to lay down his pen and brush forever; that he produced in this brief space a work of great originality and charm, which did inestimable service in promoting the cause of natural history in both America and England, and which is likely to be read and prized for centuries to come, the achievement of this man is little short of marvelous. Knowing also the disabilities under which he labored, we are more than ready to temper our judgment with sympathy, and to overlook any faults which his character may have displayed. These indeed, we believe, were for the most part of a very trifling nature; those who knew Wilson best have all testified to his kindness of heart, his liberality, and his high sense of honor.

We must now return to the meeting of our two pioneers, which has been the bone of so much acrimonious contention. On his long journey to the Middle West and South, Wilson reached Louisville on a Saturday evening, the seventh of March, 1810, and put up at the tavern of the "Indian Queen," where, as it happened, Audubon was then living with his family; after spending five days in and about the town, he again set out on foot for Frankfort, on the morning of Friday, the twenty-third. Audubon has given the following account in the "Episode" of "Louisville in Kentucky":[190]

What actually happened at this meeting of the two naturalists will never be certainly known, beyond what can be gathered from their rather widely divergent accounts. It should be noticed, however, that the paragraph which Audubon quoted was extracted from Wilson's private diary; it was no doubt written on the spur of the moment, possibly to humor his own mood, and certainly with no thought of its later publication. It was inserted by George Ord in the biographical sketch of his friend appended to the ninth volume of the American Ornithology, which appeared in 1814, the year after Wilson's death. Audubon was not concerned, either directly or by implication, except in the last sentence, for it is evident that he was not one of those to whom Wilson had carried letters of introduction. Thus the matter stood until 1828, when Audubon's Birds of America were being engraved in England. In all probability the incident would never have been noticed by Audubon, had not Ord seen fit to revive it when his life of Wilson[191] was issued as a separate volume in that year. In this edition of the biography Ord inserted fuller extracts from Wilson's journal, with the evident purpose of placing the rival of his friend in an unenviable light.

Wilson's diary, which apparently was never seen by any of Audubon's friends, is now known to us only through such extracts as Ord and Waterton, his bitter enemies, have seen fit to make public; the original has probably been destroyed, for it cannot be traced later than 1840, when it was still in the hands of George Ord.[192] Charles Waterton gave similar extracts from this famous journal in one of his philippics against Audubon in 1834, when he said that it was the testimony of this record that defeated Audubon's friends in their initial attempt to bring him into the Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia. Wilson's narrative of his adventures at Louisville in 1810, as given by Ord and Waterton, is as follows:[193]

In this fuller record we learn that Wilson spent five days in Louisville; he examined Audubon's drawings on Monday, March 19, hunted alone on the 20th, went out shooting with Audubon on the 21st, and finally left Louisville on the morning of the 23d; no record was admitted by Ord for Sunday, the 18th, or for the 22d, a Thursday. Wilson noticed the drawings of two new Motacillæ, or Warblers, in Audubon's collection, and it would have been only natural that he should have felt a strong desire to copy them, yet not a word was said about the loan of drawings to which Audubon refers; Wilson merely stated that from those to whom he was recommended he had received not "one act of civility,—one subscriber, nor one new bird." Audubon was evidently regarded as one of the "many shopkeepers" who boarded "in taverns," and not as a "naturalist," for Wilson said that he had none to keep him company, and it is rather significant that Audubon's name is not once mentioned in his Ornithology.

Twenty-nine years after Wilson's visit to Louisville, when Audubon came to publish the fifth and last volume of his Ornithological Biography, he maintained that Wilson had copied his drawing of a certain bird, called the Small-headed Flycatcher,[195] without any acknowledgment. To quote Audubon's words:

This troublesome bird was first described by Wilson in 1812, when he rightly pronounced it "very rare," and said that the specimen from which his drawing was made had been shot in an orchard, presumably near Philadelphia, on the twenty-fourth day of April, and that several had been obtained also in New Jersey. His friend Ord, who came to his defense in 1840, confirmed this statement by declaring to the American Philosophical Society of Philadelphia that he had been with Wilson on the day in question and had examined the specimen. Lawson also affirmed that in engraving the plate he had worked directly from the bird which Wilson had given him.

What has become of this mysterious phantom that has been a wandering and disturbing voice among ornithologists for over a century? It has given rise to no end of conflicting and sharp discussions between the partisans of the two naturalists chiefly concerned, the only thing certain being that if this supposititious species ever existed, it has forsaken its old haunts, if not the earth itself, and has never returned. No doubt it was simply a case of mistaken identity, and both Wilson and Audubon were wrong, each having had in hand and mind an immature representative of one of our numerous Warblers, which are now so much better known.[196] If Wilson copied Audubon's drawing of the bird, he must have replaced it with one of his own, for the figures of the two naturalists are very unlike. Certainly Audubon should not have made so serious a charge without offering more substantial evidence in proof; perhaps what he had intended to convey was that Wilson had obtained from him his first knowledge of the bird, and he was nettled to find that he had been studiously ignored.[197]

Among the originals of Audubon's Birds of America in possession of the Historical Society of New York, there is an early drawing of a Warbler which bears in pencil, in the naturalist's hand, the following note: "This bird was copied by Mr. Willson at Louisville."[198] The misspelling of Wilson's name, which was common with Audubon as late as 1820, would indicate that the note was not added after that time, but if Wilson copied this drawing, there is no evidence that he ever used it.

Ord made another charge in which Audubon does not appear to such good advantage; though it refers to a later day, it is best to consider it now. This critic thought that a complaint of misappropriation came with ill grace from one who had been guilty of it himself, and maintained that Audubon had copied Wilson's figures of the female Red-wing Blackbird (The Birds of America, Plate LXVII), and had also stolen his drawing of the Mississippi Kite (Plate CXVII). Ord was probably mistaken in regard to the blackbird, but without a doubt the lower bird in the Kite plate was taken from Wilson (American Ornithology, Plate 25), though the copyist has reversed the outlines, left out one of the toes, added minor details, and misnamed the sex, which in the Wilson original represents a male. Without a doubt also the odium in this case must fall upon Audubon, but we are not at all certain that he was directly responsible for the theft. Audubon's plate of this species, which is finished in elaborate detail, was probably published towards the close of 1831, when he was in America. He furnished his engraver, we believe, with the drawing of the upper bird only, which he designated as a male, and the original still exists, with clearly written notes showing that it was executed in Louisiana in 1821.[199]

THE "TWIN" MISSISSIPPI KITES OF WILSON (LEFT) AND AUDUBON (RIGHT), THE SIMILARITY OF WHICH INSPIRED ORD'S CHARGES OF MISAPPROPRIATION AGAINST AUDUBON.

Audubon usually made up his drawings for the engraver with great care, but when pressed for time, Havell's skill was such that he often depended upon him to complete or change his figures, to fill in backgrounds, or even to combine several distinct figures into one plate, specific directions for all such changes being usually written on the drawing itself.[200] Inasmuch as no penciled directions whatever occur on this particular drawing, is it possible that Havell, in piecing it out to improve the composition, followed his own initiative, not fully appreciating the stigma that is rightly attached to such methods? The bird in the lower half of the plate, which was appropriated from Wilson, is misrepresented as a female, so that the composite, as it stands, is a remarkable product, supposedly depicting a pair but in reality showing two males. Although the apparent difference in sex in this bird was admittedly slight, it is improbable that so gross an error could have escaped the naturalist's eye had he been directly concerned with the result.

When Audubon was descending the Mississippi in December, 1820, he saw the kites busily engaged "in catching small lizards off the bark of dead cypress trees," but "having at that time no crayons or paper," he "did not draw one, and determined," as he then wrote in his journal, "never to draw from a stuffed bird." "I first saw the Mississippi Kite," he added, when "ascending in the steamboat Paragon, in June, 1819." Wilson, on the other hand, in his knowledge of this interesting bird was far in advance of his later rival, for his first observations were made in 1810, "in the Mississippi territory, a few miles below Natchez, on the plantation of William Dunbar, esquire, when the bird represented in the plate was obtained, after being slightly wounded; and the drawing made with great care from the living bird." "For several miles, as I passed near Bayo Manchak," Wilson continues, "the trees were swarming with a kind of cicada, or locust, that made a deafening noise; and here I observed numbers of the Hawk now before us sweeping about among the trees like Swallows, evidently in pursuit of these locusts; so that insects, it would appear, are the principal food of this species."[201] Wilson never succeeded in procuring the female of this graceful hawk, and his editor, George Ord, evidently continued the quest, for we find his correspondent, John Abbot, writing him from "Scriven County Georgia Mar. 1814": "Are you acquainted with the female yet of the Louisiana Kite?"[202]

We have entered into the detailed history of this plate because of the unfavorable comment which it has provoked, but it is easier to be critical than to be either just or correct, and without more definite knowledge than we possess, it would be unfair to censure Audubon too much or to shift the blame too completely upon the shoulders of another.

To return again to the story of Wilson's diary, it is evident that Wilson would never have published his sentiments in the form in which they later appeared. They were perfectly characterized by a just critic of an early day,[203] who said that Wilson's words were without doubt written in a moment of keen depression and disappointment and were an exact description of his feelings, though, as we should also add, not of the facts. "A man who has given his heart to the accomplishment of an object, believing that he has no rival, must be somewhat more than human, if he be delighted to find that another is engaged in the same purpose, with equal energy and advantages far greater than his own." Barring his usual inaccuracies, it must be admitted that Audubon's account bears the thumbmarks of truth. He could not have known the bitter struggles of the proud spirit whose history we have briefly told; he saw only a stranger, an ardent devotee of nature, it is true, but a man of unbending disposition, who with a little more suavity of address could probably have won his friendship, if not his subscription. Of the literary quality of Wilson's work, now so well appreciated, he could have known nothing at all; after turning its pages in his Louisville store for the first time in 1810, he probably did not see it again for over ten years.

That Wilson was jealous of Audubon as a future rival is probable, but the real "rivalry" between these two pioneers was of later growth. It was fostered in this country chiefly by George Ord and some of his friends, together with others who were interested in the sale of Wilson's work. Ord, who seems to have felt that the mantle of this naturalist had fallen on his own shoulders, strove continually, and after 1826 with the aid of Charles Waterton in England, to hamper Audubon's progress, to discredit him as a man of integrity, and to break down his growing reputation as a naturalist. Though Ord was justified to some extent in his attacks upon Audubon which were made over Wilson's shoulders long after that estimable man was laid in the grave, the matter was carried too far. Neither of the rivals was wholly without fault, and a century is far too long to continue any quarrel, especially when one of those whose reputation was concerned was never a party to it.

Audubon, as we have seen, frankly attributed to personal vanity his failure to patronize Wilson's work, and added that "even at that time my collections were greater than his." But it should be noticed that money was far from plentiful with him at that moment. He was, in short, at the point of failure in the Louisville enterprise, and with Rozier was obliged to move down the river not long after the date of Wilson's visit. Audubon has been represented as at this time a well-to-do man of leisure, of fastidious tastes. Nothing could have been wider of the mark. He was still more of a sportsman than a naturalist, and when not occupied with drawing, he spent most of his time in the forest, to the neglect of his trade. We may be sure that he was quite as used to roughing it as any man on the frontier.

The Ohio a hundred years ago—Hardships of the pioneer trader—Audubon's long journeys by overland trail or river to buy goods—The "ark" and keelboat—Chief pleasures of the naturalist at Louisville—The partners move their goods by flatboat to Henderson, Kentucky, and then to Ste. Geneviève, (Missouri)—Held up by the ice—Adventures with the Indians—Mississippi in flood—Camp at the Great Bend—Abundance of game—Breaking up of the ice—Settle at Ste. Geneviève—The partnership dissolved—Audubon's return to Henderson—Rozier's successful career—His old store at Ste. Geneviève.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century the banks of the Ohio River were but thinly settled, and over vast areas the virgin forest still reigned in undisturbed vigor and beauty. Yet traders were eagerly pushing westward in ever growing numbers, and by 1810 Audubon and Rozier found that competition at Louisville was already keen. This city, wrote Alexander Wilson in describing his experiences in the spring of that year, was as large as Frankfort, and possessed a number of good brick buildings and valuable shops; it would have been salubrious, he thought, "but for the numerous swamps and ponds that intersect the woods in its neighborhood," and the indifference of the people, whom he found too intent upon making money to give any heed to the drainage and sanitation of their town.

The prosperity of the partners, as already intimated, was shortlived. Audubon was doubtless right in admitting that his business abandoned him because he could not bear to give it the necessary attention. The conditions of life for the merchant-trader at that early day were at best far from easy, and an honest success, as then understood, required not only plenty of rough work but careful planning as well. His goods, purchased in the East, were laboriously transported across the State of Pennsylvania, and if they came from Philadelphia they must needs traverse the rough wagon roads that led through Bedford to Pittsburgh. There was an overland trail from Pittsburgh to Kentucky, but merchants with heavy loads would naturally take the easier river route. In going east to renew his stock in trade, it was a common practice to travel on horseback from as far west as St. Louis, but on returning the merchant would often sell his mount at Baltimore, Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, where a boat could be taken for the remainder of the journey.

The "ark" or flatboat was considered most convenient for the transportation of either passengers or merchandise down the Ohio, for any well-to-do traveler, while floating leisurely with the current, could make himself comfortable by fitting up snug sleeping quarters and a kitchen on deck, and could go ashore at will, with the certainty of satisfying his appetite for wild turkey, venison and other game in the season. Wilson, who descended the river in April, 1810, boarded and passed many of these "arks," which he described as built in the form of a parallelogram, from twelve to fourteen feet wide and from forty to seventy feet long, with a canopy to protect them from the weather; they were casually helped along by means of two oars in the bow, and steered by another and more powerful one in the stern. "Several of these floating caravans," said Wilson, "were loaded with store goods for the supply of the settlements through which they passed, having a counter erected, shawls, muslins," and the like, "displayed, and everything ready for transacting business. On approaching a settlement they blew a tin trumpet, which announced to the inhabitants their arrival." These "arks," he added, descended from all parts of the Ohio and its tributary streams, but in greatest numbers in the spring months. Although they cost originally about $1.50 per foot of length, when arrived at their destination they would seldom bring more than one-sixth of that amount. From forty to fifty days were commonly required to cover the entire distance of two thousand miles from Pittsburgh to New Orleans.

Another means of conveyance on the river, frequently used by Audubon, was the keel boat or barge, which, in some cases, was also roofed and would hold about two hundred barrels of flour.[204] When assisted by oars in the bow, it could reduce the time of a journey to New Orleans by ten or fifteen days. These barges were pushed up stream with the aid of setting poles at an average rate of about twenty miles a day, or, if loaded, they were laboriously "cordelled," or drawn by the hands of men who trudged along the banks pulling at the cordelle.

The chief pleasures which Audubon's business ventures in the West seem to have afforded him were his leisurely journey by river and long horseback rides to Philadelphia to buy goods, when he could roam through his "beautiful and darling forests of Kentucky, Ohio, and Pennsylvania," which gave him grand opportunities to make observations upon birds and animal life of every sort. He would seldom hesitate to swerve from his course to study his favorites, and has related how on one occasion, when driving before him several horses laden with merchandise and dollars, he quite lost sight of the pack saddles and the cash they bore, in watching the motions of a warbler. But few coaches, said Audubon, were available in those days, and the post roads were often unfit for lighter carriages. To cover the distance from Louisville to Philadelphia on horseback required about twenty days, and only a capable animal and rider could make forty miles a day; when steamer traffic on the Ohio[205] was well in hand this time was reduced to six or seven days, in performing a journey which the modern railroad has shortened to not far from as many hours.

Discouraged by the gloomy prospects which their business at Louisville presented, Audubon and Rozier determined in the spring of 1810 to move 125 miles down the river to Henderson.[206] Loading the residue of their stock on a flatboat, they resolutely set out for the new field, but great was their surprise to find, in place of the thriving settlement which their imaginations had pictured, only a cluster of log houses on the river bank, with a population of less than 200 people and a demand for little else than whisky, gunpowder and coarse woolen goods. When the partners arrived, the little town was eighteen years old, as the first log cabins were built there in 1792, but the whole country above and below them was, and for a considerable time remained, one vast canebrake. All the commodities known to the pioneer store were scarce, but the people of Henderson were friendly, and the new settlers had been provident in bringing with them a goodly supply of flour and "bacon hams." Moreover, the Ohio, which was half a mile wide at that point, was well stocked with fish, and the woods and canebrakes were alive with birds, not to speak of larger and more important game. Not many years before, wild turkeys had been so plentiful that they were not sold but were given away, while a large buck deer could be bought in the season for fifty cents.

During their stay at Henderson, Rozier was in his habitual place behind the counter and attended to what little business was done, while Audubon with a Kentucky lad named John Pope, who was nominally a clerk, roamed the country in eager pursuit of rare birds, and with rod and gun bountifully supplied the table. Audubon's first abode in the town was, as he said, "a log-cabin, not a log-house," in which the richest piece of furniture was their child's cradle. He soon began to cultivate a garden, but his experience in horticulture must have been limited, for he naïvely remarks that the rankness of the soil kept the seeds they planted "far beneath the tall weeds which sprang up the first year."

Financial distress and hard times were already being felt in the Blue Grass State, and these conditions were not destined soon to improve. After experimenting for six months, or more, at Henderson, our two "rolling stones" determined to push still farther west and try their luck at a more promising point. They had hoped to reach St. Louis but finally went instead to Ste. Geneviève, then a small French settlement in Upper Louisiana, on the right bank of the Mississippi, a hundred miles north of the mouth of the Ohio.

This new venture promised to be both hazardous and uncertain, and as Mrs. Audubon and Rozier were not on the friendliest terms, Audubon decided to leave his family at Henderson, where a home for his wife and infant son could always be had under the hospitable roof of Dr. Adam Rankin, who became one of the naturalist's staunchest friends. If their stock in trade at this time actually consisted of "three hundred barrels of whisky, sundry dry-goods and powder," as Audubon affirmed, the keel boat which they then engaged was certainly calculated to bear a goodly load.[207] At all events the partners, with young Pope, their clerk, set out bravely, in a snow storm, in December, 1810. They floated with the current at a rate of about five miles an hour, while they helped their craft along by means of four oars in her bow and steered it with the aid of a slender tree trunk, "shaped at its outer extremity like the fin of a dolphin."

This journey of upwards of 165 miles lasted altogether more than nine weeks. It proved adventurous enough, but it was of no use to Audubon except in furnishing him with drawings of new birds and the raw materials for many "Episodes." The journal of his experiences on the great rivers during that eventful winter of 1810 and 1811 is interesting for the sidelights which it throws both upon his character and upon the state of the country at an elder day. Held up by the ice for several weeks at Cash Creek, near the mouth of the Ohio, to his own delight but to Rozier's sorrow, Audubon tramped the country and hunted wild swans and larger game with the friendly Shawnee Indians. "When one day's sport was over," he said, "we counted more than fifty of these beautiful birds whose skins were intended for the ladies of Europe. There were plenty of geese and ducks, but no one condescended to give them a shot." This was Audubon in 1810, when such "sport" was regarded as legitimate enough, and the feather-hunting of such Indians was not considered the nefarious trade that it proved to be. If we shift the scene to twenty years later, when William MacGillivray needed thousands of specimens of American birds for his studies upon their anatomy and variability, we find Audubon supplying him liberally, but he could not then bear to see them killed wantonly or for mere sport; more than once, out of compassion for individual birds that he chanced to be studying, whether in Florida or in Labrador, he would not permit them to be shot even when needed for his collections.

At the Shawnee Indian camp, to relate a characteristic anecdote, Audubon noticed that a squaw who "had been delivered of beautiful twins during the night" was busied on the next day at her usual task of tanning deer skins. "She cut two vines," his record reads, "at the roots of opposite trees and made a cradle of the bark, in which the new born ones were wafted to and fro with a push of her hand, while from time to time she gave them the breast, and was apparently as unconcerned as if the event had not taken place."

When at last our adventurers gained the Mississippi, the mighty volume of which was running three miles an hour, the patron ordered all hands ashore to pull at the bow rope. This characteristic remark of the naturalist is delightful, as showing the "single eye" which it has been declared of old shall be "full of light": "we made," said Audubon, "seven miles a day up the famous river; but while I was tugging with my back at the cordella, I kept my eyes fixed on the forests or the ground, looking for birds or curious shells."

Warping against the current was both difficult and dangerous, and though they rose two hours before the sun, they could make but one mile an hour or ten miles in the day. At night they would go ashore, light a good fire and cook their supper; then, after posting a sentinel to guard against unfriendly surprises, they would roll in their buffalo skins and sleep without further concern. Notwithstanding all their efforts, when they reached the Great Bend at Tawapatee Bottom, they were obliged to unship their cargo, protect their boat as best they could from being crushed in the growing pack, and await the final breaking up of the ice. "The sorrows of Rozier," at this dismal announcement, said Audubon, "were too great to be described; wrapped in a blanket, like a squirrel in winter quarters with his tail about his nose, he slept and dreamed his time away, being seldom seen except at meals." There was not a white man's cabin within twenty miles, but a new field opened to the naturalist, who tramped through the deep forests, and soon became acquainted with all the Indian trails and lakes in the neighborhood.

The six weeks spent at this camp passed pleasantly for Audubon, who devoted much of the time in studying the Osage Indians, whom he thought superior to the Shawnees, as well as in watching for wolves, bears, deer, cougars, racoons and wild turkeys, some of which were attracted by the bones and scraps of food thrown out for them: "I drew," said he, "more or less, by the side of our great camp-fire, every day." While detained at this point, they used for bread the breasts of turkeys, buttered with bear's grease, and opossum and bear's meat, until their stomachs revolted and they longed for a little Indian meal, which was procured only with the greatest difficulty.

When at last the ice broke up, splitting with reports like the thunder of heavy artillery, their prospects were dismal indeed, for their boat was immediately jammed by the rushing ice, and they were powerless to move her. "While we were gazing on the scene," to continue Audubon's record, "a tremendous crash was heard, which seemed to have taken place about a mile below, when suddenly the great dam gave way. The current of the Mississippi had forced its way against that of the Ohio, and in less than four hours we witnessed the complete breaking up of the ice." Having reloaded their goods, they were ready to start at a favorable moment, and taking leave of the friendly Indians, "as when brothers part," they pushed on through the floating ice, past Cape Girardeau, to Sainte Geneviève, a town which Audubon characterized as "not so large as dirty," declaring that the time spent there did not yield him half the pleasure he had felt at Tawapatee Bottom. It was near a granite tower which rose from a dangerous rock in the river below Ste. Geneviève that Audubon caught sight of what he afterwards described as "Washington's Eagle," a bird now believed to have been the true "bird of freedom," the "Bald-" or White-headed Eagle, but in an immature state.

SIGNATURE TO THE RELEASE GIVEN BY AUDUBON TO FERDINAND ROZIER ON THE DISSOLUTION OF THEIR PARTNERSHIP AT STE. GENEVIÈVE, APRIL 6, 1811.

From the Tom J. Rozier MSS.

Though their whisky was welcomed at Ste. Geneviève and what had cost the traders twenty-five cents, brought them two dollars, a gallon, Audubon heartily disliked the place and its people. Rozier, on the contrary, who had found plenty of Frenchmen with whom he could freely converse, was resolved to stay. Audubon accordingly proposed to sell out his share in the business, and the partnership was dissolved on April 6, 1811, Rozier paying part of the price in cash and the remainder in notes. In referring to the incident in his journal of 1820, Audubon wrote: "I parted with Mr. Rozier, and walked to Henderson in four days—165 miles"; but this does not agree with a later account, in which he spoke of having "purchased a beauty of a horse," and, happy in the prospect of again seeing his family, set out for Dr. Rankin's house in Kentucky. In the earlier record he also wrote that he once had a friend in trade, referring to Ferdinand Rozier, "with whom he did not agree, and so they parted forever"; but Audubon visited Ste. Geneviève in the autumn of 1811 and in the winter of 1812, probably for the purpose of collecting his money and settling his affairs, while the following letters of this period show that friendly relations with his old partner were not seriously impaired:[208]

Friendly relations with his former partner in trade were occasionally renewed by the naturalist in after life. At one of their last meetings, in 1842, Rozier, who had then returned from France, visited Audubon at his home on the Hudson, and both were entertained in New York by their mutual friend, Nicholas Berthoud.

Ferdinand Rozier, with whom we now part company, lived to enjoy abundant prosperity as a trader and merchant at Ste. Geneviève. Born in Nantes on November 9, 1777,[210] at the age of twenty-five he entered the French navy, at a time when Napoleon was contesting with England the supremacy of the sea. He made numerous voyages, and we hear of him at the Cape of Good Hope, the Island of France or Mauritius, at Cadiz, Teneriffe, and at the Island of Bartholomew. Eventually, on April 8, 1804, he embarked on the cutter Experiment, with Captain Upton in charge, bound for the United States, where he visited a number of American ports, including Philadelphia and Norfolk. In the following year he returned to France in the frigate President, Captain Gallic Lebrosse, and entered the harbor of Nantes on March 1, 1805.[211] In the spring of that year John James Audubon, as we have seen, had also returned to that city, and plans were eventually laid for their commercial aggrandizement in the New World which both had so lately visited. To what extent Audubon's dreams failed of realization may be gathered from the following chapters.

Having settled finally at Ste. Geneviève, Rozier, at thirty-six, married Constance Roy, a girl of eighteen, who bore him ten children, four of whom, all octogenarians, were living in 1905. Ferdinand Rozier's thrift and industry soon brought him substantial rewards. In his earlier days he is said to have made six journeys to Philadelphia on horseback to purchase merchandise, and these trading expeditions were uniformly successful. His trade extended over the whole of Upper Louisiana, and he lived to see the great growth of Missouri as a sovereign state, along with the development of the fabulous mineral wealth of the district.[212]

Rozier's old store at Ste. Geneviève, for long a landmark in that community and considered a pretentious building in its day, was undoubtedly built after the date of Audubon's visit. The front was devoted to the service of customers and a large shed or stock room was placed at the rear, while the family lived in the main section, which was entered by a door not shown in our illustration.[213] When this building was demolished to make way for modern changes, the wooden pins used in joining the frame were treasured by many as souvenirs of pioneer times.

Ferdinand Rozier, who outlived Audubon by thirteen years, died at Ste. Geneviève on January 1, 1864, at the age of eighty-seven years. If he were one of those who thought that Audubon was wasting his time in his ardent zeal for natural history, it should not surprise us, for their ideals were in conflict, and the naturalist's way of working was certainly not conducive to success in trade.

FERDINAND ROZIER

IN HIS EIGHTY-FIFTH YEAR (1862)

FERDINAND ROZIER'S OLD STORE AT STE. GENEVIÈVE, MISSOURI.

This and the above published by courtesy of Mr. Ruthven Deane.

Dr. Rankin's "Meadow Brook Farm"—Birth of John Woodhouse Audubon—The Audubon-Bakewell partnership—Meeting with Nolte—Failure of the commission business—Visit to Rozier—Storekeeping at Henderson—Purchases of land—Habits of frontier tradesmen—Steamboats on the Ohio—Popular pastimes—Audubon-Bakewell-Pears partnership—Their famous steam mill—Mechanical and financial troubles—Business reorganization—Bankruptcy general—Failure of the mill—Personal encounter—Audubon goes to jail for debt.

The seven years which followed the outbreak of war with England in 1812 were the most disastrous in the naturalist's career. In many respects they were critical for the entire country, since hundreds who were not affected directly by the war were ruined by the financial troubles which followed in its wake. To Audubon reverses came at this time in rapid succession. Bereft of one and then another of his children,[214] with his family in straitened circumstances in France, and reduced to bankruptcy himself, he finally resolved to throw up trade, for which he was never fitted, and to make his avocation the real business of life. We shall see how, by the unstinted use of such talents as he possessed, through unremitting effort, and with the aid of his energetic and capable wife, he was able, at the age of forty-five, to turn failure into success.

After his return to Henderson in the spring of 1811, Audubon began to look for another opening in trade, living meanwhile with his family at the home of Dr. Adam Rankin, called "Meadow Brook Farm." Dr. Rankin was the first educated physician in his district, and was for many years an officer of the court. A doctor of the older school and a genuine lover of his kind, with a large heart and an open hand, he made his home a hostelry where anyone in need could find refuge without money and without price. No doubt he was attracted to the naturalist by kindred tastes, and it is known that they became life-long friends. The old house, to which Audubon refers in one of his "Episodes,"[215] was built of logs, and stood at some distance from the pike, about two miles from the village in a southeasterly direction. There were experienced in greatest frequency, in the winter of 1811 and 1812, the terrific earthquakes that repeatedly shocked the country at that time; there also Audubon's younger son, John Woodhouse, was born on November 30, 1812. The Rankin farm became at a much later day the site of the village of Audubon, which still later was to be incorporated in the growing city of Henderson, when most of the old landmarks had been obliterated. Dr. Rankin built a more commodious and pretentious brick house in the village itself, and was neighbor to the naturalist for many years, their houses being on the same or adjoining lots. He was thrice married and had many children, the eldest of whom, William Rankin, became Audubon's favorite companion in the field; together they ransacked the country for birds and animals of every sort.

Audubon's unfortunate business relations with his brother-in-law, Thomas W. Bakewell, began in the autumn or winter of 1811, when the naturalist was in the East and Bakewell was about to return to New Orleans in the employ of a firm of Liverpool merchants who dealt in cotton. Bakewell, who had seen much of the South since the failure of his uncle in New York, induced Audubon to join him in an independent commission business, with the assurance that his French nationality would help their undertakings. According to Vincent Nolte, when they were descending the Ohio in December, 1811, Audubon displayed a business card, showing the firm name of "Audubon and Bakewell," and indicating that they were to deal in such homely products as pork, lard and flour. Thomas Bakewell, we are told, taking with him all the disposable funds of Audubon, who continued to send him "almost all the money" that he could raise, opened their business at New Orleans in the winter or spring of 1812, just in time for the war, which broke out in June, to destroy it. When he returned north, in August of that year, Thomas Bakewell, said the naturalist, suddenly appeared one day at "Meadow Brook Farm," while he was making a drawing of an otter, and after bewailing their misfortune in trade, departed.

At the approach of spring in 1812 Audubon was hard pressed for funds, and Rozier's notes to him being then overdue he set out on foot for Ste. Geneviève to collect his money in person. He went out with a party of friendly Osage Indians, but returned, still afoot and unpaid, with his faithful dog as his only companion.[216] The prairies were then flooded and converted into vast lakes, but Audubon, anxious to reach his home, pressed on, walking, as he said, "one hundred and sixty-five miles in a little over three days, much of the time nearly ankle-deep in mud and water." It was probably on this journey, though it may have been in the previous year, that an incident occurred which he has related in "The Prairie,"[217] when, as he declared, for the first time in the course of his wanderings for upwards of a quarter of a century, his life was in actual danger from his fellow man.

When at last he had obtained some ready money, Audubon rode to Louisville, where he purchased on the half-cash, half-credit basis a small stock of goods, and again set up a retail shop at Henderson. This modest venture promised so well that he bought land with the intention of making that town his permanent home. "I purchased," said he, "a ground-lot of four acres, and a meadow of four more at the back of the first." On the latter, to follow this account, were several buildings and an excellent orchard, "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": other land, he added, adjacent to the first, was later secured.

LETTER OF AUDUBON TO FERDINAND ROZIER, SIGNED "AUDUBON & BAKEWELL," AND DATED OCTOBER 19, 1813, DURING THE FIRST PARTNERSHIP UNDER THIS STYLE.

From the Tom J. Rozier MSS.

These curiously embroidered statements regarding land transactions at Henderson in 1813 are not in harmony with the existing records of that frontier town. Henderson, as its historian[218] tells us, was laid out originally in 1797 into 264 one-acre lots, of which comparatively few had been sold at the time of which we speak, though nominal prices were asked and a few had been given away to encourage settlement.[219] Audubon is recorded as having purchased four one-acre lots from the town, two in 1813 and two in the following year, while a long lease was taken upon land adjacent to the river where later rose his famous mill.[220]

The old Audubon store for general merchandise, built of hewn logs, in a single story, stood at the corner of Main and Mill Streets (now Second Street), fronting the latter, at a point where a modern departmental establishment has since risen. Adjoining this primitive store, on the main street, was his log dwelling,[221] of one and a half stories, with a square porch at the entrance. Immediately opposite, on the two-acre strip of land purchased in 1814, lay a small pond which Audubon is said to have stocked with turtles in order to gratify his special fondness for this delicacy.

Audubon's winning manners made him a popular figure among the early settlers of this region, and for the space of three years he enjoyed life as never before; "the pleasures," he said, "which I have felt at Henderson, and under the roof of that log-cabin, can never be effaced from my heart until after death." But in a community of exacting business men he could never have made a permanent success; he was too good a target not to be riddled by many who were ready to take advantage of his liberality and easygoing ways. Traveling from Frankfort to Lexington in 1810, Wilson complained that the people were all traders but no readers, even of the newspaper; every man, he said, had "either some land to buy or sell, some law-suit, some coarse hemp or corn to dispose of; and if the conversation does not to lead to any of these, he will force it."

Many stories, and no doubt much idle gossip, concerning Audubon's life and habits, were current at Henderson long after he left the village. It was said that he would often go into the woods in his pursuit of birds and remain from home for weeks at a time; that he was once known to have followed a hawk for three days in succession and in practically a straight course, swimming creeks when necessary, until it finally fell to his gun. When steamboats made their first appearance on the Ohio, they naturally excited the greatest interest, and a favorite pastime of many of the men and boys was diving from the side of a boat into the river. On one of these occasions Audubon is said to have made his appearance in the crowd of sightseers and to have astonished everyone by plunging from the bow and emerging from beneath the stern of the vessel after swimming under her entire length. According to traditional accounts, Mrs. Audubon, who was also an expert swimmer, would enter the river clad in a regular bathing costume and cross with ease to the Indiana shore.

In spite of the hard times Audubon managed to keep out of serious business troubles until he entered into another partnership with Thomas Bakewell, his brother-in-law. Their project in this second association was to erect a steam lumber and grist mill at Henderson, which of all mortal follies the naturalist considered in the retrospect to have been one of the worst. It is recorded that on the sixteenth day of March, 1817, John James Audubon and Thomas W. Bakewell, under the designation of "Audubon and Bakewell," applied to the trustees of the village for a ninety-nine year lease of a section of land on the river front. Their petition was granted, upon a consideration of $20 per annum, and the partners began to build their mill on the property and completed it within that year. Thomas W. Pears,[222] a former fellow-clerk of both Audubon and Bakewell in New York, early joined the enterprise, which was regarded at the time as one of considerable magnitude. Their mill, which stood for ninety-five years, became famous in the annals of the Ohio Valley.[223] Said the historian of Henderson County, writing in 1879:

AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KENTUCKY, SINCE DESTROYED, AS SEEN FROM THE BANK OF THE OHIO RIVER.

After a photograph of 1894, published by courtesy of Dr. R. W. Shufeldt.

Mr. and Mrs. Pears, who had no liking for Henderson, early withdrew and sold their interest in the mill[224] to Audubon and Bakewell, thus adding to their financial embarrassment. The engines, which seem to have given no end of trouble, were constructed by David Prentice, an intelligent Scotch mechanic; since his first work after coming to this country was to erect a steam threshing mill at "Fatland Ford," his services were probably secured by William Bakewell, who afterwards helped to establish him at Philadelphia. While at Henderson he is said to have fitted a small engine and paddlewheels to a keel boat, which was christened the Pike, and to have taken it up the river to Pittsburgh. Prentice seems to have entered the partnership and to have retired with Bakewell.

In order to extend the sphere of their operations, Audubon is said to have purchased at this time a tract of 1,200 acres of government land,[225] and to have engaged a band of stalwart Yankees to fell and deliver the timber. According to one account, they were a party of emigrants who had come to Henderson with their families and encamped on the river bank. For a time all went well, but one day when they failed to deliver their usual supply of logs, it was found that they had decamped and fled down the river towards the Mississippi, taking on their flatboat Audubon's draft oxen and in fact all the plunder that they could lift. Nothing was ever recovered and but one of the fugitives was ever seen again; this man boarded a river boat on which the naturalist happened to be traveling, and it is said that upon being recognized he jumped into the river and swam to the shore like a frightened deer.

When Bakewell finally withdrew, Audubon appears to have been left stranded, and the business was taken over by a new set of men, including another brother-in-law, Nicholas Berthoud, and Benjamin Page of Pittsburgh, who continued it under the name of J. J. Audubon & Company.[226] Agents were also secured at various points on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Excepting, as we must assuredly do, his ever staunch friend, Nicholas Berthoud, Audubon believed that he was "gulled by all of these men."

In 1818 a new era of building and general prosperity seemed to dawn in the valley of the Ohio. A new bank was chartered at Henderson, and the woodwork of its brick structure was furnished by Audubon's mill.[227] This bank, however, failed in the course of two years, and forty others scattered throughout that section broke in rapid succession, after having done little more than add to the flood of worthless paper notes that was demoralizing business and sending hundreds into bankruptcy.

The mill was in operation barely two years. The machinery, of which a wooden bolting shaft and wooden cog wheels remained as a curiosity to recent times, seems to have worked badly from the start. But aside from the inexperience of the builders and the financial troubles of the day, the enterprise was foredoomed to failure in a district which raised but little wheat, and in which the demand for lumber was then comparatively slight. "How I labored," said Audubon, "at that infernal mill! But it is over now; I am old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the different trials of those sad days."

In the course of the Audubon and Bakewell partnership[228] the naturalist became involved in a personal quarrel with a man whose initials are given as "S—— B——." It seems that in 1817 Audubon's mechanic, David Prentice, had built for him a small steamboat, though for what purpose is not known. When their interests were severed, we are told, Mr. B—— purchased this steamer, but paid for it in worthless paper. The captain of the craft ran her down to the Mississippi and thence to New Orleans, and Audubon, who was determined to arrest this man if necessary, started in pursuit in a skiff. He failed, however, to overhaul the fugitive, and reached New Orleans only to find that his vessel had been surrendered to another claimant. This was probably in May, 1819, for in his journal of the following year, under date of November 23, when he was again moving down the rivers but in more leisurely fashion, he speaks of two large eagle's nests, one of which he remembered having seen as he "went to New Orleans eighteen months" before.

Through the researches of a later historian I am now able to give a more exact account of this affair. The purchasers of the steamboat were William R. Bowen, Samuel Adams Bowen, Robert Speed, Edmund Townes, Obediah Smith, George Brent and Bennett Marshall, who immediately sued Audubon in the sum of $10,000, on the plea that he had maliciously taken out an attachment upon the vessel in New Orleans, where it had been detained. They represented to the judge of the circuit court, Henry P. Broadnax, that Audubon was about to leave Kentucky, and a warrant was issued to arrest him; he was taken into custody, said the narrator whom I am following, "but executed a bail bond in the sum of $10,000 with Fayette Posey as surety, and was released." Convinced that a trial at Henderson would lead only to a defeat of justice, Audubon now served notice that he would apply for a change of venue to another county. "That notice together with the other papers in the action, is among the records of the Daviess circuit court, at Owensboro, Kentucky. It was written and signed by Audubon. Application for a change of venue was made at Hardinsburg and the case was transferred to the Daviess circuit court." When the case was called, the plaintiffs asked for a continuance, and it was granted them, but when the case was called again at the next term of court, the plaintiffs failed to appear, and the action was finally dismissed.

Returning home, Audubon was obliged to walk from the mouth of the Ohio River to Shawnee Town. Upon reaching Henderson he found that Mr. Bowen had anticipated him. Acting upon advice, he was prepared for an encounter with this man, who as his neighbors declared, had sworn to kill him, and "whose violent and ungovernable temper was only too well known." The anticipated encounter ensued. Audubon, who was then carrying his right hand in a sling from a recent injury received in his mill, waited, as he said, until he had received twelve severe blows from his assailant's bludgeon; then with his left hand he drew a dagger and struck in his own defense. His assailant was felled to the ground, but happily the wound inflicted was not mortal. Mr. Bowen was carried away on a plank, and when the affair was settled in the judiciary court, according to a Henderson tradition, Judge Broadnax gravely left the bench, approached the man who had been under charge of assault, and said: "Mr. Audubon, you committed a serious offense—an exceedingly serious offense Sir—in failing to kill the d—— rascal."[229] "Thomas Bakewell," added the naturalist, "who possessed more brains than I, sold his town lots and removed to Cincinnati, where he has made a large fortune, and I am glad of it.[230]

When the mill was finally closed and the company dissolved in 1819, Audubon as usual was the heaviest loser. Arrested and sent to the Louisville jail for debt, he was able to obtain release only by declaring himself a bankrupt in court. "I paid all I could,"[231] he said in his journal of the following year, "and left Henderson poor and miserable in thought. My intention to go to France and see my mother and sister was frustrated, and at last I resorted to my poor talents to maintain you and your dear mother, who fortunately became easy at her change of condition, and gave me a spirit such as I really needed, to meet the surly looks and cold reception of those who so shortly before were pleased to call me their friend." "I parted," to revert to his later account, "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." Without a dollar in his pocket he left Henderson and walked to Louisville alone; "this," he said on reflection, "was the saddest of all my journies, 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 never existed."

Passing down the Ohio in the following year Audubon made these entries in his diary:

Death of Lieutenant Audubon—Contest over his will—Disposition of his estate—The fictitious $17,000—Unsettled claims of Formon and Ross—Illusions of biographers—Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau—Audubon's relations with the family in France broken—Death of the naturalist's stepmother—The du Puigaudeaus—Sources of "enigma."

Lieutenant Jean Audubon, as already recorded, died at Nantes in 1818, at a time when his son's financial troubles in America were culminating, and left an estate, then none too large, for the sole enjoyment of his widow during her lifetime. The naturalist, so far as is known, never received a penny in payment of bequests made by either his father or stepmother, but the reasons for this fact were far different from those which his biographers have assigned.

We have referred to the curious wording which appears in the six different wills that were executed by Lieutenant Jean Audubon and Anne Moynet, his wife, between the years 1812 and 1821.[232] The first four of these documents[233] were of a mutual nature, and were so drawn that the survivor should enjoy the entire property of the other during his or her lifetime, but this eventually was to be divided between their two children, or heirs of the latter should any exist. In Jean Audubon's last will, made at Couëron on the 15th of March, 1816, he added the provision that in case his "dispositions in favor of Jean Rabain and Rose Bouffard, wife of Loyen du Puigaudeau, should be attacked and annulled," he bequeathed his entire estate, without exception, to his wife, Anne Moynet, for her sole use. His fears, as already intimated, were well grounded, and his will was immediately contested by four nieces, Mme. Lejeune de Vaugeon of Nantes, Mme. Jean Louis Lissabé, whose husband was a pilot, and Anne and Domenica Audubon, seamstresses at Bayonne.[234] This trial dragged on in the courts for a long time, and served further to impoverish Madame Audubon, who was obliged to dispose of most of her valuable effects, but it was finally settled by a compromise in 1820. In that year, at the age of eighty-five, she left "La Gerbetière" to live with her daughter and son-in-law at "Les Tourterelles" close by, where she remained until her death on October 18, 1821.

It seems incredible that Audubon should not have heard of the death of his foster mother, since he had been devotedly attached to her in his youth and was moreover a beneficiary under her will. Yet on August 6, 1826, he wrote in his journal: "My plans now are to go to Manchester, to Derbyshire to visit Lord Stanley, 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." On September 30 of the same year he wrote from Liverpool: "I 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."[235] Again in 1828 he spoke of this estimable woman as if she were then alive, although she had been dead seven years.

In Madame Audubon's last will, which was made in the July preceding her death, she left her property to be equally divided between her two adopted children, "Mr. Jean Audubon, called Jean Rabin, husband of Lucy Bakewell, and who I believe is at present in the United States of America, and to Rose Bouffard, wife of M. Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, my son-in-law, who is living at Couëron"; she also took care to guard against the pretensions of any spurious heirs, and to make provision for her grandchildren in case of the death of either or both of her heirs direct.

Having given the precise, if somewhat prosaic, recorded facts of the case, we will quote the story narrated by the naturalist's biographers, who never could have seen the legal documents and who thus had only hearsay and conjecture on which to build:

AN OLD STREET IN THE COUËRON OF TO-DAY.

"LES TOURTERELLES," COUËRON, FINAL HOME OF ANNE MOYNET AUDUBON, AND THE RESTING PLACE OF EXACT RECORDS OF THE NATURALIST'S BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE.

A key to the origin of the fictitious seventeen thousand dollars is probably to be found in the letters of Jean Audubon to Francis Dacosta, written in 1805,[237] where he refers to certain unsettled business claims against his former partners, Messrs. Formon and Ross, who had been respectively interested with him in two vessels, Le Comte d'Artois and the Annette, the history of which has already been noticed.[238] They were also engaged at a later time in certain iron-works above Richmond, Virginia, but with these Lieutenant Audubon was not directly concerned. Formon, his partner in Santo Domingo trade, who was charged with having drawn $1,650 in excess of his share, had died without making any final settlement of their accounts; another associate, Edward, had died in London leaving an unsettled claim of $300; while David Ross, who was owing a certain sum, had also died without liquidating his debt. The amount of the latter claim probably was not large, since Dacosta was instructed to use this sum for his needs in developing the mine at "Mill Grove" should he be so fortunate as to collect it; "when you receive my papers from Miers Fisher," said Lieutenant Audubon in his letter of the 22d of June, 1805, "you will find a promissory note of Mr. Samuel Plaisance of Richmond, for the business of the widow Ross. If there were justice there this sum should be paid to me with the costs."

Lieutenant Audubon was never able to collect these different amounts, which probably did not much exceed $2,000, but an echo of one of these transactions appeared as late as 1819, when Audubon's brother-in-law sent him a document referring to the claim on the Ross estate, in the hope that some money might still be forthcoming, writing as follows:[239]

The same biographer whom we have just quoted said in reference to "La Gerbetière": "This estate was left by Commodore Audubon to his son John James, who conveyed it to his sister without even visiting the domain he so generously willed away." We have now seen what provisions were actually made for the disposition of this property under the terms of the various wills of Lieutenant Audubon and his wife. We need only add that not long after his father's death, the naturalist lost touch with his family in France; his one-half interest in his stepmother's estate, which was heavily encumbered, was never claimed, and at a much later day was informally relinquished in favor of his sister and her family.

During his Henderson period Audubon was in communication with his brother-in-law, Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau, who kept him informed in regard to all that transpired in their French home; on July 26, 1817, the naturalist had given him a power of attorney, the curious wording of which has already been noticed.[240] Whether deterred by the legal complications which soon followed, displeased by the mode of settlement, or for what other cause now unknown to us, Audubon seems to have severed all relations with his family at Couëron, or to have written to them only after long lapses of silence. On New Year's Day, 1820, Gabriel du Puigaudeau dispatched to him a friendly letter[241] of greeting:

This letter was sent to Henderson, Kentucky, more than a year after the naturalist had finally left that state; at the moment it was written he was making his way down the Ohio River to New Orleans in a flatboat, "the poorest man aboard," as he thought at the time. Writing in his journal on December 26, 1820, when they had touched at Natchez, Audubon said that on that day he had received letters from his wife, who was then at Cincinnati, written on November 7 and 14, and that the last "contained one from my brother, G. Loyen Dupuigaudeau, dated July 24, 1820." If the month in this instance was misnamed, this might have been the following letter, which was written at Couëron on the twenty-fourth of June, 1820, and sent to Henderson like the last.

The naturalist's elder son, Victor, visited Couëron about the year 1835, when his cousin, Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau the second, who was nearly of the same age, returned from military service to meet him. He was disappointed at the appearance of his father's old home, "La Gerbetière," which had not been occupied by the family for fifteen years.[243]

Rosa Audubon du Puigaudeau, the naturalist's sister, died at "Les Tourterelles" after August 3, 1842, leaving a daughter, Rose du Puigaudeau, who died without issue, October 20, 1881, and, if we are correctly informed, one son, Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau the second, who died at "Les Tourterelles," Couëron, June 23, 1892, when past his eightieth year; a daughter of this only son was married to Monsieur L. Lavigne, notary at Couëron. At the time of her uncle's death, his property, including the personal records of Lieutenant Jean Audubon, passed into the hands of Madame Lavigne, who is a grand step-niece of the naturalist, and who aside from her children, so far as known, is the only surviving member of his family in France.

At this point we must examine a little more carefully the peculiar status of what Audubon referred to as the "enigma" of his life. In some of his private journals and letters[244] he dramatically declared that a mystery had surrounded his early existence, which he was bound by a solemn oath exacted by his father never to reveal, and that this secret must be carried by him to the grave. If it be the duty of a biographer to make the true character of his subject known, the passage of time would now seem to sanction reference to many personal matters which a century ago should have been more rigidly guarded. I enter upon this task solely with the view of placing Audubon's character in a truer and fairer light.

The essential facts regarding Audubon's birth and early years have now been given, and this is the true, though possibly not the complete, story. Anything which we now add, however, can be regarded as little better than speculation. Audubon is said to have received through his father a large sum of money from an unknown or unnamed source,[245] but as such stories are apt to be exaggerated, especially when an ocean intervenes between a testator and his heir, the statement may be erroneous; we have seen that Lieutenant Audubon was not in a position to make such gifts himself had he been so disposed. If the report were true, the money may have come from the estate of his mother, and through the agency of the mysterious "Audubon of La Rochelle," who is said to have been a politician.[246] In some of the passages which we do not quote, the naturalist would have his family believe that he was of noble birth, that his adoptive father was not his true father, and that both he and Lieutenant Audubon had received irremediable injury through the treachery of the mysterious uncle, "Audubon of La Rochelle." Now these strange statements of the naturalist, though not in accord with the facts as they are known to us, should be interpreted, I believe, in the light of possible stories that may have come to him in the glamour of his youth; his mind may have been diverted by them, he may have believed them, but of this nothing now can positively be known. To continue our conjectures, it is possible that the plain conflict between these supposititious tales and the facts that were revealed at his adoption, his baptism, and in the wills of his father and stepmother, as well as by the lawsuit which followed the former's death, all led him to resort to "enigma." We should also remember that the naturalist, who was careless of dates and historical facts, had finally left his home at the age of twenty, when young men as a rule are not curious about their family history, and that he reached the reminiscent stage late in life. It seems probable that the wording of his father's will and the later attempt to annul it finally induced him to wash his hands of the whole matter, even to breaking off relations with his family in France. Feeling, as undoubtedly he did, that public knowledge of those conditions, for which he was in no way responsible, might be a bar to all future aspirations, he was not loath to let the matter rest, so far as he and his immediate family were concerned, under a cloak of mystery. If such were in truth the case, I think few would find cause to blame him.

When we view the whole subject in this double light, of a duty owed to his family and of the possibility that conflicting stories had come to him at an earlier day, any embroidery or confusion which appears in many of his statements of a personal nature can be better understood. Such an explanation would be quite convincing if payments had actually come to him from his own mother's estate.

We will only add that Mrs. Audubon, who seemed to have shared her husband's intimate thoughts, apparently believed to the last in his high birth. When her younger son, John Woodhouse Audubon, lay at the point of death, in February, 1862, she was summoned to his bedside, but reached it too late to see him alive; upon entering the room Mrs. Audubon is said to have exclaimed: "Oh, my son, my son! to think that you should have died without having known the secret of your father's early life!" When asked by members of her family to what she then referred, she turned their questions aside, saying only that such remarks were common in moments of intense grief and excitement.

Methods of composition—"A Wild Horse"—Henderson to Philadelphia in 1811—Records of Audubon and Nolte, fellow travelers, compared—The great earthquakes—The hurricane—The outlaw—Characterization of Daniel Boone—Desperate plight on the prairie—Regulator law in action—Frontier necessities—The ax married to the grindstone.

Audubon's sketches of life and scenery in America, which he designated as "Episodes," were interspersed in his Biography of birds[247] to brighten the narrative and beguile the reader. Extending to the number of sixty, and dealing mainly with events between the years 1808 and 1834, they abound in tales of adventure and graphic pictures of pioneer life which for their personal charm, local coloring, and human interest are worthy of high praise. Some of these sketches have been copied widely and some have been translated into Audubon's native tongue; some have even found their way into schoolbooks. While they have deservedly won the naturalist many readers, not a few have subjected him to harsh criticism on the score of too vivid coloring or historical inaccuracy, a fault to which he was particularly prone. Whenever Audubon went directly to nature to exercise his pencil or brush or wrote with his subject before him, he was truth itself, but in writing offhand and from memory of past events he was wont to humor his fancy, disregarding dates as readily as he did the accents on French words. This tendency is particularly apparent in the accounts of some of his early adventures in the western country, such as "Louisville in Kentucky" (1808-10), "The Prairie" (1812), "A Wild Horse" (1811-13), and "The Eccentric Naturalist" (1818), the history of which is detailed in the following chapter. We shall examine some of these stories at this point, though their composition belongs to a later period, in order to reach a just conclusion in regard to the author's method, as well as for the intrinsic interest of the narratives themselves.

During Audubon's early life in Kentucky, as we have seen, he frequently visited the East, whether in the interest of birds or business, traveling by way of the river and the forest roads. Incidents of these journeys frequently occur in the "Episodes," but since dates commonly are omitted and the order of events is liable to be blended or confused, they cannot be trusted always for historical accuracy. Thus, "The Wild Horse" episode[248] professes to be an account of a single journey from Henderson, in Kentucky, to Philadelphia and back again, whereas some of the events recorded occurred in reality at least two years apart, such as the meeting with Nolte at the Falls of the Juniata River in December, 1811, and the naturalist's return from Pennsylvania with the proceeds of "Mill Grove," which could not have been earlier than 1813, the date of its sale to Mr. Samuel Wetherill, Junior.[249]

Audubon visited Philadelphia in November, 1811, and returned to Kentucky in December of that year, but whether it was upon this or some other journey that he rode a wild horse through seven states in going from his home at Henderson to the Quaker city, or whether such a journey ever occurred, is immaterial to the interest of the narrative. In this instance, however, we have the advantage of comparing the notes of a fellow traveler, Vincent Nolte, then a merchant at New Orleans.[250] First to follow Audubon's account, as given in his "Episode," we are told that he rode a wild mustang, named "Barro," that had never known a shoe, having been recently captured near the headwaters of the Arkansas. In going east he diverged from the beaten track to extend his knowledge of the country and of its bird life. From Henderson he passed through the heart of Tennessee to Knoxville, thence to Abington, the Natural Bridge, and Winchester in Virginia, crossed the corner of West Virginia to Harper's Ferry, then to Frederick, Maryland, and on through Lancaster to Philadelphia; there, he said, he remained four days, and returned by way of Pittsburgh, Wheeling, Zanesville, Chillicothe, Lexington and Louisville, to Henderson. He estimated the whole distance traversed at "nearly two thousand miles," and at a rate of "not less than forty miles a day." Much is said in praise of his favorite bay horse, and its food and daily treatment are duly recorded. This horse was very docile, and would wade swamps, swim rivers, and clear a rail fence like an elk; corn blades as well as corn and oats entered into his daily ration, to which a pumpkin and fresh eggs, when procurable, were occasionally added.

It was upon his return journey that the naturalist met with Vincent Nolte, who twelve years later did his chance acquaintance a good turn, when the latter was about to sail for England in 1826.[251] Nolte, said Audubon,

Audubon added that they rode together as far as Shippingport, now a part of Louisville, where his brother-in-law, Nicholas Berthoud, was then living.

We shall now follow the equally circumstantial but widely divergent account of this meeting and the subsequent journey as given by the other traveler. Nolte had sailed from Liverpool in September, 1811, and landed in New York after a perilous voyage of forty-eight days. He had no servant, but was accompanied by a young Englishman, named Edward Hollander, whom he had engaged in a business capacity while in London and with whom he was making his way to New Orleans. Hollander had been sent in advance to Pittsburgh to purchase two flatboats, for in addition to their horses they had planned to carry 400 barrels of flour, from the sale of which in the South they expected to defray the expenses of their journey. Having purchased a fine horse in Philadelphia, Nolte left that city in December, and with saddle-bags strapped to his horse's back, rode on "entirely alone." He crossed the highest point of the Alleghany ridge at ten o'clock of a winter's morning and later in the same day reached a small inn "close by the Falls of the Juniata River." "The landlady," to quote his narrative, "showed me into a room, and said, I perhaps would not mind taking my meal with a strange gentleman, who was already there." This stranger, who immediately struck him as "an odd fish," "was sitting at a table, before the fire, with a Madras handkerchief wound around his head, exactly in the style of the French mariners, or laborers, in a seaport town." In the course of the conversation which then ensued he declared that he was an Englishman, but Nolte was the last person to be deceived on a question of nationality and remarked at once that his speech betrayed him. "He showed himself," to quote our senior traveler again, "to be an original throughout, but at last admitted that he was a Frenchman by birth, and a native of La Rochelle. However, he had come in his early youth to Louisiana, had grown up in the sea-service, and had gradually become a thorough American." When asked how this account squared with his earlier statement, said Nolte, "he found it convenient to reply in the French language: 'when all is said and done, I am somewhat cosmopolitan; I belong to every country.' This man," to conclude, "who afterwards won for himself so great a name in natural history, particularly in ornithology, was Audubon, who, however, was by no means thinking, at that time, of occupying himself with natural history."

In the interview as thus far recorded, Audubon was clearly chaffing his new acquaintance, for not one of the statements attributed to him was true, if we accept the fact of his French extraction. Nolte, to be sure, writes as a somewhat vain and garrulous man, and after a lapse of forty-three years, but he professes to speak the truth and there is no reason to suppose that his narrative is pure invention. Nolte further informs us that Audubon's father-in-law, Mr. Bakewell, "formerly of Philadelphia," was "then residing and owning mills at Shippingport," which was not the case. To continue, finding that Audubon, who was bound for Kentucky, was a companionable man and devoted to art, a field which he had cultivated himself, Nolte proposed that they should travel together, and offered the naturalist a berth on one of his flatboats.

Later they rode on together as far as Lexington, where they appear to have parted company.

The discrepancies between these accounts could hardly be greater, and they serve to illustrate the liberties which Audubon sometimes took with facts in composing his "Episodes." The travelers met, not on horseback, but at the supper table of a country inn; Nolte was then alone and had but one horse, while the greater part of the return journey was made by flatboat with Audubon as his guest; corn blades, pumpkins and trout suggest any other season than midwinter, with heavy snows on the mountains and rivers choked with ice. Audubon in this instance, as already explained, combined the incidents of two different journeys and colored the narrative to suit his fancy. There was no apparent motive to mislead the reader, and one of his readers he must have known would probably be Vincent Nolte, though he was not a subscriber to The Birds of America; Nolte did read the story, and was pleased with the "flattering acknowledgment of the little service" that he was able to render Audubon at that time as well as later in his career.

Both travelers felt the great earthquakes while making this journey, but probably not until they had parted company at Lexington. Audubon has given a vivid account of this experience in a characteristic sketch, but as usual there are no dates.[253] He was overtaken, as he said, while "traveling through the Barrens of Kentucky ... in the month of November," when he thought his terrified "horse was about to die, and would have sprung from his back had a minute more elapsed, but at that instant all the shrubs and trees began to move from their very roots; the ground rose and fell in successive furrows, like the ruffled waters of a lake." For "November" he should have written "January" of the year 1812.[254]

This series of memorable earthquakes was followed in 1813 by a hurricane, more terrific than destructive, which swept the lower part of Henderson County, Kentucky, and cut a wide swath through the virgin forests, without causing any loss of life. Audubon's account of this event[255] is that of a close observer who escaped destruction by a hair's breadth and who related only what he himself had experienced. Critics inclined to be supercilious have complained that he exaggerated the importance of a merely local event and stretched the course of the storm some 800 miles until it had covered several states. "Sir," said Waterton, in pointing a dart through Audubon to another target, "this is really too much even for us Englishmen to swallow, whose gullets are known to be the largest, the widest, and the most elastic, of any in the world." What Audubon said was: "I have crossed the path of this storm, at a distance of a hundred miles from the spot where I witnessed its fury, and, again four hundred miles farther off, in the State of Ohio. Lastly, I observed traces of its ravages on the summits of the mountains connected with the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, three hundred miles beyond the place last mentioned. In all these different parts, it appeared to me not to have exceeded a quarter of a mile in breadth." Audubon was doubtless mistaken in his hasty inference that marks of forest devastation observed at such widely separated points were due to the same storm, but this would only illustrate a lack of caution which he sometimes displayed.

A contemporary writer[256] declared that Audubon's account of "Mason," the outlaw, whose name we are told should be spelled "Meason," was altogether fabulous; that he was not killed by a regulator party, nor was his head stuck upon a tree in the way described.[257] The same critic further discredited the naturalist's account of Daniel Boone, whom he had characterized as follows:[258] "The stature and general appearance of this wanderer of the western forests approached the gigantic. His chest was broad and prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every limb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise, and perseverance." "Boone," said this writer, "was under six feet high, probably not more than five feet, ten inches, and of that round, compact build, which makes little show. Though very active, he had the appearance of being rather slender and did not seem as large as he really was." In the case of the outlaw, Audubon no doubt retold a story that had passed from mouth to mouth, but he later learned to be wary of second-hand information, which in matters of natural history sometimes led him into more serious difficulties. In his description of Boone there was no more apparent motive to deceive than in the case of his own father, to whom his imagination had added nearly half a foot in stature.[259]

When Audubon was returning from Ste. Geneviève in the spring of 1812, an incident occurred in which, for the first time in the course of his wanderings for upwards of twenty-five years, he felt his life to be in danger from his fellow man.[260] Overtaken by night on the prairie, he approached the hearth fire of a small log cabin, which at first was mistaken for the campfire of some wandering Indians. On craving shelter, he was admitted by a tall, surly woman in coarse attire, who displayed both an evil eye and a repellent countenance; but she offered him a supper of venison and jerked buffalo meat and bade him to make his bed upon the floor. When she espied his gold watch and chain, her demeanor suddenly changed and she asked to take them in her hand; she put the chain around her brawny neck and by her manner betrayed every token of covetous desire. Meanwhile, a young Indian stoic, who was nursing a recent arrow wound, had been sitting in silence by the fire; though he spoke not a word, he cast an expressive glance in Audubon's direction whenever the woman's back was turned, and having drawn his knife from its scabbard, expressed in pantomime what the confiding stranger might eventually expect.

Audubon's suspicions were at last thoroughly aroused. He asked for his watch, and under pretense of forecasting the weather, took up his gun and sauntered out of the cabin; in the darkness outside he slipped a ball in each of the barrels of his gun, scraped the edges of his flints, renewed the primings, and returned with a favorable report of his observations. Then laying some deer skins on the floor in a corner and calling his faithful dog to his side, he lay down and to all appearances was soon asleep. Presently sounds of approaching voices were heard, and at length two sturdy youths, who were evidently the woman's sons, appeared bearing a dead stag, which they had slung to a pole; they asked at once about the stranger, and called loudly for whisky. Audubon tapped his dog, who showed by eye and tail that he was already alert. Observing that the whisky bottle was paying frequent visits to the mouths of the trio, he hoped that they would soon be reduced to a state of helplessness, but the woman was seen to take in her hands a large carving knife and go deliberately outside to whet its edge on a grindstone; then, calling to her drunken sons, she asked them to settle the stranger and bade them do their bloody work without delay. Audubon cocked both barrels of his gun, touched his dog again, and was resolved to shoot at the first suspicious move. At this dramatic moment the door suddenly opened and two burly travelers with rifles on their shoulders entered the cabin. Audubon sprang to his feet, and welcoming the strangers with open arms, lost no time in making known to them his desperate position. No parley was necessary, for, said he, they were regulators, who then and there took the law into their own hands. The woman and her sons were promptly secured, bound, and left until morning to sober off; they were then led into the woods and shot. "We marched them into the woods off the road," said Audubon, "and having used them as Regulators were wont to use such delinquents, we set fire to the cabin, gave all the skins and implements to the young Indian, and proceeded, well pleased, towards the settlements." Would you believe, he added, that not many miles from where this happened, "and where fifteen years ago, no habitation belonging to civilized man was expected, and very few ever seen, large roads are now laid out, cultivation has converted the woods into fertile fields; taverns have been erected, and much of what we Americans call comfort is to be met with? So fast does improvement proceed in our abundant and free country."

I have given a paraphrase of this "Episode" as a further illustration of Audubon's tales of adventure. There is doubtless a certain amount of invention, and it reads like the setting of a dime novel incident, but we see no reason to doubt the substantial truth of either the local coloring or the fact. In answer to the question of a recent commentator,[261] "Did remote prairie cabins have grindstones and carving knives?" we would reply that the knife and the ax have followed man to the frontier posts of civilization everywhere, and without the grindstone the ax is useless. As a concrete instance in point, compare this minute entered in the Proprietors' Book of Records of Perrytown, afterwards Sutton, New Hampshire,[262] for the third day of September, 1770: "Voted a grindstone of about 8 shillings to be sent up to Perrystown, for the use of the settlers there"; the first settler had entered that wilderness but three years before, and at the time this vote was taken the number was five.

The "Eccentric Naturalist" at Henderson—Bats and new species—The demolished violin—"M. de T.": Constantine Samuel Rafinesque (Schmaltz)—His precocity, linguistic acquirements and peripatetic habits—First visit to America and botanical studies—Residence in Sicily, and fortune made in the drug trade—Association with Swainson—Marriage and embitterment—His second journey to America ends in shipwreck—Befriended—Descends the Ohio in a flatboat—Visit with Audubon, who gives him many strange "new species"—Cost to zoology—His unique work on Ohio fishes—Professorship in Transylvania University—Quarrel with its president and trustees—Return to Philadelphia—His ardent love of nature; his writings and fatal versatility—His singular will—His sad end and the ruthless disposition of his estate.

Audubon's humorous sketch of "The Eccentric Naturalist" has often been quoted, and it presents a picture which is amusing, however short of the truth it may fall or however it may fail in doing justice to its subject. Though his real hero is not named, no doubt as to his identity has ever been entertained. This episode occurred at Henderson in the late summer of 1818, and was published thirteen years after in the Biography of birds.[263] Since the story was not fully told then and the after-effects were productive of much harsh criticism, it cannot be overlooked if we would do justice to both the writer and his subject.

When walking one day by the river, to follow Audubon's story, he saw a man landing from a boat with what appeared like a bundle of dried clover on his back; he concluded from his appearance that the stranger must be "an original," a term which had been applied also to himself. A meeting followed, and the stranger, who had inquired for Mr. Audubon's house, explained that he was a naturalist, and had come to see Audubon's drawings of birds and plants; he bore also a letter from a friend, introducing "an odd fish" which might "prove to be undescribed." The visitor was made welcome in Audubon's Henderson home, where, to quote the naturalist,

All had retired for the night when of a sudden a great uproar was heard in the visitor's room. To his great astonishment, Audubon found his guest running about the apartment naked, holding the "handle" of his host's favorite violin, the body of which had been battered to pieces against the walls in the attempt to secure a number of fluttering bats which had entered by an open window. "I stood amazed," said Audubon, "but he continued jumping and running round and round, until he was fairly exhausted, when he begged me to procure one of the animals for him, as he felt convinced they belonged to 'a new species.' Although I was convinced to the contrary, I took up the bow of my demolished Cremona, and administering a sharp tap to each of the bats as it came up, soon had specimens enough." Other incidents of this visit, which Audubon said lasted three weeks, are fully recorded. The eccentric naturalist collected an abundance of plants, shells, bats and fishes. One evening he failed to appear, and after a prolonged search was nowhere to be found; nor were the Audubons wholly assured of his safety until some weeks later they received a letter with due acknowledgments of their hospitality.

The "M. de T." of this episode was Constantine Samuel Rafinesque, in many respects the most singular figure that has ever appeared in the annals of American science. Although young in years, for Rafinesque was then but thirty-five, he was already old in experience and that of the bitterest sort; and although already known to many in both hemispheres, he had few friends. It is certain that neither Audubon nor anyone else in that part of Kentucky had ever heard of him before.

Born in Constantinople, of a father who was a French merchant from Marseilles and of a mother with a German name who by nativity was Greek, Rafinesque had known life in many lands, and was destined, as he said, to be a traveler from the cradle to the tomb.[264] His first voyage, made with his parents on their return to France, by way of Scutari in Asia, Smyrna, and Malta, led to his first discovery, when he was a year old, for he was able to announce that "infants are not subject to sea-sickness." At eleven he read Latin and collected plants; at thirteen he wrote his first scientific paper, "Notes on the Apennines," which he had seen when traveling from Leghorn to Genoa. His father, who set out for China in 1791, fell in with pirates, but managed to reach America; he died of the yellow fever in Philadelphia in 1793. To escape the Reign of Terror in France, Rafinesque's mother fled with her children to Italy, where four years were passed at Leghorn. There Constantine studied with private tutors, but his education was never formal and he was allowed to follow his omnivorous tastes, reading, as he said, ten times more than was taught in the schools. His writings are mainly in French, Italian, and English, and his facility with languages was no doubt remarkable, even if we discount his egotized estimate of his own attainments: "I have undertaken to read the Latin and Greek, as well as the Hebrew, Sanskrit, Chinese, and fifty other languages, as I felt the need or inclination to study them."

In 1802 Rafinesque was sent with his brother to America and became a shipper's, clerk at Philadelphia, where he spent all of his spare time in the study of nature, plants being his first and greatest love. Here he was befriended by Dr. Benjamin Rush, and during this period he made the acquaintance of many pioneer naturalists in the United States. In 1805 the offer of a lucrative situation in Sicily lured him back to the Old World and to a country already known to him. There he soon discovered the medicinal squill, of ancient repute and thought to be an antidote, which in the form of syrup was long the bane of childhood; this and other medicinal drugs he exported to the European and American markets in such quantities that before the secret of his trade became known to the jealous Sicilians, he had reaped from it, in conjunction with his other enterprises, a small fortune. During the ten years that were spent in Sicily we find him the manager of a successful whisky distillery, the chancellor or secretary of the American Consulate at Palermo, editor, writer, and correspondent of learned men in Europe, as well as traveler and explorer in every part of the island, which he proposed to monograph with all of its contents. At Palermo Rafinesque met the English naturalist, William Swainson, his lifelong correspondent; together they tramped over the island and together they worked for a number of years on the fishes of the western coast.[265] Swainson, who became the friend of Audubon, was one of the few who later defended Rafinesque.

Rafinesque espoused a Sicilian woman of the Catholic faith, and had by her two children, of whom a daughter lived to maturity; this experience seems to have embittered him against the sex, for no other woman excepting his mother, to whom his Life of Travels was dedicated, was ever mentioned in his writings, and this one was disinherited in his extraordinary will. Through fear of being drafted into the French wars, he assumed for a time his mother's family name of Schmaltz, and finally left Sicily in disgust; taking with him his fortune and "fifty boxes of personal goods," he set out again for America in 1815. Sicily, he declared in epigram, offered "a fruitful soil, a delightful climate, excellent productions, perfidious men, deceitful women."

This second voyage to the New World began late in July but did not end until 100 days later, when, on the night of November 2, his ship ran on the Race Rocks near New London, at the western end of Long Island Sound, and eventually went down within sight of land with all his possessions. "I had lost everything," he said, "my fortune, my share of the cargo, my collections and labors for twenty years past, my books, my manuscripts, my drawings, even my clothes ... all that I possessed, except some scattered funds, and the insurance ordered in England for one third of the value of my goods." "I have found men," he continued, "vile enough to laugh without shame at my misfortune, instead of condoling with me! But I have met also with friends who deplored my loss, and helped me in need." One of these friends was Dr. Samuel L. Mitchell of New York, who had given a helping hand to Audubon,[266] and it was probably through him that Rafinesque obtained a position as private tutor in a family living on the Hudson. Traveling up and down the country, collecting objects in natural history, writing, with frustrated attempts at business, occupied a number of the following years; meanwhile he had aided in founding the Lyceum of New York and had become a member of the Literary and Philosophical Society. At Philadelphia he found another friend in Mr. John O. Clifford, of Lexington, Kentucky, who encouraged him to visit the West, and in the spring of 1818 he descended the Ohio in an "ark" in company with several others who had joined him in the enterprise. At Shippingport he was welcomed by the Tarascon brothers, flour merchants, formerly of Marseilles and Philadelphia, and it was through them, possibly, that he first heard of Audubon's drawings of birds.

Such was the "odd fish" who a little later greeted Audubon on the river bank at Henderson. Had Audubon known the true history of his visitor either then or at a later time, he would not, we believe, have held him up to ridicule in the "Episode" quoted above, and could he have foreseen the unpleasant consequences that ensued, his conduct would assuredly have been different. A part of the episode, which Audubon does not relate, was supplied by another naturalist at a much later day.[267] Audubon, it seems, was at that time a good deal of a wag, and whether to vent his dislike of species-mongers, to avenge the loss of his violin, or to gratify some spirit of mischief, he played upon the credulity of his guest, in a way that could be deemed hardly creditable, in giving him detailed descriptions and even supplying him with drawings of sundry impossible fishes and mollusks. Rafinesque took the bait eagerly, duly noted down everything on the spot, and, what was more unfortunate for American zoölogy, a year later began to publish the results. The fictitious species of fish, to the number of ten, "communicated by Mr. Audubon," first appeared as a series of articles in a short-lived and long forgotten western magazine,[268] but in 1820 they were gathered into a little volume [269] now considered so quaint and rare that it has been reproduced in its entirety. In this pioneer work on the ichthyology of the Ohio River and the great Middle West, 111 kinds of American fresh-water fishes are briefly described. Those ten "new species," representing apparently a number of new genera, "so like and yet so unlike to anything yet known," long remained a stumbling block to American zoölogists; naturally they tended to discredit the work of Rafinesque.

EARLY UNPUBLISHED DRAWINGS OF AMERICAN BIRDS: ABOVE, "L'ALCION D'AMERIQUE SEPTENTRIONALE BUFFON. KING FISHER. CHUTE DE L'OHIO JULY 15, 1808. BELTED KING FISHER A. W.-J. A. ALCEDO ALCION. DRAWN BY J. J. AUDUBON. NO. 110;" BELOW, "PASSENGER PIGEON—A. W. COLUMBA MIGRATORIA. CHUTE DE L'OHIO. DECEMB. 11, 1809. 12 PENNES À LA QUEUE TRES ÉTAGEE. APPELÉ ICI WILD PIGEON. J. AUDUBON. NO. 109."

Published by courtesy of Mr. Joseph Y. Jeanes.

As a specimen of these spurious fish stories, which were previously published in both America and Europe, we reproduce a part of Rafinesque's description of the "91st. Species. Devil-Jack Diamond-fish. Litholepis adamantinus":

While we cannot defend Audubon in his treatment of Rafinesque, it would be hardly fair to judge such incidents wholly in the light of after events, for, as our narrative will show, it is unlikely that he ever saw Rafinesque or heard of him again until long years after this incident, certainly not until after his "Episode" was published in 1831.[270] Rafinesque evidently enjoyed this sketch of himself, for he gave unstinted praise to the work in which it was published. As late as 1832, when the appearance of The Birds of America seems to have stimulated him to even more grandiose conceptions of his own merits than was usual, he declared that his discoveries were counted by the thousand, and that he had traveled twenty thousand miles, always collecting and drawing. In view of the fact that drawing was a talent which nature had unequivocally denied him, it is interesting to read this boast that an unfriendly critic drew forth: "My illustrations of 30 years' travels, with 2,000 figures will soon begin to be published, and be superior to those of my friend Audubon, in extent and variety, if not equal in beauty. I shall study and write as long as I live, in spite of all such mean attempts against my reputation and exertions, trusting in the justice of liberal men."[271]

After leaving Audubon at Henderson in the summer of 1818, Rafinesque passed down the Ohio into the Mississippi, pausing only to pay his respects at the famous communistic settlement of New Harmony, by the mouth of the Wabash in Indiana, then the abode of Thomas Say, David Dale Owen, and Charles Le Sueur, all of whom have left bright and honored names in the annals of American science. He eventually returned to Philadelphia by way of Lexington, Kentucky, where he was induced to settle and teach natural history and the modern languages in the Transylvania University, at that time the most important seat of learning in the West. After closing up his business affairs in Philadelphia, Rafinesque entered upon his new labors at Lexington in the autumn of 1819. He was probably the first teacher of these subjects west of the Alleghanies, and certainly the first in that section of the country to use the present object method in the elucidation of natural history. The lot of a pioneer in education has never been a sinecure, and the post which Rafinesque then filled was not a "chair" but a hard "settee." In those days the classics were in the saddle and "rode mankind," while the natural sciences, when tolerated at all, were given short shrift; yet this eccentric foreigner held his position for seven years and accomplished an extraordinary amount of work. As usual he spread his energies over the whole field of knowledge, lecturing, writing and publishing on almost every subject, but concentrating upon none. Meanwhile, he roamed far and wide and made extensive collections.

While at the Transylvania University Rafinesque seems to have applied for the master of arts' degree, but was at first refused, as he said, "because I had not studied Greek in a college, although I knew more languages than all of the American colleges united, but it was granted at last; but the Doctor of medicine was not granted, because I would not superintend anatomical dissections."

One of his many projects, as meritorious as it was impractical, at that time, was a Botanic Garden with a Library and Museum for Lexington, which was then but a small village; though land was actually secured and a start in tree planting begun, the project of course came to nothing and had to be abandoned. Rafinesque also invented, as he believed, the present coupon system of issuing bonds, the "Divitial Invention," as he called it; in 1825 he set out for Washington in order to secure his patent rights, but his journey and idea never brought him any returns. On the contrary, the incident marked the culmination of his troubles with the president of the University and its governing board, whom he seems to have constantly nettled by his independent ways and roaming habits. Upon returning from Washington he found that Dr. Holley, who, he said, "hated and despised the natural sciences" and wished to drive him out altogether, had broken into his rooms during his absence, and had "given one to the students, and thrown all my effects, books and collections in a heap in the other," besides depriving him of certain other privileges. "I took lodgings," he continued, "in town and carried there all my effects; thus leaving the college with curses on it and Holley; who were both reached by them soon after, since he died next year at sea of the yellow fever, caught at New Orleans; having been driven from Lexington by public opinion; and the College has been burnt in 1828 with all its contents."

After this unpleasant experience Rafinesque returned to Philadelphia, where he spent the last and saddest part of his checkered career. His insistent ideas, which were undoubtedly the index of an unbalanced mind, increased, especially his mania for describing "new species" of animals and plants; this mania perverted everything that he wrote, especially toward the end of his life, and made him a thorn in the side of every naturalist who tried to verify his work. A non-conformist and a respecter of no authority but his own is never popular, though a part of the antagonism which Rafinesque aroused was due to the conservatism of his age. He boldly advocated organic evolution when almost the whole world believed that species were fixed and unchangeable things, and in many other respects was fifty years ahead of his time; but nothing was ever carefully worked out in his fertile mind, with the consequence that the world paid no heed to his crude and undigested ideas.

The great mass of Rafinesque's books and monographs, his "tracts," broadsides, and ephemeral papers of all sorts, extending to nearly a thousand titles, must have gone into paper rags, when not used to kindle fires, for he was generous in their distribution, and they are now exceedingly rare. He touched nearly everything, it is true, but little that he touched, especially in this later period of his life, did he ever truly ornament. His best pioneer work, in the opinion of competent students, was that done upon the fishes of Sicily and the natural history of the Ohio Valley; his Medical Flora, in two volumes (1828 and 1830), is also admitted to have possessed real value; but his writings are now sought after as literary or scientific curiosities, and as such they are unique.

No doubt Rafinesque was often treated unjustly, either through ignorance or intent, while many naturalists were exasperated by the barbed arrows which he shot into the air or direct at the mark. Others through sheer inability to follow him gave up the attempt, one writer[272] saying that such an attitude was justified when it appeared that he had made six species out of one, not to speak of several different genera and two sub-families. If anyone still believes that Rafinesque has been misjudged, says Günther,[273] let him read his letters to Swainson, from 1809 to 1840, fifty-three in number, covering 178 closely written quarto or folio pages, now in possession of the Linnæan Society of London. "Rafinesque," continues this critic, "was a man deeply to be commiserated, not merely on account of the unfortunate circumstances which left him in his youth to himself, without teacher or guide, but still more on the ground of that natural disposition by which his universal failure in life was brought about. He was possessed of a feverish restlessness which entirely disqualified him from serious study of any of the multitudinous subjects which attracted his mind in rapid succession."

Rafinesque, bereft of friends and fortune, unknown even to his neighbors, by whom he seems to have been regarded as a harmless herb doctor, was left to struggle on alone, without recognition and without sympathy or support. Reduced finally to abject poverty, he concocted and sold medicines which were advertised much like quack remedies at the present day, especially his "Pulmel," which without a doubt he thought had cured him of the pulmonary consumption. To advertise this he wrote a little treatise, hoping to realize something from its sale and at the same time to avoid any undue appearance of empyricism.

Toward the very end of his life, Rafinesque projected a savings bank, and, strangely enough, this seems to have been a success, though just how is not clear, since it both borrowed and loaned money at six per cent. He had already attempted to secure rights on a "steam-plough," a "submarine boat," "incombustible houses," and similar novelties which abler inventors have later perfected. For a long time he led the life of a perfect recluse in a garret in a poor quarter of Philadelphia, in the midst of his collections, his books and his manuscripts, never the world forgetting but ever by the world forgot. There, in the direst misery, he died in 1840, at the age of fifty-six, without a word of cheer or a tear of regret. His body was barely saved from the dissecting table and given decent burial through the loyalty and promptitude of one of his few remaining friends, Dr. William Mease, who with undertaker Bringhurst, broke into the room where his body lay and let it down through a window by ropes.[274] Even his will was ruthlessly violated, and all of his effects, in eight dray-loads, were hurried off to the public auction rooms and sold in bargain lots, his books and all else bringing but a mere pittance, not even enough to pay his landlord and the administrator of his estate.

Thus died the "eccentric naturalist" whom Audubon had portrayed, and for whom the world in general had shown scant sympathy. Rafinesque, nevertheless, possessed a mind of extraordinary acumen and an energy and versatility little short of marvelous. He dipped into every field of knowledge, looking for precious metal, but much that he brought to the surface was dross. His restless versatility alone would probably have ruined him, for nothing short of an analysis of the globe with all of its contents would have satisfied his ambitious spirit. His was the ardor of the traveler and the explorer, with a passionate love for nature seldom equaled, but without the incentive and the patience of the investigator or a balance-wheel in the judgment. His ambition in early life was to become the greatest naturalist of his age; had his early training and environment been suited to his needs, and had fortune favored him more consistently with her smiles, this ambition possibly might have been realized, but we suspect that in this case nature would have proved stronger than nurture, and that he would have been Rafinesque to the end.

Pivotal period in Audubon's career—His spur and balance-wheel—Resort to portraiture—Taxidermist in the Western Museum—Settles in Cincinnati—History of his relations with Dr. Drake—Decides to make his avocation his business—Journey down the Ohio and Mississippi with Mason and Cummings—Experiences of travel without a cent of capital—Life in New Orleans—Vanderlyn's recommendations—Original drawings—Chance meeting with Mrs. Pirrie, and engagement as tutor at "Oakley"—Enchantments of West Feliciana—"My lovely Miss Pirrie"—The jealous doctor—Famous drawing of the rattlesnake—Leaves St. Francisville and is adrift again in New Orleans—Obtains pupils in drawing and is joined by his family—Impoverished, moves to Natchez, and Mrs. Audubon becomes a governess—Injuries to his drawings—The labors of years destroyed by rats—Teaching in Tennessee—Parting with Mason—First lessons in oils—Mrs. Audubon's school at "Beechwoods"—Painting tour fails—Stricken at Natchez—At the Percys' plantation—Walk to Louisville—Settles at Shippingport.

Audubon's failure at Henderson was the crucial turning point in his career. For the five years that immediately followed he led a peripatetic existence in the southern and western states, seldom tarrying long at one point, often leaving his family for months at a time, living from hand to mouth, but ever bent on perfecting those products of his hand and brain, his life studies of American birds and plants.

At this crisis Audubon could have accomplished nothing but for the intelligent devotion of his capable wife. Generous, emotional, inclined to be self-indulgent, Audubon needed both the example and the spur of a strong character such as his wife possessed, and at this time Lucy Audubon furnished both the motive power and the balance-wheel that were requisite for the development of her husband's genius. Without her zeal and self-sacrificing devotion the world would never have heard of Audubon. His budding talents eventually would have been smothered in some backwoods town of the Middle West or South. For the space of nearly twelve years, Mrs. Audubon, now as the head of a small private school, now as a governess in some friendly family who appreciated her worth, practically assumed the responsibility for the support and education of their children in order that her husband's hands might be free, and with her hard-earned savings was able to aid him materially in the prosecution of his labors. When relatives or friends upbraided him for not entering upon some form of lucrative trade, she recognized his genius and always came to his support, being fully persuaded that he was destined to become one of the great workers of the world. Whatever others may have said or done at that time, both Audubon and his wife were confident of the ultimate success of his mission. In short, the work in which the naturalist was engaged became a family interest, in which every member was destined sooner or later to bear a part.

Audubon recalled a somber incident of this time which he thought might furnish a lesson to mankind, and he shall relate it in his own words:

At Shippingport Audubon was welcomed by his brother-in-law, Nicholas A. Berthoud. Wasting no time in vain regrets, he began doing portraits in crayon, and with such success that he was able to rent a modest apartment and have his family about him again. From no charges for his tentative efforts the price was gradually raised until he received five dollars or more a head; with the spread of his fame orders filled his hands, and he was called long distances to take likenesses of the dying or even of the dead. Audubon's facility in portraiture was a valuable resource, and it kept him from the starving line at many a pinch in later years.

Through the influence of friends the naturalist was offered a position as taxidermist at a museum which had just been started at Cincinnati; here his family joined him in the winter of 1819-20, and here he remained for nearly a year. The published accounts of this Cincinnati experience are strangely confused and have led to aspersions of bad faith which were, we believe, quite undeserved. "I was presented," said Audubon, "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," adding that his salary was large; so industrious were they, to continue his account, "that in about six months we had augmented, arranged, and finished all that we could do," but they found to their sorrow "that the members of the College museum were splendid promisers and very bad paymasters."[275] It has been stated that Audubon got nothing from Dr. Drake, but that "Mrs. Audubon afterwards received four hundred dollars, of the twelve hundred due," and that the remainder was never paid.[276] This matter can now be fully cleared up, and it will appear that the Cincinnati College was in no way involved; Dr. Drake was not its president, although he drew its charter and was one of its trustees; the Museum in which the naturalist worked was an independent foundation; and Mrs. Audubon was probably paid in full for the service which her husband had rendered.

Audubon wrote in his journal in 1820, when this experience was fresh in his mind, that owing to his talent for stuffing fishes he entered the service of the Western Museum at a salary of $125 a month; he made no complaint at that time of any lack of pay. Moreover, on the day before he started on his cruise down the Ohio River on the 11th of October of that year, the Rev. Elijah Slack gave him a letter of introduction in which he said that Audubon had "been engaged in our museum for 3 to 4 months, and that his performances do honor to his pencil." Since Mr. Slack, like Dr. Drake, was one of the managers of the Western Museum, he must have known of Audubon's term of service. We are convinced that Dr. Daniel Drake,[277] whose character was above reproach and who was a keen naturalist himself, was Audubon's good friend, and that no misunderstanding ever rose between them. In writing offhand from memory, years after the events, Audubon misstated the facts but evidently without design.

In 1818 Dr. Drake organized the Western Museum Society, of which he said: "I have drawn up the constitution in such a manner as to make the institution a complete school for natural history, and hope to see concentrated in this place, the choicest natural and artificial curiosities in the Western Country." The first meeting of the Society was held in the summer of 1819, not long before Audubon was engaged to work for it. The membership fee was $50, a considerable sum for that period, but the enterprise was well patronized. It was in charge of a board of whom Dr. Drake was the moving spirit; another member, as we have seen, was Rev. Mr. Slack, who became the first president of the Cincinnati College, which was organized in 1818-19. The collections of the Museum were placed in one of the buildings of the College in order better to serve the students and public, which would account for some of the confusion noted above.

Dr. Drake's hands at this time were more than full; in October, 1819, he wrote to a friend: "The ties which bind me to the world at large seem every day to increase in strength and numbers. The crowd of mankind with whom I have some direct or indirect concern, thickens around me, and I see little prospect of more leisure, nor any of retirement and seclusion." At this juncture also, when Audubon and Best were working for his Museum, Dr. Drake was experiencing the first disastrous check in his energetic career. In January, 1820, in spite of the opposition and intrigue of professional rivals, he succeeded in organizing the Medical College of Ohio, and Robert Best became the assistant in chemistry and the curator of the Western Museum. Opposition did not abate, but instead of strangling the College which he had founded, the marplots succeeded in expelling the Doctor from its staff. At last, feeling obliged to leave the city, Dr. Drake accepted in 1823 a position in the rival medical school of Transylvania University, and thus became a colleague of Constantine Rafinesque. It will be seen that Audubon's engagement at Cincinnati fell in a troubled era, and the annoyance which he may have felt at lack of pay was probably no fault of the harassed doctor.

While at Cincinnati Audubon was obliged to resort to his crayon portraits; and he also started a drawing school, but it required all of Mrs. Audubon's skill in management to keep the family out of debt. In 1820 he began for the first time seriously to consider the possibility of publishing his drawings, and under the spur of this incentive began to exert himself as never before. He planned a long journey through the Middle West and South, his intention being to descend the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, explore the country about New Orleans, and then proceed as far east as the Florida Keys; he wished also to ascend the Red River, cross Arkansas, and visit the Hot Springs, before returning again by river to Cincinnati. Lack of ready money was no drawback, for he was now confident of being able to live by his talents alone.

Accordingly, he left his wife to care for their two boys, and on October 12, 1820, started down river in a flatboat, bound for New Orleans. His companions on this journey were Captain Cummings,[278] an engineer who had been in the government service, to whom Audubon became much attached; Joseph R. Mason, a promising artist of eighteen, in the rôle of pupil-assistant, and his dog "Dash." Although Audubon had no funds, he was careful to provide himself with letters to or from men of mark who could be of assistance to him and this custom was followed to good effect at a much later day. On this occasion he bore recommendations from William H. Harrison, who afterwards became President, to Governor Miller of Arkansas, and from Henry Clay, as well as his letter from Rev. Elijah Slack, in which it was stated that the naturalist was traveling to complete his collection of the birds of the United States which he intended to publish at some future time. Audubon also wrote a personal letter to Governor Miller, fully outlining his plans, and asking for information; he told the Governor that he had been working fifteen years, and that his drawings of birds and plants were all from nature and life-size, showing that the idea of publication which was afterwards realized was then fixed in his mind. Audubon kept a careful journal on this journey, which extended over a year, the last entry being for the close of 1821.[279]

As their flatboat stopped at many towns and plantations on the rivers, Audubon could hunt game and birds to his heart's content. Having resolved, as he said, never to draw from a stuffed specimen, he worked at every new bird with the greatest diligence. It seems almost incredible that he should never have met with the Hermit Thrush before this journey, yet under date of "Oct. 14, 1820," there is this entry: "We returned to our boat with a Wild Turkey, a Telltale Godwit and a Hermit Thrush, which was too much torn to make a drawing of it; this was the first time I had met with this bird, and I felt particularly mortified at its condition."[280]

Their visit to Natchez furnished Audubon with materials for at least two of his "Episodes."[281] This incident of his generosity may be taken as characteristic; finding that one of his companions was down at the heel and as short of ready money as himself, he sought out a shoemaker and offered to do a portrait of the man and his wife for two pairs of boots; the proposal was accepted forthwith, and he set to work; the sketches were finished in the course of two hours, and Audubon and his companion, having selected their boots, went on their way rejoicing.

Audubon left Natchez on December 31, 1820, on a keel boat belonging to his brother-in-law, Nicholas A. Berthoud, who accompanied him, and at one o'clock the steamer Columbus hauled off from the landing and took them in tow. Towards evening, when they were looking up their personal belongings, the naturalist found to his dismay that a portfolio containing all of the drawings that he had made on the voyage down the river was missing. Letters were despatched to Natchez friends, but it was not until the 16th of March that his anxiety was relieved; the missing portfolio had been found and left at the office of The Mississippi Republican, whence it was forwarded on his order, and reached his hand on the 5th of April. "So very generous had been the finder of it," he said, "that when I carefully examined the drawings in succession, I found them all present and uninjured, save one, which had probably been kept by way of commission."

On New Year's Day, 1821, they came to at Bayou Sara, at the mouth of the inlet of that name, which later saw much of Audubon and his family. On the following day he made a likeness of the master of their craft, Mr. Dickenson, for which he was paid in gold; he also outlined two warblers by candle-light in order to have time to finish them on the morrow. The captain of their steamer in his anxiety to make haste had set them adrift at this point, and they were obliged to make their way as best they could, by aid of the current and oars, to the port of New Orleans, which was finally entered on Sunday, January 7, 1821.

Audubon landed at New Orleans without enough money to pay for a night's lodging, for someone had relieved him of the little he possessed, and he was obliged to pass several nights on the boat while looking for work. Undismayed by his financial straits, his first visit at daybreak on Monday was to the famous markets of the southern city, where he found dead birds exposed for sale in great numbers—mallard, teal, American widgeon, Canada and snow geese, mergansers, tell-tale god-wits, and even robins, bluebirds and red-wing blackbirds; he added that the prices were very dear.

Upon leaving Cincinnati Audubon had resolved upon making one hundred drawings of birds; this was actually accomplished, but only after repeatedly modifying his plans and working in more humble capacities than he was at first inclined to consider. On the 12th of January he wrote in his diary of meeting an Italian painter at the theater, and of showing him his drawing of the White-headed Eagle[282] at the rooms of Mr. Berthoud; "he was much pleased," and took him "to his painting apartment at the theater, then to the directors, who very roughly offered me one hundred dollars per month to paint with Monsieur l'Italien. I believe really now that my talents must be poor," said Audubon. His refusal of this offer in view of his straitened circumstances, and the entry which followed, were characteristic: "Jan. 13th, 1821. I rose up early, tormented by many disagreeable thoughts, again nearly without a cent, in a bustling city where no one cares a fig for a man in my situation." The following day Audubon applied to a self-taught portrait painter, John W. Jarvis, and after showing his drawings, was engaged to assist him in finishing the "clothing and ground"; but this artist's manners were declared to be so uncouth and the pay so poor that he left him in disgust.

When he had made a hit, as he said, with the likeness of a well known citizen, orders came to him, and he was able to resume his drawing of birds. On February 22 he recorded that he had spent his time in "running after orders for portraits, and also in vain endeavors to obtain a sight of Alexander Wilson's 'Ornithology,' but was unsuccessful in seeing the book, which is very high priced." Later, however, he appears to have succeeded in this quest, for on the 17th of that month he was able to send his wife twenty drawings of birds, eight of which were marked as "not described by Willson." Among them were the originals of some of the most famous of his plates, such as the Great-footed Hawk, the White-headed Eagle, and the Hen Turkey.[283] Having seen in a newspaper a notice of an expedition which the Government was about to send to the Pacific Coast, to survey the boundary of the territory that had been recently ceded by Spain, Audubon became much excited over a possible appointment as draughtsman and naturalist. He sat down at once and wrote a personal letter to President Monroe, while hundreds of imaginary birds of new and interesting kinds seemed to come within the range of his gun; on the 31st of March he was still pondering on the project, and although it is not likely that his letter ever reached the eye of the President, he did receive a recommendation from Governor Robertson of Louisiana. It was with this expedition in view that he sought an interview with John Vanderlyn,[284] an eminent painter of historical subjects, then working in New Orleans; according to one version Vanderlyn treated him as a mendicant, and ordered him to lay down his portfolio in the lobby, but ended by giving him a very complimentary note, in which he praised his drawings without stint, particularly his studies of birds.

During the five months spent at New Orleans in 1821, Audubon attempted to support himself and his companion by means of their artistic talents, while he was pushing forward his ambitious design of figuring all of America's birds and most characteristic plants. That he received scant encouragement but many rebuffs is not surprising. They did succeed in obtaining a few pupils in drawing, and Audubon made a number of rapid portraits, but after living for a time on Ursuline Street, near the old Convent, and later shifting from one quarter to another, their finances had reached so low an ebb by the beginning of June that a move was imperative. Audubon then decided to go to Shippingport, Kentucky, and on the 16th of June, with young Mason, he again boarded the steamer Columbus, John D'Hart, captain, and started up river. An incident now occurred which affected the naturalist's whole after life by introducing him to one of the most favored spots in Louisiana, if not in the whole country, for the study of bird life, not to speak of the impressions which the charm of new scenery, a rich flora, and natural products of the most varied description must have then made on his mind. Mrs. James Pirrie, wife of a prosperous cotton planter of West Feliciana Parish, happened to be their fellow-passenger. Doubtless her curiosity was piqued by the winning manners and flowing locks of the artistic traveler, whose Gallic accent at once betrayed his nationality. Whether Audubon had made her acquaintance previous to this journey or not is not known, but before it was ended his fine enthusiasm and ambitious plans had found a sympathizer, and he was engaged as tutor to Mrs. Pirrie's daughter at $60 a month. To further his ornithological pursuits it was understood that he and his companion should live at "Oakley," her husband's plantation, five miles from St. Francisville, on Bayou Sara, and that one-half of his time should be absolutely free for hunting and drawing. Thus, on June 18, 1821, was forged the link that bound the heart of Audubon to the State which was first in his affections, and which he would fain believe might have been the scene of his nativity. Well may the Louisianians of today adopt him as their son, for from that early time he cherished their State as in a peculiar sense his own.

It was a hot and sultry day when our wanderers landed at Bayou Sara,[285] a small settlement at the junction of the sluggish stream which bears that name and the Mississippi, and proceeded to climb to St. Francisville, the village a mile away on the hill. Mrs. Pirrie, who seems to have preceded the travelers by carriage, sent some of her servants to relieve them of their luggage, which Audubon said they found light. They rested in the village at the house of Mr. Benjamin Swift, where they were invited to stay to dinner, then at the point of being served, but feeling somewhat ill at ease, they thanked their host and again took to the road. Following their leisurely guides, they now traversed a country so new, so strange, and so enchanting, that the five miles to the Pirrie house seemed short indeed. "The rich magnolias, covered with fragrant blossoms, the holly, the beech, the tall yellow poplar, the hilly ground, and even the red clay," to quote Audubon's record made at the time, "all excited my admiration. Such an entire change in the face of nature, in so short a time, seems almost supernatural, and surrounded once more by numerous warblers and thrushes, I enjoyed the scene."

BAYOU SARA LANDING, WEST FELICIANA PARISH, LOUISIANA, AT THE JUNCTION OF BAYOU SARA AND THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

SCENE ON BAYOU SARA CREEK, AUDUBON'S HUNTING GROUND IN 1821.

This and the above after photographs by Mr. Stanley Clisby Arthur, 1916.

In passing up the Mississippi from New Orleans, the topography of the country suddenly changes at about this point; in the parish of West Feliciana the alluvial lowlands of the river valley give place to beautiful highlands, which still harbor as rich and distinctive a flora and fauna as in Audubon's day. Following Audubon's course in June, 1916, or ninety-five years later, Mr. Arthur found the region about St. Francisville wonderfully rich in birds, and there noted seventy-eight resident kinds which were seen on the same day, from shortly before noon to seven o'clock in the evening.

Upon reaching the plantation house, Audubon and his companion were kindly received by the Scotchman, James Pirrie, who introduced to them his daughter, Eliza, then a beautiful and talented girl of seventeen—"my lovely Miss Pirrie, of Oakley," as Audubon once characterized her in his journal—who was to become his pupil in drawing, and who, as after events proved, was destined to a romantic and checkered career.

The "Oakley" house, which by a strange turn of fortune's wheel thus became the naturalist's home in the summer of 1821, has changed but little since that time, but the century that has nearly sped its course has added strength and beauty to the moss-hung oaks which now encompass it and temper the heat of the southern sun in the double-decked galleries which adorn its whole front. Built of the enduring cypress, as my correspondent remarks, the house stands as firm and sound as the gaunt but living sentinels of that order which tower from the brake not far away.

Audubon spent nearly five months at the Pirrie estate. He worked with great ardor at his Ornithology and produced the originals of many of his plates that were afterwards published, while his assistant, Joseph Mason, who had followed him from Cincinnati, labored with equal diligence at the plants that were chosen as a setting for the birds.[286] An early drawing of the Chuck Will's Widow is dated "Red River, June, 1821," and it is probable that he followed this stream into Arkansas, for on leaving Cincinnati in the autumn of the previous year, he had planned to enter that State, and later references in his journals clearly imply that this object was attained. Another favorite hunting ground was Thompson's Creek, and he often recalled its heated banks, where, on a Fourth of July, he once satisfied his hunger by "swallowing the roasted eggs of a large soft shelled turtle."

On August 11, 1821, while Audubon was living at "Oakley," he made this entry in his journal:

In the same journal also, for August 25, occurs a record which throws light on one of Audubon's most discussed and questionable pictures, that of the mocking-birds defending their jessamine-embowered nest from the sinister designs of a rattlesnake;[287] little did he think at the time how much discord this venomous reptile, when coiled in the branches of a tree, could later breed.[288] The entry was:

He then described the generous provision which nature has made to keep the rattlesnake in fighting trim, by giving it a dental arsenal on which it can draw in case of loss; he added that the heat of the day was such that he could devote only sixteen hours to the drawing.

At this time Audubon was a handsome and attractive man; his pupil, who did not enjoy the best of health, was attended by a young physician who was also her lover. It is not surprising therefore to learn that jealousy on the part of the doctor led to a misunderstanding, and that the naturalist suddenly made his departure and returned to New Orleans. In recording this incident Audubon could not repress his amusement at the prescription of the physician, who ordered the young lady to abstain from all writing and drawing for a period of four months, but meanwhile permitted her to eat anything which pleased her fancy, in spite of the relapses of fever that occasionally occurred. Audubon was allowed to see her only at appointed hours, as if, he said, he were an extraordinary ambassador to some distant court, and was obliged to preserve the utmost decorum of manner; he expressed the belief that he had not once laughed in the presence of the young lady during the entire term of his tutorial engagement, which lasted from the 18th of June to the 21st of October. Later, in December of the same year, when his former pupil passed him without recognition in the streets of New Orleans, he indulged in the reflection that she had apparently quite forgotten the great pains with which at her own request he had done her portrait in pastels, but, thanks to his talents, he thought that he could run the gauntlet of the world without her help.[289]

At New Orleans Audubon soon found new pupils, particularly through the aid of Mr. R. Pamar and Mr. William Braud,[290] who came to his assistance, Mrs. Braud and her son paying him at the rate of three dollars for a lesson of one hour. On November 10, 1821, he wrote:

ROAD LEADING FROM BAYOU SARA LANDING TO THE VILLAGE OF ST. FRANCISVILLE, WEST FELICIANA PARISH, LOUISIANA.

"OAKLEY," JAMES PIRRIE'S PLANTATION HOUSE NEAR ST. FRANCISVILLE.

This and the above after photographs by Mr. Stanley Clisby Arthur, 1916.

Again, on the 25th of that month is this entry:

The close of the year 1821 found Audubon teaching a few pupils at New Orleans, where, he said, his style of work and the large prices he received caused him the ill will of every artist in the city. The figure which he cut in the streets, with his loose dress of nankeen and long, flowing locks, made him wish to appear like other people, and he was soon able to rejoice in a new suit of clothes. Though still in need of work, when he was asked to aid in painting a panorama of New Orleans, he refused, begrudging the time, saying that he did not wish to see any other perspective than that of the last of his drawings.

Having been from home for over a year, Audubon now wished to have his family about him again.[292] His plan did not appeal to his practical wife, who had many friends at Cincinnati, where she was assured of a good income through her teaching; Mrs. Audubon also felt that to be constantly shifting about was anything but favorable to the education of their children. Her reluctance, however, gave way, and in December she joined her husband in New Orleans, but only to find that the city could afford them no settled means of support. The situation of the Audubon family during the winter of 1821-22 became precarious in the extreme, and for two months Audubon gave up his habit of journalizing, one reason being that he could not afford the paltry sum necessary to buy a blank book for this purpose.

Compelled at last to make a new move, Audubon started for Natchez, on the 16th of March, 1822, paying for his passage on the steamer Eclat by doing a crayon portrait of the captain and his wife. It was while going up the river at this time that he opened a chest containing two hundred of his drawings to find them sadly damaged by the breaking of a bottle of gunpowder, but the loss then sustained was apparently slight in comparison with that which he had experienced in an earlier disaster. To follow his account of this earlier and better known incident, when leaving Henderson for Philadelphia, he carefully placed all of his drawings in a wooden box and entrusted them to the care of a friend, with injunction that no harm should befall them; upon returning several months later, his treasure chest was opened, but only to reveal that "a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the whole, and had reared a young family amongst the gnawed bits of paper, which but a few months before represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of the air." The heat that was immediately felt in his head, said the naturalist, was too great to be endured, and the days that followed were days of oblivion to him; but upon recuperation he took up his gun, his notebook and his pencils, "and went forth to the woods as gaily as if nothing had happened"; after a lapse of three years his portfolio was again filled, and the earlier work replaced by better. Audubon's drawings and plates were also repeatedly ravaged by fires, but this was at a much later day.

While Audubon was engaged in teaching French, music, or drawing, now to private pupils at Natchez, now in a school at Washington, Mississippi, nine miles away, the summer of 1822 passed with the outlook as ominous as ever. On August 23 he wrote: "My friend, Joseph Mason, left me today, and we experienced great pain at parting. I gave him paper and chalks to work his way with, and the double barrelled-gun ... which I had purchased in Philadelphia in 1805." Mason, who, for a year and nine months, was Audubon's aid and constant companion, seems to have settled eventually as an artist in Philadelphia, where we hear of him in 1824 and again in 1827.[293]

In the following December Audubon received a fresh impetus towards the goal of his ambition by the arrival at Natchez of a traveling portrait painter, named John Stein, who gave him his first lessons in the use of oils; his initial attempt was the copy of an otter from one of his own drawings. Audubon and Stein together later painted a full-length portrait of Father Antonio which was sent to Havana. Artists who have worked long in one medium are not always successful in another, but those who have seen some of Audubon's later and better works in oil, such as his large canvas of the Wild Turkeys,[294] must admit that he attained a high degree of skill. As will be seen, this acquisition was a strong string to his bow; when in England his brush helped largely to pay for the issue of his early plates.

Mrs. Audubon, who joined her husband in New Orleans on December 8, 1821, soon felt obliged to seek employment. She engaged as nurse or governess in the family of Mr. Braud, presumably the same whose wife and son had received instruction in drawing from the naturalist the previous autumn, and remained with that family until September, 1822, when the death of the child that was placed in her charge left her free to follow her husband to Natchez. After attempting a similar position in the home of a clergyman there and finding it impossible to obtain her salary, in January, 1823, she was invited by the Percys to West Feliciana,[295] then a prosperous cotton district, at the apex of the salient made by the neighboring state of Mississippi and bordered on two sides by the great river. Her worth was evidently appreciated, for she was encouraged to establish a private school on the Percys' plantation, which she conducted successfully for five years.

Captain Robert Percy, who before coming to America in 1796 had been an officer in the British Navy, was living at this time with his wife and five children at their plantation of "Weyanoke," on Big Sara Creek, fifteen miles from St. Francisville; this town, owing to its large shipments of cotton, was then at the height of prosperity, and its population no doubt exceeded that of the present day; it now stands at about one thousand souls. Letters and journals of the period constantly refer to "Beechwoods," which was not the mansion house, though it undoubtedly belonged to the Robert Percy estate. There it was that the wife of the naturalist lived, and there she started her school, for the benefit not only of the Percy boys and girls, but also of a limited number of children of their wealthy neighbors; her own son, John Woodhouse Audubon, then eleven years of age, at this time received instruction at her hands. The parish of West Feliciana, at this early period, was one of the richest cotton-producing sections of the entire State; its care-free planters led an easy life until the "king" was unceremoniously dethroned by a small, but not insignificant insect which has proved mightier than either fire or sword, namely, the boll-weevil; now many a fine old estate which has languished under the influence of the pest could probably be bought for a song. "Beechwoods," thus devoted to educational purposes, later came into the hands of Thomas Percy, but the house, like that of "Weyanoke," was long since burned to the ground.

While Mrs. Audubon was establishing her rules and authority at the Percy school, the naturalist was painting with Stein at Natchez, and he remained there with his elder son until the spring of 1823. At this period he wrote in his journal: "I had finally determined to break through all bonds, and follow my ornithological pursuits. My best friends solemnly regarded me as a madman, and my wife and family alone gave me encouragement. My wife determined that my genius should prevail, and that my final success as an ornithologist should be triumphant."

In March, 1823, Audubon and friend Stein bought a horse and wagon, and in the hope of raising money through their joint efforts as itinerant portrait painters, set out with Victor on a tour of the Southern States. This venture, however, did not succeed, and after visiting Jackson and a number of other towns, they disbanded at New Orleans. Audubon then started north with his son for Louisville, but upon paying a visit to his wife at the "Beechwoods" school, he was invited by the Percys to remain there for the summer and "teach the young ladies music and drawing." According to a tradition which has survived among the Percy descendants, Audubon spent most of his time in roaming through the woods, but he also taught his wife's pupils to swim in the large spring house at "Weyanoke," where the water could be deepened at pleasure. It was also said that he painted the Wild Turkeys in the woods of Sleepy Hollow near by, but I have already given Audubon's own record in regard to one of these pictures, and, as Mr. Arthur remarks, the places in Louisiana where he drew these famous subjects are as numerous as the beds in which Lafayette slept when at New Orleans.

Audubon remained with the Percys during the greater part of the summer, or until some misunderstanding arose, when he was again adrift and upon a sea of difficulties. While visiting a plantation near Natchez, both he and Victor were stricken with fever; his faithful wife hastened to them, and after nursing both back to health, she returned with them to the Percy plantation, where they remained from the 8th to the 30th of September.

In the autumn of 1823 Audubon was determined to visit Philadelphia, in the hope of finding a sponsor for his "Ornithology." Although the work was then far from ready for publication, he felt that at least he might better his condition, and with this end in view he sent his drawings from Natchez to that city; a hasty visit was made also to New Orleans, for the purpose, no doubt, of obtaining credentials to possible patrons in the East. At last, on October 3, he started with Victor on the steamer Magnet[296] for Louisville. Low water quickly held them up after entering the mouth of the Ohio, and they were obliged to disembark at the little village of Trinity, at the mouth of Cash Creek, the scene of Audubon's misadventures with Rozier thirteen years before. The remoteness of the situation and the state of their funds, which corresponded with that of the river, left no alternative but to walk, and they undertook to reach Louisville, several hundred miles distant, afoot. Two other travelers joined them, and with Victor, then a lad of nearly fourteen, the party left the creek at noon on October 15 and struck across country through the forests and canebrakes. At Green River, which was reached on the 21st, Victor gave out from sheer exhaustion,[297]and the remainder of the journey was finished in a Jersey wagon. At length, said Audubon, "I entered Louisville with thirteen dollars in my pocket." At Shippingport, then an independent town at the Falls of the Ohio, he was obliged to settle down for the winter. A place for Victor was found in the counting-house of Nicholas A. Berthoud, while the father undertook anything that came to hand, painting portraits, landscapes, panels for river boats, and even street signs, so hard pressed was he at times to eke out a subsistence for them both. Yet Audubon was as sanguine as ever, and on November 9 he recorded the resolution "to paint one hundred views of American scenery," and added: "I shall not be surprised to find myself seated at the foot of Niagara," a prediction which was fulfilled in the following year.

During the winter spent at Shippingport, Audubon lost a gentle friend in Madame Berthoud,[298] the mother of Nicholas. In his journal for January 20, 1824, we read his emotional words:

Audubon makes his bow at Philadelphia—Is greeted with plaudits and cold water—Friendship of Harlan, Sully, Bonaparte and Harris—Hostility of Ord, Lawson and other friends of Alexander Wilson—A meeting of academicians—Visit to "Mill Grove"—Exhibits drawings in New York and becomes a member of the Lyceum—At the Falls of Niagara—In a gale on Lake Erie—Episode at Meadville—Walk to Pittsburgh—Tour of Lakes Ontario and Champlain—Decides to take his drawings to Europe—Descends the Ohio in a skiff—Stranded at Cincinnati—Teaching at St. Francisville.

In 1824 after five hard years of struggle and embarrassment, Audubon decided that the time had come to bring his labors to the light of day. At thirty-nine, he read and spoke two languages but was without adequate training in either; he had never written a line for publication, and to the scientific world he was a stranger. Though without a definite plan, he cherished the ardent hope of presenting the birds of his beloved America as he had depicted them, to the size of life, and with all the added interest and zest that a natural environment could give them.

To Philadelphia the naturalist now turned his steps, for that city was then a Mecca for scientific men. Leaving Shippingport in March, he reached the Quaker capital on the fifth day of April. There he purchased a new suit of clothes, and, dressed "with extreme neatness," paid his respects to Dr. William Mease, the one friend there whom he had known intimately in his younger and more prosperous days. It was primarily through this excellent man's interest that Audubon met the leading artists and scientific men of the city, including Thomas Sully, Robert and Rembrandt Peale, Richard Harlan, Charles Le Sueur, and Charles L. Bonaparte, the latter then a rising young ornithologist of one and twenty. It was Bonaparte who introduced Audubon to the Academy of Natural Sciences, where his drawings were exhibited and generally admired. Among his critics on that occasion was George Ord, who from their first interview seems to have looked upon the new luminary with jealous eyes. Whether this was true or not, there is no doubt that Ord became one of his few really bitter and implacable adversaries, and not many days elapsed before Audubon came to feel that many in Philadelphia would be glad to see him return to the backwoods of the Middle West, from which, like an apple of Sodom, he seemed suddenly to have dropped into their midst. Those who were most interested in the continued sale and success of Wilson's Ornithology, he declared, advised him not to publish anything, and threw not only cold water but ice upon all his plans. Thus began that unseemly rivalry, fostered for many years by George Ord in this country, between the friends of Alexander Wilson and those of John James Audubon, the dead embers of which are occasionally stirred even to this day.[299]

Ord, who was about Audubon's own age, was a quiet, persistent, and unassuming worker, held in high esteem by many of his associates. Audubon seems to have done his best to conciliate him then and at a later day, but all to no purpose; Dr. Harlan once advised him to give up the attempt, since Ord, he declared, had no heart for friendship, having been denied that blessing by nature herself. Ord, as we have seen, had edited the eighth and written the ninth, or concluding, volume of Wilson's American Ornithology, as well as a life of its author; the appearance of a new star in the ornithological horizon may not have been a welcome sight. At all events, we soon find him engaged upon a new edition of Wilson's work.[300] Ord had objected to Audubon's method of combining plants and other accessories with his drawings of birds, a criticism that in the case of purely technical works could be easily sustained, and some of his later charges, though carried too far, were not wholly without foundation.[301]

Bonaparte,[302] on the other hand, was captivated by Audubon's drawings and anxious to secure his services for his own work, then well in hand. This was the American Ornithology, for which Titian R. Peale was then making the drawings, and Thomas Lawson, who had been Wilson's engraver, was engaged on the plates; though quite distinct in itself, this was much in the style of Wilson's earlier work, of which it was virtually a continuation. When Bonaparte introduced Audubon to these men, it is not surprising that the meeting was not productive of the best of feeling on either side. Peale's stiff and rather conventional portraits of birds naturally failed to awaken enthusiasm in "the trader naturalist," as some who looked upon him as a rival rather contemptuously called him. The interview with Lawson, if correctly reported by his friend,[303] shows that his interest could not have been of the most disinterested sort. "Lawson told me," said this reporter, "that he spoke freely of the pictures, and said that they were ill drawn, not true to nature, and anatomically incorrect." Thereupon Bonaparte defended them warmly, saying that he would buy them and that Lawson should engrave them. "You may buy them," said the Scotchman, "but I will not engrave them ... because ornithology requires truth in the forms, and correctness in the lines. Here are neither." Other meetings are said to have followed, but to have ended only in mutual dislike. Nevertheless, one of Audubon's drawings was engraved by Lawson and appeared in Bonaparte's work,[304] but most of the figures in Bonaparte's concluding volumes were by the hand of a German named Alexander Rider. It was doubtless a fortunate circumstance that the prejudice and obstinacy of this overbearing Scot was a bar to any further absorption of Audubon's talents.[305]

Audubon met at this time a more appreciative engraver in Mr. Fairman, who urged him to take his drawings to Europe and have them engraved in a superior style; on July 12 the naturalist wrote that he had drawn "for Mr. Fairman a small grouse to be put on a banknote belonging to the State of New Jersey." By some lucky chance this incident brought him the acquaintance of Edward Harris,[306] whom he met that summer in Philadelphia, and who became one of his most constant and disinterested friends. It was Harris who a few days after their meeting took all of the drawings which Audubon had for sale and at the artist's own prices;[307] who for years was continually sending him rare or desirable specimens of birds; who accompanied him through the Southern States to Florida in 1837 and on the famous Missouri River Expedition in 1843. Edward Harris became a patron of science through his friendship with scientific men, and many besides Audubon were indebted to him for judicious advice as well as more substantial benefits.

AN EARLY LETTER TO EDWARD HARRIS, DATED JULY 14, 1824 AT THE BEGINNING OF THEIR LIFE-LONG FRIENDSHIP.

From the Jeanes MSS. Audubon's last letter to Edward Harris, from the same source, is reproduced in Volume II, page 287.

The Academy of Natural Sciences, founded in 1812, was well established at this time, and its rapidly growing Museum was already the largest and most valuable in the New World; ornithology was a favored subject, and the Academy's roll embraced every American pioneer worker of note in the entire field of the natural sciences. The following account of a meeting of the Academy, held on October 11, 1825, when Ord presided, has been preserved in a letter of the period:[308]

Among the working naturalists at Philadelphia Dr. Richard Harlan was possibly one whose friendship was most valuable to Audubon; the artist from whom he received most encouragement was Thomas Sully, the portrait painter, who took him into his studio and gave him lessons in the use of oils. Sully was one of those who saw the good side of Audubon's character, discerned his talent, and predicted for him a great future; at a later day Sully was able to rejoice in finding his prediction amply fulfilled.[309]

Convinced that the advice which Fairman and Bonaparte had given him was sound, Audubon decided to look to Europe for a publisher of his Birds, and with this end in view, set hard to work at his drawings. "I had some pupils offered," he said, "at a dollar per lesson; but I found the citizens unwilling to pay for art, although they affected to patronize it. I exhibited my drawings for a week, but found the show did not pay, and so determined to remove myself." Audubon remained in Philadelphia until August, and while in doubt as to what step he should take next, he was cheered by a visit to "Mill Grove," made in the carriage of his Quaker friend, Reuben Haines. To quote his journal:

In this dramatic rehearsal the naturalist clearly implies that he was married in the parlor of his own home, but his excellent wife, who was surely in this instance the better authority, explicitly states that their marriage took place in her father's house at "Fatland Ford." Since Audubon was in the habit of sending extracts from his journal to his family, it is clear that errors of this sort were the simple result of an impulsive temperament; the moment his imagination pictured his wedding as having taken place in his old abode, down went the jotting in the journal, which was written at odd moments anywhere, often at late hours, and with no care in revision or thought of future publication.

On August 1, 1824, Audubon recorded in his diary that he had left Philadelphia for New York on the day before, "in good health, free from debt, and free from anxiety about the future." Sully had given him glowing letters of introduction to Gilbert Stuart, Washington Allston and Colonel Trumbull, but then as now midsummer was not a propitious time to find city people at home, and he began to consider the advisability of visiting both Albany and Boston. Alternately elated or depressed by the prospects of the day or the hour, Audubon wrote on August 4 that he had called with a letter of introduction on Dr. Mitchell, who had given him "a kind letter to his friend Dr. Barnes." This hurriedly penciled note from the Nestor of American science of that day has been carefully preserved, and reads as follows:[310]

NOTE OF DR. SAMUEL L. MITCHELL, WRITTEN HURRIEDLY IN PENCIL, RECOMMENDING AUDUBON TO HIS FRIEND, DR. BARNES, AUGUST 4, 1824

From the Howland MSS.

Dr. Mitchell, who was the father and first president of the Lyceum of Natural History, had been a friend of young Audubon when he was clerking in New York in 1807.[311] His recommendation was accepted, and the naturalist was enrolled on the Lyceum's list of members; to justify his election, two papers, representing his first contribution to ornithology, were presented to the Society, and appeared in its Annals of that year.[312] Audubon visited the Lyceum with Dr. DeKay and exhibited his drawings, but said that he felt awkward and uncomfortable. On August 3 he called on John Vanderlyn, the artist, examined his pictures, and "saw the medal given him by Napoleon, but was not impressed with the idea that he was a great painter." Upon meeting Vanderlyn again a little later, he was asked to sit for a portrait of Andrew Jackson; his journal entry regarding the incident was as follows:[313]

The context shows that the sitting was given, and as Mr. Stanley C. Arthur remarks, Vanderlyn's portrait, which now hangs in the City Hall in New York, shows "Old Hickory" from the shoulders up, but from the shoulders down it is John James Audubon.

On the 14th Audubon wrote cheerfully to Sully:

The very next day Audubon changed his plans and sailed up the Hudson to Albany, where he hoped to meet De Witt Clinton, then at the height of his fame, who in the course of his great undertakings had found time to write letters on the natural history and antiquities of his State, and Dr. Beck, the botanist. Failing to find either at home, Audubon was compelled by the depleted state of his pocketbook to give up his plan of visiting Boston, and being determined to see Niagara Falls, he took passage on a canal boat to Buffalo instead. The Falls were reached on the 24th of August, and it was then, on recording his name at an hotel, that Audubon wrote underneath: "Who, like Wilson, will ramble, but never, like that great man, die under the lash of a bookseller."[314] Upon his first view of the Falls he was satisfied that Niagara never had been and never could be painted. He wanted to cross the bridge at Goat Island but was deterred by the necessity of economy. Visitors it seems, had already learned to venture under a small section of the American Falls, and Audubon said that while looking through the falling sheet of water, "at their feet thousands of eels were lying side by side, trying vainly to ascend the torrent." After strolling through the village to find some bread and milk, the naturalist recorded that he ate a good dinner for twelve cents, and that he went to bed "thinking of Franklin eating his roll in the streets of Philadelphia, of Goldsmith traveling by the aid of his musical powers, and of other great men who had worked their way through hardships and difficulties to fame, and fell asleep, hoping, by persevering industry, to make a name for himself among his countrymen."

The schooner from Buffalo to Erie, Pennsylvania, on which Audubon had taken deck passage, as he was unable to afford a berth in the cabin, was caught in a violent gale on the way and was obliged to anchor in the harbor of Presque Isle. "It was on the 29th of August, 1824," his diary reads, "and never shall I forget that morning." Captain Judd, of the United States Navy, had sent a gig with six men to its relief, and "my drawings," he continues, "were put into the boat with the greatest care. We shifted into it, and seated ourselves according to direction. Our brave fellows pulled hard, and every moment brought us nearer the American shore; I leaped upon it with elated heart. My drawings were safely landed, and for anything else I cared little at the moment."

At this point Audubon set out with a fellow traveler, who was also an artist, for Meadville, Pennsylvania. The earliest version of his journal[315] which gives an account of this experience reads as follows:

Five dollars was paid to their driver, and when they reached Meadville, and entered J. E. Smith's "Traveler's Rest," they had but one hundred and fifty cents between them. No time was to be lost, and Audubon at once started out with his portfolio and his artist friend to look for work:

According to a story current at Meadville long after the event Audubon made the acquaintance of Mr. Benedict, a merchant, lately come from New Haven, whose attractive daughter, named Jennett,[316] was then one and twenty; his family lived at the village tavern, called the "Torbett House," in which Mr. Augustus Colson had a store. It was Mr. Colson, to whom Audubon probably refers, who responded generously to his appeal for work, and called in a number of his young friends as possible patrons. Among them was Miss Jennett Benedict, and the naturalist, attracted by her agreeable manners and pleasing appearance, asked permission to make a portrait-sketch, saying that he would pay for the privilege by presenting her with a copy. This was evidently good business enterprise, for, according to the story, a grain bin in the Colson store was soon converted into a studio, and Audubon was rewarded by a number of sitters. Here is his account from the record just quoted:

MISS JENNETT BENEDICT

AN EXAMPLE OF AUDUBON'S ITINERANT PORTRAITURE; DRAWN AT MEADVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA, IN 1824. AFTER THE ORIGINAL CRAYON DRAWING IN POSSESSION OF MR. FREDERICK A. STERLING.

MISS ELIZA PIRRIE

"MY LOVELY MISS PIRRIE OF 'OAKLEY,'" AUDUBON'S PUPIL IN 1821. AFTER A PORTRAIT IN POSSESSION OF HER GRANDDAUGHTER, MISS LUCY M. MATTHEWS. PUBLISHED BY COURTESY OF MR. STANLEY CLISBY ARTHUR.

A month was spent at Pittsburgh, where Audubon searched the country for birds and continued his drawings. While there he made the acquaintance of the Reverend John Henry Hopkins, a man of superb appearance and rare conversational and oratorical powers, later known as the learned and versatile first Episcopal Bishop of Vermont. Audubon attended some of the ministrations of this remarkable man, through whose influence, he said, "I was brought to think, more than I usually did, of religious matters; but I never think of churches without feeling sick at heart at the sham and show of some of their professors. To repay evil with kindness is the religion that I was taught to practice, and this will forever be my rule."

In the autumn of 1824 Audubon planned another visit to the Great Lakes in search of new birds, and tried to induce his friend, Mr. Edward Harris, to accompany him. While wandering in the forests along those lakes he thought out the plan which was finally followed in the publication of his Birds of America:

Audubon's journal kept on the lakes has been lost, but that journey was fresh in mind when he wrote the following letter to Edward Harris.[318]

After his tour of the Lakes Audubon returned to Pittsburgh, and on October 24, 1824, started down the Ohio in a skiff, intending to descend to the Mississippi and thence reach his family in Louisiana. Bad weather and lack of funds interfered with this plan, and ere long he was once more stranded in Cincinnati, where he was beset by claimants for payment upon articles ordered for the Western Museum five years before. Finding it difficult at this time to replenish an empty purse, Audubon felt that he must borrow fifteen dollars, but could not make up his mind how to ask the favor until he had several times walked past the house where he had once been known. Nevertheless, he succeeded in obtaining the necessary funds, took passage on a boat bound for Louisville, and slept cheerfully that night on a pile of shavings which he managed to scrape together on deck. "The spirit of contentment which I now feel," he wrote, "is strange; it borders on the sublime; and, enthusiastic or lunatic, as some of my relatives will have me, I am glad to possess such a spirit"; later he added: "I discover that my friends think only of my apparel, and those upon whom I have conferred acts of kindness prefer to remind me of my errors."

Louisville was reached on November 20, and a number of days were spent in visiting his eldest son, Victor, who was then at Shippingport.[319] He finally arrived at Bayou Sara in late November, 1824. The captain of his vessel, which was bound for New Orleans, put him ashore at midnight, and he was left to grope his way to the village on the hill. St. Francisville, to his dismay, was nearly deserted, a scourge of yellow fever having driven most of its inhabitants to the pine woods. The postmaster, however, was able to assure him that his wife and son were well, and Mr. Nübling, a friendly German, whom he described as "a man of cultivation and taste, and a lover of Natural Science," gave him refreshment and a horse. In his eagerness to cover the fifteen miles to the Percy house as rapidly as possible, he tried to strike a straight course through the dark forest, but missed his way, and dawn found him on unfamiliar ground; he then learned from a negro that he was two miles beyond the place. When he arrived at last "with rent and wasted clothes, and uncut hair, and altogether looking like the wandering Jew," his wife was busily engaged in teaching her pupils. During his absence of nearly fourteen months she had prospered greatly, and she was not only ready but eager to place her earnings at her husband's disposal.

When he had finally decided to take his drawings to Europe for publication, Audubon set to work to increase his capital, and soon had pupils in French, music, and drawing, while a dancing class of sixty was organized in a neighboring town. His country lads and lassies proved rather awkward material, and he broke his bow and nearly ruined his violin in his impatience to evoke a single graceful step or motion; when, however, he consented to dance to his own music, he never failed to bring down thunders of applause. These efforts were continued for over a year, until he had realized a considerable sum. With this money in hand, supplemented by what his wife could spare, he determined to seek his fortunes in the Old World.

Audubon sails from New Orleans—Life at Sea—Liverpool—The Rathbones—Exhibition of drawings an immediate success—Personal appearance—Painting habits resumed—His pictures and methods—Manchester visited—Plans for publication—The Birds of America—Welcome at Edinburgh—Lizars engraves the Turkey Cock—In the rôle of society's lion—His exhibition described by a French critic—Honors of science and the arts—Contributions to journals excite criticism—Aristocratic patrons—Visit to Scott—The Wild Pigeon and the rattlesnake—Letter to his wife—Prospectus—Journey to London.

When Audubon had reached the age of forty-one, his fortunes were destined to undergo still further kaleidoscopic changes, but the patterns and hue were now of a more agreeable character. He had failed repeatedly in business ventures of various kinds; he had failed also to find either encouragement or support for his ambitious schemes of publishing his drawings in the United States. But there was still a chance for success in the Old World, and thither he was determined to go to try the hazard of fortune in either England or France. Accordingly, he left his family at St. Francisville and went to New Orleans, where he engaged passage on a cotton schooner bound for Liverpool, named the Delos, Captain Joseph E. Hatch. With his drawings, a few books, and a purse, if not ample, at least sufficient for his immediate needs, and fortified with numerous letters, he finally set sail on the 17th of May, 1826.

EARLY UNPUBLISHED DRAWING OF THE "FROG-EATER," COOPER'S HAWK; "RED BANKS, KY. NOVEMBER 29, 1810. LONGEUR TOTAL 19 POUCES POIDS 1lb. 6oz. QUEUE 12 PENNES."

Published by courtesy of Mr. Joseph Y. Jeanes.

PENCIL SKETCH FROM AUDUBON'S JOURNAL OF HIS VOYAGE TO ENGLAND IN 1826: "SHARK 7 FEET LONG, OFF CUBA, JUNE 18TH, 1826."

Published by courtesy of Miss Maria R. Audubon.

FIRST PAGE OF AUDUBON'S JOURNAL OF HIS VOYAGE FROM NEW ORLEANS TO LIVERPOOL.

Reproduced by courtesy of the Misses Florence and Maria R. Audubon.

This voyage, like every other which the naturalist ever made, was turned to good account; the log book or journal kept on this occasion abounds in interesting observations upon the life of the sea, particularly on the fishes and birds which were encountered in the Gulf. The first page of this journal,[320] reproduced with orthographic exactness, reads as follows:

The captain and mates of the Delos were friendly, and whenever their vessel was becalmed, they would let down a boat so that Audubon could procure the stormy Petrel and numerous other birds which he was anxious to examine in the flesh or depict for his "Ornithology."

During his long voyage of sixty-five days our adventurous traveler was alternately elated or depressed by hopes or fears for the future, until land was at last reached on Friday, July 21, 1826. The appearance of Liverpool, said Audubon, "was agreeable, but no sooner had I entered it than the smoke became so oppressive to my lungs that I could hardly breathe." At the customs he was charged two pence on each of his drawings, "as they were water-colored," but on his American books he had to pay "four pence per pound," a circumstance in which he was possibly favored by the following letter which he had brought with him from a friend in New Orleans:

Among the letters which Audubon carried on this occasion, but which apparently he did not deliver, was the following, addressed by a friend in New Orleans to General Lafayette:[321]

Before Audubon left New Orleans, an old acquaintance, Mr. Vincent Nolte[322] of that city, had also furnished him with credentials, in which it was stated that the naturalist was carrying with him four hundred original drawings, and that his object was "to find a purchaser or a publisher." "He has a crowd of letters," continued Nolte, "from Mr. Clay, De Witt Clinton, and others for England, which will do much for him; but your introduction to Mr. Roscoe and others will do more." This judgment was sound, but the most valuable letter which Audubon carried proved to be that of Nolte himself addressed to Richard Rathbone, Esq., of Liverpool, for it brought him into immediate friendly relations with an influential family of merchants which also included William Rathbone, a brother, as well as their father, William Rathbone, Senior, whose interest in birds had made him in his younger days an amateur collector and student. Seldom has the rôle of Mæcenas been played more effectively and with less ostentation than by those intelligent men of affairs, to whom Audubon, with his fine enthusiasm and bold literary plans, seemed to embody all the romance of the New World. They stood sponsor for his work and worth, and did all in their power to make their new discovery known. At the home of the senior Rathbone, called "Greenbank," three miles out of Liverpool, the naturalist was warmly welcomed, and his excellent hostess, Mrs. William Rathbone, the "Queen bee," as he called her, received from him lessons in drawing and became his first subscriber.

At this period Audubon often complained of shyness felt in meeting strangers, but his "observatory nerves," as he said, never gave way. He studied his English friends as closely as he had the birds of America, and the results of his shrewd observations were often turned to practical account. That he was as diffident as he declared himself to be may be doubted, for he seems to have met nearly everyone of prominence wherever he went, and a list of his acquaintance at the end of his sojourn abroad would read much like a "Blue Book" of the British Isles.

At Liverpool Audubon received much assistance also from Edward Roscoe, botanist and writer, Dr. Thomas S. Traill[323] and Adam Hodgson, who introduced him to Lord Stanley. When he came to write his Ornithological Biography, these early friends were all publicly called by name, and we thus had (though, as it afterwards appeared, in name only) the "Rathbone Warbler,"[324] "Stanley Hawk," "Children's Warbler," "Cuvier's Regulus," "Roscoe's Yellow-throat," "Selby's Flycatcher," and still possess "Bewick's Wren," "Traill's Flycatcher," "Henslow's Bunting,"[325] "MacGillivray's Finch," and "Harlan's Hawk," to cite a few instances of this form of acknowledgment.

Within barely a week after landing at Liverpool a total stranger, Audubon was invited to show his drawings at the Royal Institution. The exhibition, which lasted a month, was a surprising success; 413 persons, as he recorded, were admitted on the second day, and it netted him one hundred pounds although no charge for admission was made during the first week.

Everyone, said the naturalist, was surprised at his appearance, for he wore his hair long, dressed in unfashionable clothes, rose early, worked late, and was abstemious in food and drink. Shortly after his arrival, his sister-in-law, Mrs. Alexander Gordon, urged him to have his hair cut and to buy a fashionable coat, but he could not then bear to sacrifice his ambrosial locks, which continued to wave over his shoulders until the following March. If we can accept Sir Walter Besant's characterization of the period, the "long-haired Achæan" was no stranger to the streets of London as late as 1837: "brave is the exhibition of flowing locks; they flow over the ears and over the coat-collars; you can smell the bear's grease across the street; and if these amaranthine locks were to be raised you would see the shiny coating of bear's grease upon the velvet collar below."

Audubon had not been in England three weeks before he resumed his drawing and painting habits, at first in order to repay his friends for their kindness, and later as a means of support; at times he would devote every spare moment to this work, and he was then able to paint fourteen hours at a stretch without fatigue. On October 2 he recorded that he had made in less than twenty minutes a diminutive sketch of the Turkey Cock from his large twenty-three hour picture. This was for Mrs. William Rathbone, Senior, who later presented it to him in the form of a handsome gold-mounted seal, inscribed with his favorite motto, "America, my country."[326] The facility which Audubon displayed in producing his pictures of animal life—American wild turkeys, trapped otters, fighting cats, English game pieces, and the like, in a style both novel and individual, added much to his immediate popularity in England, as it later did to his purse. His painting devices are thus referred to in a journal entry for January, 1827:

When he was painting pheasants and needed a white one as "a keystone of light" to his picture, a nobleman sent word that he would be given "leave to see the pictures" in his hall, but this Audubon characteristically refused, being determined to pay no such visits without invitation.

On the 10th of September, 1826, Audubon left Liverpool, in a hopeful mood, for Manchester, with the intention of visiting the chief cities of England and Scotland. He was fortified with a bundle of letters to a long list of distinguished people, including Baron von Humboldt, General Lafayette, Sir Walter Scott, Sir Humphry Davy and Sir Thomas Lawrence. His first step proved a disappointment, and when he finally left the City of Spindles six weeks later, he found himself poorer than when he had entered it. At Manchester, however, he added to his list of interested friends and possible patrons, and acting upon their suggestion, opened a subscription book for the publication of his long meditated work, to be called The Birds of America. The Rathbones, as well as other friends whose advice he esteemed, tried to dissuade him from the plan of publishing his drawings in their full size, which was that of life, on account of the great expense involved and the enormous bulk such a work would assume; but he could not bring himself to give up the idea, in which he received the support of the London bookseller, Mr. Bohn, who, after seeing Audubon's drawings reversed his opinion, saying that they must be brought out in their full size, and that they would certainly pay.

After coming to England Audubon often thought of the shifting scenes and strange contrasts his life had brought. One day he felt the pinch of poverty, but on the next fared sumptuously at the tables of the rich; now a rambler in the wilds of America, glad to accept the hospitality of the humblest prairie squatter, now the guest of some metropolitan aristocrat. "The squatter," he said, when writing in England, "is rough, true, and hospitable; my friends here polished, true, and generous. Both give freely, and he who during the tough storms of life can be in such spots may well say that he has tasted happiness."

While at Manchester Audubon was driven to the town of Bakewell, "the spot," he wrote in deference to his wife, "which has been honored with thy ancestor's name." Shortly after, on October 23, he started by stage for Edinburgh, and the distance of 212 miles was covered in three days; the fare was £5 5s. 5d., which he regarded as exorbitant, but he complained not so much of the charge as of the beggarly manner of the drivers, who never hesitated to open the door of their coach and ask for a shilling at the slightest provocation.

At Edinburgh Audubon was welcomed so warmly that he began to feel that ultimate success was at last within his reach. Professor Robert Jameson of the University did much to make his work known, and invited him to coöperate in an enterprise upon which he was then engaged;[327] this was pronounced by Dr. Knox of the Medical School to be a "job book," but whatever its merits may have been, Audubon decided after due reflection to stand on his own feet.

Not long after reaching the Scottish capital, Audubon made the acquaintance of Mr. W. Home Lizars, styled "a Mr. Lizard" by a snapshot biographer of a later day, a well known, expert engraver and painter, who engaged in various publishing enterprises. When Audubon had held up a few of his drawings for his inspection, Lizars rose, exclaiming: "My God! I never saw anything like this before." The picture of the Mockingbirds attacked by a rattlesnake particularly struck his fancy, but when he came to the drawing of the Great-footed Hawks, "with bloody rags at their beaks' ends, and cruel delight in their daring eyes," Lizars declared that he would both engrave and publish it. "Mr. Audubon," said he, "the people here don't know who you are at all, but depend upon it, they shall know." Lizars eventually agreed to engrave and bring out the first specimen number of The Birds of America, and about the 10th of November made a beginning with the first plate. On November 28, 1826, he handed Audubon a first proof of the Wild Turkey Cock, a subject chosen to justify the great size of the work, which was to be in double elephant folio, and which in point of size is perhaps to this day the largest extended publication in existence.[328] This and the second plate, which represented the Yellow-billed Cuckoo[329] in the act of seizing a tiger swallowtail butterfly on a branch of the paw-paw tree, were finished by December 10; the first number of five plates was ready some weeks later. Lizars engraved at Edinburgh the first ten of Audubon's plates, but most of these were subsequently retouched, colored and reissued by his successor in London, as will presently appear.

PLATE I

Wild Turkey      MELEAGRIS GALLOPAVO. Linn.     Male.

American Cane. Miegia macrosperma.

Drawn from nature by J. J. Audubon F.R.S.F.L.S. Engraved by W. H. Lizars Edinr.
Retouched by R. Havell Junr.

When Audubon's pictures were exhibited at the Royal Institution of Edinburgh, their success was immediate, and like the appearance of a new Waverley novel, they became the talk of the town; the American woodsman had provided a new thrill for the leaders of fashion, as well as for the literati and the scientific men. The "noblest Roman of them all," Sir Walter Scott, refused to attend, but after having met the naturalist he wrote this in his journal: "I wish I had gone to see his drawings; but I had heard so much about them that I resolved not to see them—'a crazy way of mine, your honor.'"

Philarète-Chasles, a well known French critic of the period, has left the following record[330] of the effect which this exhibition made on his impressionable mind:

Another French writer[331] remarked that Audubon produced the same sensation among the savants of England that Franklin had made at the close of the eighteenth century among the politicians of the Old World; his works, he added, should be translated into his native tongue, and produced in a form which would enable them to reach the library of every naturalist in France.

One after another the scientific, literary, and arts societies of the modern Athens elected Audubon to honorary membership; Combe, the phrenologist and author of The Constitution of Man, examined the naturalist's head and modeled it in plaster, for of course it proved to be a perfect exemplification of his system; Syme, the artist, did his portrait for Lizars to engrave. Meanwhile the press was giving such flattering accounts of the man and his work that Audubon confessed that he was quite ashamed to walk the street. At the annual banquet of the Royal Institution, held at the Waterloo Hotel and presided over by Lord Elgin, Audubon was toasted, and it required all his resolution to rise and, for the first time in his life, address a large assembly; this, however, he managed to do in the following words: "Gentlemen; my command of words in which to reply to your kindness is almost as limited 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." On the 10th of December he wrote: "My situation in Edinburgh borders on the miraculous," and he felt that his reception in that city was a good augury for the future. But the life that he was compelled to lead was extremely fatiguing, and he often longed to return to his family and to his favorite magnolia woods in Louisiana. "I go to dine," he wrote, "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 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 best interests at heart tell me I must not refuse a single invitation." But notwithstanding the tax which society always levies upon the lion's strength, he wrote almost daily in his journal or diary,[332] and its pages, from which we have been quoting, became a mirror of all that he saw, heard, or did. Audubon was generous with his time, as with everything else, and would never hesitate to lay aside his own work for the sake of a friend who was eager to acquire his method of drawing. But when his entertainment commenced with an invitation to breakfast, he began to be alarmed at the large share of his working hours which had to be surrendered to his friends. "I seem, in a measure," he said, "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.... It is Mr. Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon there, and I can only hope they will not make a conceited fool of Mr. Audubon at last."

In response to urgent appeals he began at this time to contribute to the scientific journals of the Scottish capital, a step which only served to remind him that the rose was more prolific in thorns than flowers. Dr. Brewster, however, in his Journal of Science, and John Wilson in Blackwoods, sang pæans in his praise, and there is no doubt that "Christopher North," so like and yet so unlike the American woodsman, did much to smooth his path in his own country as well as in Europe. Though keenly feeling the need of literary advice in those early contributions, Audubon was quite shocked at the alterations which Dr. Brewster had made in one of these articles, for though the editor had "greatly improved the style," he had quite "destroyed the matter."

On December 21, 1826, Audubon wrote to Thomas Sully that he would send him a copy of the first number of his Birds, with the request that he forward it in his name "to that Institution which thought me unworthy to be a member.... There is no malice in my heart," he continued, "and I wish no return or acknowledgment from them. I am now determined never to be a member of that Philadelphia Society." Let it be noted, however, that Audubon was elected to membership in the American Philosophical Society, when their recognition could no longer be withheld and when mutual animosities had died down. Three days later he recorded that all of his drawings had been taken from the walls of the Royal Institution, where they had been on exhibition a month, and that he was intending to present to the Society his large canvas of the Wild Turkeys, for which Galley, the picture dealer, had offered him a hundred guineas on the previous day.[333]

Among Audubon's early patrons were Lord and Lady Morton, and more than once he was invited to visit them in their beautiful country seat of "Dalmahoy," where a large, square, half-Gothic building, crowned with turrets and adorned with all the signs of heraldry, overlooked a beautiful landscape to Edinburgh, marked by its famous castle, seen in miniature on the horizon, eight miles away. Being somewhat apprehensive of meeting the former Chamberlain to the late Queen Charlotte, Audubon had imagined the Earl to be "a man of great physical strength and size"; instead, however, he saw

After luncheon Audubon's "Book of Nature" was produced, and his drawings spread out and admired. Next day the Countess, who was "a woman of superior intellect and conversation," was given "a most unnecessary lesson" in drawing, for, said the naturalist, "she drew much better than I did; but I taught her to rub with cork, and prepare for water-color." Before he left the Countess wrote her name in his subscription book, and arranged that he should return and resume his instruction.

One of Audubon's early friends at Edinburgh was Captain Basil Hall,[334] traveler and writer, who was then about to start on a journey through the United States; he told the naturalist that he was a midshipman on board the Leander "when Pierce was killed off New York," at the time of Audubon's return with Rozier to America in 1806, when Captain Sammis, upon seeing the British frigate, "wore around Long Island Sound, and reached New York by Hell Gate." It was at Captain Hall's home that Audubon met Francis Jeffrey. The indomitable critic and reviewer was described as "a small (not to say tiny) man," who entered the room "with a woman under one arm, and a hat under the other." "His looks were shrewd," said the naturalist, his eyes "almost cunning" and though he talked much, he appeared unsympathetic. Their meeting was productive of no friendly feelings on either side.

Three months after reaching Edinburgh, the long awaited opportunity of meeting the greatest literary figure of the day came to Audubon unexpectedly, for he did not wish to be introduced in a crowd. Under date of January 22, 1827, he wrote that Captain Hall came to his rooms and said: "Put on your coat, and come with me to Sir Walter Scott: he wishes to see you now." "In a moment," said Audubon, "I was ready.... My heart trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over." When they were ushered into Sir Walter's study, the great Scot came forward, and warmly pressing the hand of his visitor, said he was glad to have the honor of meeting him. Audubon's record of the meeting continues:

Two days later Audubon paid Scott a second visit, this time with his portfolio, but little was recorded of this interview other than that it was more agreeable than the first, and that he greatly admired the accomplished Miss Scott, to whom he later sent as a gift the first number of his plates. Audubon's drawings were exhibited at a meeting of the Royal Society over which Sir Walter presided, and Scott was also in attendance at the Royal Institution when Audubon's large painting of the Black Cocks was shown. "We talked much" on this occasion, said the naturalist, "and I would have gladly joined him in a glass of wine, but my foolish habits prevented me." This restriction on wine was soon removed, as was that on whisky, whether of the Scotch or Kentucky brand, and during his later life in America Audubon was never a teetotaler by any means. While at the Exhibition Sir Walter pointed to Landseer's picture of the dying stag, saying, "many such scenes, Mr. Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger days." Audubon was doubtless too polite to express an opinion of that popular artist, though of that very picture he had written in his journal three days before that there was no nature in it, and that he considered it a farce; "the stag," he said, "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 had 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."

Scott and Audubon were kindred spirits in their love of sport, of wild and untameable nature, as well as of man in his Homeric relation to it. Shortly after their first interview the great Scotsman wrote this handsome tribute in his journal:

Of the later visit of which we just spoke we find this account:

Audubon was anxious to receive a written recommendation from the great "Wizard of the North" touching the merits of his work, the publication of which had just begun, but Sir Walter Scott sensibly demurred, on the ground that his knowledge of natural history was insufficient to qualify him to pass expert judgment. "But," he added, "I can easily and truly say, that what I have had the pleasure of seeing, touching your talents and manners, corresponds with all I have heard in your favor; and I am a sincere believer in the extent of your scientific attainments."

While Audubon was playing the rôle of society's pet lion at Edinburgh in the winter of 1827, he was painting to meet the expense of engraving his first plates, and writing at odd times of the day or night. On February 20 he recorded that his paper on the "Habits of the Wild Pigeon of America" was begun on the previous Wednesday, and finished at half past three in the morning; so completely, said he, was he transported to the woods of America and to the pigeons, that his ears "were as if really filled with the noise of their wings"; yet he added that were it not for the facts it contained, he would not give a cent for it, "nor anybody else, I dare say." Four days later, at the Wernerian Society, he read his paper on the rattlesnake, but the torrent of abuse which soon rewarded his efforts in this direction finally led him to reserve all literary efforts for a future and more propitious time.[335]

A large painting begun in January of this year, called "Pheasants attacked by a Fox," was probably a variant of the "Pheasants attacked by a Dog" (illustrated at page 394), the original of which is now in the American Museum of Natural History, New York City. This canvas, which was exhibited by the Scottish Society of Artists in February, 1827, measured nine by six feet, and was the largest piece he had ever attempted. "Sometimes I like the picture," he said, and "then a heat rises in my face and I think it a miserable daub." "As to the birds," he added, "so far as they are concerned I am quite satisfied, but the ground, the foliage, the sky, the distance, are dreadful."[336]

In the spring of 1827 Audubon enjoyed the novel sensation of going to church in a sedan chair, and of hearing Sidney Smith preach. "He pleased me at times," he said, "by painting my foibles with care, and again I felt the color come to my cheeks as he portrayed my sins." Later there was an opportunity to meet the famous preacher with his fair daughter, and to show them his drawings of American birds.

The following letter[337] was sent at this time to his wife in America:

At Edinburgh Audubon met a young landscape painter, Joseph B. Kidd, and the two worked together for some time, Kidd receiving instruction in animal painting and Audubon hints on the treatment of his landscapes, which had always been a source of trouble to him. Kidd was Audubon's Edinburgh agent for a time, and later entered upon the ambitious project of reproducing all of his birds in oils, as will be noticed later.[339]

On March 17, 1827, when the second number of his Birds was in preparation, Audubon boldly issued his "Prospectus," contrary to the advice of some of his friends, who could see only egregious folly in such an undertaking and regarded it as foredoomed to failure. As everybody knows, it is easier to say things than to do them, but all these friendly critics sang a different tune later on, when they had seen more of the indomitable will and self-reliance of the man, who was to carry steadily forward to a successful issue a work which was in press nearly twelve years and which cost over $100,000 to produce. In Audubon's original prospectus of The Birds of America the specifications as to the form, size, and cost of the work, which had been determined for some months, underwent little change in subsequent editions of this printed statement.[340]

Audubon left Edinburgh for London on April 5, 1827, with locks shorn but energy unabated. He followed a roundabout course, visiting Belford, "Mitford Castle," Newcastle-upon-Tyne, York, Leeds, Liverpool, and Shrewsbury, at every point extending his acquaintance, showing his drawings to many, and adding appreciably to his growing list of subscribers. Several days were spent in hunting and drawing birds with the Selbys, at their beautiful country place called "Twizel House," at Belford, in Northumberland, where he was soon made to feel as much at home as with his older Liverpool friends, the Rathbones, at "Green Bank."

P. J. Selby, after whom Audubon named a Flycatcher which appeared in his second number, was an amateur artist and ornithologist, and at that time was engaged upon an extensive publication to which Audubon was invited to contribute, a single volume of plates and text having then been published.[341]

At Newcastle, where Audubon spent a week, he saw much of its grand old man, Thomas Bewick, "the first wood cutter in the world," and conceived a deep regard for him, which he afterwards expressed in one of his "Episodes." As they parted, this great son of nature held him closely by the hand, and for the third time repeated, "God preserve you!" "I looked at him in such a manner," said Audubon, "that I am sure he understood I could not speak."

As he proceeded southward, his subscription list augmented apace, Manchester alone giving him eighteen new names, and he began to feel more sanguine of success, if, he added, "I continue to be honest, industrious, and consistent."

Impressions of the metropolis—A trunk full of letters—Friendship of Children—Sir Thomas Lawrence—Lizars stops work—A family of artists—Robert Havell, Junior—The Birds of America fly to London—The Zoölogical Gallery—Crisis in the naturalist's affairs—Royal patronage—Interview with Gallatin—Interesting the Queen—Desertion of patrons—Painting to independence—Personal habits and tastes—Enters the Linnæan Society—The White-headed Eagle—Visit to the great universities—Declines to write for magazines—Audubon-Swainson correspondence—"Highfield Hall" near Tyttenhanger—In Paris with Swainson—Glimpses of Cuvier—His report on The Birds of America—Patronage of the French Government and the Duke of Orleans—Bonaparte the naturalist.

Audubon reached London on May 21, 1827, and put up at the "Bull and Mouth" tavern, but soon moved into more permanent lodgings at number 55 Great Russell Street, near the British Museum. Though for a long time eager to see the capital, no sooner had he reached it than he was anxious to be away and more homesick than ever for his family and his beloved America. London then seemed to him "like the mouth of an immense monster, guarded by millions of sharp-edged teeth," from which he could escape only by miracle.

He had brought with him a formidable array of letters addressed to the élite of the capital,[342] and he bore besides nearly a trunkful for the Continent, as well as general letters from Henry Clay, Andrew Jackson and others in America for our consular and diplomatic representatives in Europe. His epistolary basis for the acquisition of useful acquaintances could hardly have been better, and further testimonials were gathered at every stage of his progress to the city of his hopes, but Audubon's best letter of credit, which could be read by all the world, was an open, winning countenance. After he had wandered over London for the greater part of three days without finding a single individual at home, he was tempted to consign his valuable documents to the post, an error which he did not repeat, as it deprived him of the acquaintance of fully one-half of the people to whom they were addressed. One of these London letters which follows, written by Captain Basil Hall to John Murray, the noted publisher and founder of the Quarterly Review, is particularly interesting in showing that Audubon was far from pleased with the progress of his work in Edinburgh, and that he was then contemplating a change which was later effected.

Audubon carried also a long letter from "Mr. Hay,"[343] dated at "16 Athol Crescent, Edinburgh, 15 March, 1827," and addressed to the care of his brother, Robert William Hay, of Downing Street, West, in which this curious statement occurs: "Mr. A. is son of the late French Admiral Audubon, but has himself lived from the cradle in the United States, having been born in one of the French colonies."

The document which was to prove of greatest service to him, however, was addressed to John George Children,[344] then in charge of the Department of Zoölogy in the British Museum and secretary of the Royal Society. Children assumed the management of Audubon's work when he returned to America in 1829 and again in 1831; to him and Lord Stanley, in 1830, the naturalist probably owed his nomination to membership in the Royal Society.

Soon after reaching London Audubon paid his respects to Sir Thomas Lawrence, for whom he had two letters, and made an appointment for showing his work to this famous artist. He was also gratified to receive the subscription of Lord Stanley and of Charles Lucien Bonaparte, who was then in London.

Audubon had not been in London a month before word was received from Lizars that all his colorers had struck work and that everything was at a stand. Accordingly, he began to search London for skilled workmen, and on June 18 wrote: "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!" Three days later another discouraging letter came from Lizars, who shortly after threw up his contract and left his patron in a sad predicament—with an enormously expensive work, still-born, on his hands, without adequate funds, and, in short, with all his cherished plans suspended in mid-air. Audubon no doubt realized that if his grand undertaking were to succeed at all, it must experience a new birth in London, where an expert engraver of the requisite enterprise and zeal must be found without delay. He closed his journal on the second day of July with the remark that he was too dull and mournful to write a line, and it was not opened again for nearly three months.

TITLE PAGE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITION OF "THE BIRDS OF AMERICA," VOLUME II, 1831-1834.

This gap in Audubon's record can now be filled in reference to some important particulars, for in the interval he made his greatest discovery in England, in Robert Havell, Junior, then a young and unknown artist of thirty-four, who through eleven years of the closest association with his new patron was to become one of the greatest engravers in aquatint the world has ever seen. Until recently the intimate story of Audubon's relation to the Havells has been much obscured.[345] The reference in the journal record of June 19, just given, was undoubtedly to Robert Havell, Senior, who for many years was associated with his father, Daniel Havell, the first of five generations of artists of that name, in the engraving and publishing business, but who at this time was established independently at 79 Newman Street, London; he also conducted a shop called the "Zoölogical Gallery," at which were sold engravings, books, artists' materials, naturalists' supplies, and specimens of natural history of every sort. His three sons, Robert, George, and Henry Augustus, all became artists, but the eldest, who bore his father's name, was educated for a learned profession. Contrary to his father's injunctions and advice, Robert, who was bent on becoming an artist, abruptly left his home in 1825, determined to shift for himself. He began with an extensive sketching tour on the River Wye, in Monmouthshire, and produced numerous paintings which, as his biographer remarks, display all the charm found in the work of his distinguished cousin, William Havell. These won immediate recognition in London, where he received commissions from various publishers, including the house of Messrs. Colnaghi & Company.

Robert Havell, Senior, then in his fifty-eighth year, though deeply interested in Audubon's adventurous plans, felt himself too old to embark on so extended a work, which it was then believed would require from fourteen to sixteen years for completion; he volunteered, however, to do his best to find a substitute. With this in view, he applied to Mr. Colnaghi, the publisher, and was immediately shown the unsigned proof of a beautiful landscape, exquisitely drawn and engraved by one of the youthful retainers of his establishment. The elder Havell, after scrutinizing it carefully, exclaimed, "That's just the man for me!" "Then," replied the publisher, "send for your own son!" Through this singular coincidence, father and son became reconciled and a partnership between them was soon announced.

As a test of young Havell's skill, to follow the story of his biographer, Audubon gave him his drawing of the Prothonotary Warbler, which had already been engraved and issued by Lizars as Plate iii of The Birds of America earlier in that year. Havell finished the engraving in two weeks, when a proof was struck and the naturalist summoned. Audubon examined the print with the utmost keenness and deliberation; then he seized the sheet, and holding it up, danced about the room, calling out in his French accent: "Ze jig is up, ze jig is up!" The Havells, who at first thought this might signify disapproval, were quickly disabused when Audubon approached young Robert and, throwing his arms about his neck, assured him that his long-sought engraver had been found at last. Having given this story, I wish it were possible to confirm it, but a close examination of this plate proves either that the story is a fiction, or that some other drawing was used as a test of Havell's skill.[346]

The part which this interesting family played in Audubon's success will be unfolded later.[347] Suffice it now to say that Messrs. Robert Havell & Son, in London, undertook afresh the production of The Birds of America in the summer of 1827. The partnership was divided or dissolved in 1828, when Robert, junior, who from the first did all of the engraving, took entire charge of that part of the business, and moved his engraving establishment around the corner to 77 Oxford Street; there it remained until broken up in 1838. Robert Havell, Senior, continued in charge of the printing and coloring until 1830, when he seems to have permanently retired, two years before his death in 1832, events which, as will be seen, are indirectly registered in the legends of some of Audubon's plates.[348]

THE PROTHONOTARY WARBLER PLATES, "THE BIRDS OF AMERICA," PLATE XI, BEARING THE LEGENDS OF THE ENGRAVERS W. H. LIZARS (LEFT) AND ROBERT HAVELL, JR. (RIGHT), BUT IDENTICAL IN EVERY OTHER DETAIL OF ENGRAVING, ANY APPARENT DIFFERENCE BEING DUE TO THE COLORING, WHICH WAS ADDED BY HAND.

Under the younger Havell's guiding hand, Audubon found that his illustrations could be produced in better style, more expeditiously, and at far less cost than in Edinburgh. When Lizars was later shown the third number which the Havells had produced, he called his assistants and observed how completely the London workmen had beaten them; he even offered to resume work on the engraving and at Havell's price, but Audubon was averse to further experimenting. "If he can fall," said he, "twenty-seven pounds in the engraving of each number, and do them in a superior style to his previous work, how enormous must his profits have been; a good lesson to 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."

This characteristic note was sent from Liverpool, December 6, 1827, to his agent, Daniel Lizars, father to W. H. Lizars, at Edinburgh:

REVERSE OF PANELS OF ROBERT HAVELL'S ADVERTISING FOLDER REPRODUCED ON FACING INSERT.

OUTSIDE ENGRAVED PANELS OF AN ADVERTISING FOLDER ISSUED BY ROBERT HAVELL, ABOUT 1834; THE PRINTING ON THE REVERSE IS REPRODUCED ON THE FACING PAGE.

From the only copy known to exist, in possession of Mr. Ruthven Deane. It is a strip of heavy paper, 18 by 3⅝ inches in size, printed on both sides, and folded twice, the folded size being 4½ by 3⅝ inches. One side bears the four panels, engraved by Robert Havell, reproduced on this and the following page; and the reverse, the printed matter reproduced on pages 386 and 387.

INSIDE ENGRAVED PANELS OF THE ADVERTISING FOLDER ISSUED BY ROBERT HAVELL, ABOUT 1834.

The lower panel shows the interior of the "Zoölogical Gallery," 77 Oxford Street. Audubon's plate of the Cock Turkey is being examined at one of the tables.

REVERSE OF PANELS OF ROBERT HAVELL'S ADVERTISING FOLDER REPRODUCED ON FACING INSERT.

Audubon sent another letter to this agent, from London, January 21, 1828, when he was still waiting for an answer to his last: "When I write to any one I expect an answer, but when I write to a man I esteem, and to whom I entrust a portion of my business, I feel miserable until I hear from him.... I am extremely anxious to close my business for 1827, and cannot do so without receiving your a/c, and the money due by my subscribers."

The summer of 1827 was probably Audubon's most critical period in England. His work was then in the air and ruin of all his hopes seemed inevitable, but with palette and brush he again extricated himself from financial difficulties. At this time, he said, "I painted all day, and sold my work during the dusky hours of the evening as I walked through the Strand and other streets where the Jews reigned; popping in and out of Jew-shops or any others, and never refusing the offer made me for the pictures I carried fresh from the easel." He sold seven copies of the "Entrapped Otter" in London, Manchester, and Liverpool, and from seven to ten copies of some of his other favorite subjects; once when he inadvertently called at a shop where he had just disposed of a picture, the dealer promptly bought the duplicate and at the same price that he had paid for the first.

In the autumn of this year, when it was found that his agents were neglecting their business, Audubon determined to make a sortie to collect his dues and further augment his subscription list. He left London on September 16, and visited in succession Manchester, Leeds, York, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Alnwick Castle and Belford, to see the Selbys, finally reaching Edinburgh on the 22nd of October.

Audubon had set his mark at obtaining 200 subscribers by May, 1828, but he fell far short of realizing it. On August 9 he wrote: "This day seventy sets have been distributed; yet the number of my subscribers has not increased; on the contrary, I have lost some." At York he found that a number of his Birds, which had been forwarded from Edinburgh before he had taken his departure, "was miserably poor, scarcely colored at all"; and a copy of his first number which was later examined at the Radcliffe Library in Oxford was so unsatisfactory that he rolled it up and took it away, with the reflection that Lizars, whom he had paid "so amply and so punctually," could have made him a better return. The colorists gave no end of trouble, but he never hesitated to reject their work when it did not meet his requirements, and the defective plates were invariably sent back to Havell's shop to be washed, hot-pressed, and done over again. To such watchful care must be ascribed, in large measure, the high degree of perfection which his big work eventually attained. When it is remembered that upwards of one hundred thousand of his large plates had to be colored laboriously by hand, and that at one time fifty persons were engaged at the Havell establishment, we can understand the difficulties involved in maintaining a uniform standard of excellence in a work that was issued piecemeal and spread over a long period of time.

In August, 1827, Audubon wrote to Mrs. Thomas Sully of Philadelphia to announce the removal of his business to London. By this change he expected to save "upwards of an hundred pounds per annum, a large sum," as he remarked, "for a man like me." His third number had then been issued, and he expressed the hope that all would go smoothly after "this first year of hard trials and times," and that he would be able to send for his wife and one of his sons in the coming autumn or winter. He was then painting "a flock of Wild Turkeys for the king, who had honored him with his particular patronage and protection." When writing to his young son, John W. Audubon, on the 10th of the same month, he charged him to devote two hours daily to the preparation of bird skins, and to send him not only the skins but live birds and mussel shells, for which he would be duly paid. Said the father:

Audubon had come to London with the idea of having his work published under the patronage of King George IV; in order to gain a personal interview with the Sovereign he had brought a letter to Robert Peel, who was then the Home Secretary, but a change in the Cabinet had upset his plans and the letter was returned. He then applied to the American Ambassador, Mr. Albert Gallatin, who upon their first meeting addressed him in French and showed "the ease and charm of manner of a perfect gentleman"; but when the question of an audience with the King was broached, Gallatin laughed at the idea as preposterous. "The king," he declared, "sees nobody; he has the gout, is peevish, and spends his time playing whist at a shilling a rubber. I had to wait six weeks before I was presented to him in my position of ambassador, and then I merely saw him six or seven minutes." When Audubon then suggested that the Duke of Northumberland might interest himself in his behalf, Gallatin, who disliked the English heartily, replied: "I have called hundreds of times on like men in England, and have been assured that his grace, or lordship, or [her] ladyship was not at home, until I have grown wiser, and stay at home myself, and merely attend to my political business, and God knows when I will have done with that."

TITLE PAGE OF AUDUBON'S PROSPECTUS OF "THE BIRDS OF AMERICA" FOR 1831.

As the American Ambassador had predicted, King George evinced no ardent desire to meet the American woodsman, though he consented to take the work under his patronage and to become a subscriber on the usual terms; this plan, however, fell through, for the King, who was reported to have taken his copy, failed to pay for it. With Queen Adelaide, on the other hand, the naturalist was more successful, and in his "Prospectus" of 1831 she was announced as his special patron, with her name heading his list. Negotiations to interest the Queen were going on when the following note was sent to Audubon by Sir J. W. Waller, who occupied some position in the king's household and was spoken of as "oculist to his majesty":

At Edinburgh Audubon was alarmed to find that subscribers were rapidly deserting him, six having cancelled their names without the formality of giving reasons. He hoped to supply their places at Glasgow, then a rich city of one hundred and fifty thousand people, but after a visit there of four days in November, 1827, he was obliged to return to Edinburgh with but one new name on his list.

On October 22 he expressed the resolve for the coming year "to positively keep a cash account" with himself and others, "a thing" he had "never yet done." The wisdom of that decision was apparent upon settling his accounts for 1827 with both Lizars and Havell, as appears from this note, written in his journal on January 17, 1828: "It is difficult work for a man like me to see that he is 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." Again, for February 7 we find this record: "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 with 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."

Shortly after reaching London, as we have seen, Audubon had made the acquaintance of Sir Thomas Lawrence, then at the head of the Royal Academy and favorite painter of the Court and fashionable society. The friendship of this influential artist at a critical moment proved most fortunate, for Sir Thomas called repeatedly at his lodgings, and at each visit brought patrons who went away with some of his pictures but not without leaving a handsome toll of sovereigns in his lap; the "Entrapped Otter" again did duty by bringing him twenty-five pounds, while others returned from seven to thirty-five pounds. At a later time the artist visited the "Zoölogical Gallery," as the Havell establishment in Newman Street was then known, and saw Audubon's large paintings called "The Eagle and the Lamb," and "English Pheasants Surprised by a Spanish Dog" or "Sauve qui peut." Audubon, who on this occasion missed seeing his distinguished visitor, had written in his journal three days before (December 23, 1828) that the paintings were what he called "finished," but that, as usual, he could not bear to look at either. Sir Thomas praised the "Eagle," admired an "Otter," which was later exhibited in London, but gave no opinion on the "Pheasants." Afterwards, however, when Audubon proposed to present this canvas to King George, the artist assured him that this picture was worth 300 guineas and that it was too good to be given away; if offered to the King, no doubt, said he, "it would be accepted and placed in his collections, but you would receive no benefit from the gift." According to a later record, this canvas was sold to Mr. John Heppenstall of Sheffield; whether it was ever delivered, or not, I do not know, but either the original or a copy, here reproduced, now forms the central figure in the large Audubon collection in the American Museum of Natural History in New York, and is an excellent illustration of the elaborate and ambitious character of Audubon's larger compositions. These fortunate windfalls came none too soon, for to follow the journal:

"ENGLISH PHEASANTS SURPRISED BY A SPANISH DOG"

AFTER AUDUBON'S ORIGINAL PAINTING, ABOUT SIX BY NINE FEET IN SIZE, NOW IN POSSESSION OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, NEW YORK. PUBLISHED BY COURTESY OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY.

This was before the reform of the penal laws in England, when it seems to have been hard for a man to escape hanging, not to speak of being sent to prison for debt, the chief terror of life in certain circles. There were 223 capital offenses, and in 1829 in the city of London alone 7,114 persons were sent to the debtors' prison.[349]

Without the sale of his pictures in the summer of 1827, Audubon felt that he must certainly have become a bankrupt, yet he was periodically displeased with the results of his efforts in oil colors, and resolved to "spoil no more canvas" but to draw "in my usual old untaught way, which is what God meant me to do"; "I can draw," he continues, "but I shall never paint well." In the fall of 1828, however, he was again working in oils, and produced four large pieces, one of which was called "The Eagle and the Lamb," and two others which were doubtless variations of his "Pheasant" and "Otter" pictures. "It is charity," said the artist, "to speak the truth to a man who knows the poverty of his talents, and wishes to improve; it is villainous to mislead him, by praising him to his face, and laughing at his work as they go down the stairs of his house." Sir Thomas Lawrence had praised some of these pictures and had promised to select one for exhibition at Somerset House. As regards "The Eagle and the Lamb," which Audubon hoped would go to Windsor Castle, William Swainson would give no opinion; the same canvas, or else a replica, was in possession of the Audubon family in 1898.[350]

On December 14, 1827, Audubon wrote that, acting upon the advice of Mr. Maury, the American consul at London, he had presented a copy of his Birds to John Quincy Adams, the President of the United States, and another, through Henry Clay, to the American Congress; in order that the latter should be as perfect as possible, Havell was asked to do the coloring himself, but these proposed gifts do not appear to have been executed.[351]

New Year's, 1828, found the naturalist in Manchester, where but a few days before he had received the fifth and last number of his plates for 1827 and expressed himself well pleased with it. While returning to London by coach, he consented to take a hand at cards to accommodate his fellow passengers, but declined to play for money; "I never play," he confessed, "unless obliged to by circumstances; I feel no pleasure in the game, and long for other occupation." "I missed my snuff," he added, and whenever his hands went into his pockets in search of the box, he "discovered the strength of habit thus acting without thought"; but he remembered a resolution he had formed to give up the habit and stuck to it for a time at least; doubtless, like his later friend, John Bachman, he reformed more than once, for in a letter to Victor Audubon, of November 5, 1846, Bachman added this postscript: "To Audubon: The snuff—the snuff, it is here! I have just taken a pinch, and the ladies have blown you up—sky-high, for teaching me such a bad practice; I say, however, that you beat me all to pieces in that art."

The first winter in London dragged heavily for the naturalist, who exclaimed in January, 1828: "How long am I to be confined in this immense jail"; when Daniel Lizars reported from Edinburgh the loss of four of his subscribers, he writes, "I am dull as a beetle. Why do I dislike London? Is it because the constant evidence of the contrast between the rich and the poor is a constant 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," such, we might add, as the flocks of wild duck which were occasionally seen from Regent's Park as they passed over the city and made him more homesick than ever. Audubon hated the city quite as cordially as Charles Lamb ever affected to detest the country, and when leaving it, afoot or by stage, it seemed as if he could never be rid of it. "What a place is London," he would say, but naïvely add: "many persons live there solely because they like it."

On February 4, 1828, Audubon was elected to membership in the Linnæan Society, and in November he presented it with a copy of his work, which was then well under way. This was noticed in a letter to Swainson, written on November 7, when no acknowledgment of the gift had then been received; and he mentioned also the sale of his picture of "Blue Jays" for ten guineas. At a meeting of the Linnæan Society not long after his election, copies of Selby's Illustrations of British Ornithology and of his own work were placed side by side for inspection, and "very unfair comparisons were drawn between the two"; had Selby, Audubon reflected, been given "the same opportunities that my curious life has granted me, his work would have been far superior to mine"; "I supported him," he added, "to the best of my power."

Revision of his older drawings demanded much of Audubon's attention during these years. On February 10, 1828, he began the Whiteheaded Eagle (No. 7, Plate xxxi), the original of which had been procured on the Mississippi, where the bird was represented as dining on a wild goose; now, he said, "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 the same river, driving him from his prey." On the 16th of that month he was engaged with this drawing from seven in the morning until half after four, stopping only to take the glass of milk which his landlady would bring to him. This plate was engraved in the following April, and on May 1, 1828, a first proof was sent to the Marquis of Landsdowne, president of the Zoölogical Society, as a mark of appreciation by its author, who had become a member of that body in the preceding winter.

A striking characteristic of Audubon's work was its diversity, produced not only by attractive embellishments of many kinds, but by the moving force and action with which he ever sought to vitalize his subjects. It is therefore not surprising that he was nettled by an incident like this:

Audubon had not yet visited the great university towns of England, the support of which he knew would be a valuable asset, and on March 3, 1828, he set out by stage for Cambridge. His driver, he remarked, "held confidances with every grog-shop between London and Cambridge, and his purple face gave powerful evidences that malt liquor [was] more enticing to him than water." His reception at Cambridge was hearty; he was entertained by Professors Sedgwick, Whewell, and Henslow, dined repeatedly "in Hall" with the dons, and received the subscription of the librarian of the University. It is interesting to recall that young Charles Darwin, "the man who walks with Henslow," as some of the dons called him, was then an undergraduate at King's College, and that thirty-one years were to pass before modern biology was born in 1859, the year of the appearance of the epoch-making Origin of Species.

By the 15th of March Audubon was again in London, and on the 24th he started for Oxford. Dr. Williams, as he noted in his journal, subscribed for his Birds in favor of the Radcliffe Library, as did also Dr. Kidd for the Anatomical School; but, though hospitably treated by all, not one of the twenty-four colleges of that great University emulated their example, and the naturalist went away disappointed.

Upon his return to London in early April, Audubon received a call from John C. Loudon, editor of the Magazine of Natural History, and was invited to contribute to that journal. "I declined," he said, "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 these, the Philadelphians call me a liar." He was then chafing under the criticism which his rattlesnake stories had produced.[352] On April 6 the persistent Mr. Loudon called again and offered Audubon eight guineas for an article, only to be again refused. Still unwilling to admit defeat, the editor proposed to engage William Swainson to prepare an extended review of the naturalist's work, and in this he succeeded so well that Audubon immediately relented and sent him a paper.[353] Swainson offered to write the review for a copy of the work at its cost price, and Audubon replied in the following letter:[354]

LETTER OF WILLIAM SWAINSON TO AUDUBON, MAY, 1828.

From the Deane MSS.

Thus began an intimate friendship between William Swainson and John James Audubon which lasted until 1830, and their intercourse did not wholly cease before 1838. In his use of English at this time Audubon was not far behind Swainson, whose mother tongue it was. Swainson, according to Dr. Günther, was "extremely careless in orthography and loose in his style of writing: he persistently misspelt not only technical terms, but also the names of foreign authors, and even of some of his familiar friends and correspondents; he knew no other language but his own, and the application of Latin and Greek for the purpose of systematic nomenclature was a constant source of error."

At this time Swainson was living in semi-retirement at a farmstead of considerable size, called "Highfield Hall,"[355] near Tyttenhanger Green, a small settlement, off the highroad, two miles southeast of the historic town of St. Albans, in Hertfordshire; though his letters were always dated from "The Green" at Tyttenhanger, his associations were with the more considerable village of London Colney, but a mile to the south, on the road to Barnet. Audubon had brought a letter of introduction from Dr. Traill, a valiant champion of Swainson at Edinburgh, but was unable to go to the country to deliver it. Swainson, however, attended promptly to the review, and on April 11, 1828, sent it to Mr. Loudon, who published it in the May number of his Magazine.[356]

Swainson's review was extremely laudatory, and Audubon reproduced extracts from it in later editions of his "Prospectus." To quote a characteristic paragraph, he said that the naturalist's ornithological papers printed in one of the Scotch journals, are as valuable to the scientific world, as they are delightful to the general reader. They give us a rich foretaste of what we may hope and expect from such a man. There is a freshness and an originality about these essays, which can only be compared to the animated biographies of Wilson.... To represent the passions and the feelings of birds, might, until now, have been well deemed chimerical. Rarely, indeed, do we see their outward forms represented with any thing like nature. In my estimation, not more than three painters ever lived who could draw a bird. Of these the lamented Barrabaud [Barraband], of whom France may be justly proud, was the chief. He has long passed away; but his mantle has at length been recovered in the forests of America.

Audubon spent four days with Swainson and his family at Tyttenhanger, from May 28 to June 1, 1828, when they talked birds and made drawings; Audubon also showed Swainson "how to put up birds in his style, which delighted him." The friendship between these men, though very intimate while it lasted, received a sudden check two years later, when Audubon was about to publish the letterpress to his plates, as will be related farther on.[357]

Though his hands were already more than full at this time, Audubon seems to have played with the idea of publishing a work on the birds of Great Britain, but on May 1 he wrote to Swainson that the plan did not meet with favor, and later he relinquished all claims in such a project to his assistant, William MacGillivray.[358]

In the spring of 1828 Audubon began to think of returning to the United States, to renew or revise his drawings and extend his researches. "I am sure," he said, "that now I could make better compositions, and select better plants than when I drew mainly for amusement." In order to raise the necessary funds, he resorted again to picture painting, his never failing resource, and worked in oil colors daily from morning light until dusk, unless called to Havell's to decide some question of necessary detail. The following letters to Swainson shed further light on this work and on the progress of The Birds of America, the eighth number of which was published early in July:

By the 9th of August eight pictures had been begun, but none was finished, and the number of his subscribers had fallen to seventy. At about this time Captain Basil Hall[359] returned from his journey through the United States, and brought direct news from Victor Audubon, who was then at Louisville, from Dr. Richard Harlan and Thomas Sully, to all of whom the naturalist's letters had been delivered the previous year. Towards the end of the month Audubon received the following note from the secretary of the Zoölogical Society, N. A. Vigors, who was also anxious to obtain from him an article for his Journal:

Audubon refused this request, saying that "no money can pay for abuse," and this time he did not retract.

Without immediate prospect of seeing his family, for neither Mrs. Audubon nor her sons were enthusiastic over the proposal that they should go to England, the naturalist was momentarily depressed; he turned to Swainson for advice, at the same time suggesting that they visit Paris together. Audubon wrote in his journal for August 16, 1828, that he had invited Swainson to accompany him to France, whither his friend had expressed a desire to go when the subject had been broached at Tyttenhanger; on the 25th of that month he added: "I do not expect much benefit by this trip, but I shall be glad to see what may be done." The letter just referred to follows:

On this journey to Paris Audubon was accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Swainson and an American artist, named Parker, who had been at work on a portrait of the naturalist in oils. For Audubon it was mainly a canvassing tour; Parker hoped to obtain orders for portraits, and Swainson, new ornithological material at the great museum in the Jardin des Plantes, for a work upon which he was then engaged.[360]

The party set out on the 1st of September, traveling by way of Dover and Boulogne, and reached Paris on Thursday, September 4. They alighted at the Messagerie Royale, Rue des Victoires, and, after looking up lodgings, went at once to the Jardin des Plantes to pay their respects to Cuvier. The Museum of Natural History was closed, but they knocked and asked for the Baron. "He was in," said Audubon, in the journal of his Paris experience,

They were immediately invited to dine on the following Saturday at six o'clock, and later saw Cuvier at his home, at his Museum, and at the Academy of Sciences, over which he presided.

Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire pleased Audubon greatly and proved to him by his conversation that he understood perfectly the difference between the French and the English. The Duke of Orleans, who then occupied the Palais Royal, seemed to him the finest physical type of man he had ever met. "He had my book brought up," said the naturalist, "and helped me untie the strings and arrange the table, and began by saying that he felt great pleasure in subscribing to the work of an American, for he had been most kindly received in the United States and should never forget it." When the plate of the Baltimore Orioles was held up to view, the Duke exclaimed: "This surpasses all I have seen, and I am not astonished now at the eulogiums of M. Redouté." He conversed in both English and French, had much to say of American cities and rivers, and added: "You are a great nation, a wonderful nation." The Duke wrote his name in Audubon's subscription book, promised to try to enlist a number of the crowned heads of Europe in his behalf, and gave him besides a number of orders for pictures of animals.

Audubon had already made friends with the veteran painter of flowers, Pierre Joseph Redouté, and when it was proposed that they should exchange works, the "Raphael of Flowers" consented, gave Audubon at once nine numbers of his Belles Fleurs, and promised to send "Les Roses."

During this visit of eight weeks Parker painted portraits of both Cuvier and Redouté; Swainson worked steadily at the Museum, where Isidore Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire gave him the use of his private study; while Audubon, for the most part, was driving from post to pillar in his not altogether successful efforts to extend his subscription list. As already intimated, his greatest success in Paris was in winning the friendship and endorsement of Cuvier, who reported upon his work at a meeting of the Royal Academy of Sciences held on September 22.[362] Audubon has related how on this occasion he had an appointment to meet the Baron in the library of the Institute at precisely half past one o'clock; he waited; the hall filled, and the clock ticked on, but the great savant did not appear. Finally, said Audubon, after an hour had passed, "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 as 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!"[363] Cuvier's published report, which was extremely laudatory, showed little signs of haste. After speaking of Audubon's talents and accomplishments he said:

AUDUBON

AFTER A PORTRAIT IN OILS, HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED, PAINTED ABOUT 1826 W. H. HOLMES FOR WALTER HORTON BENTLEY, OF MANCHESTER, AND IN 1913 IN POSSESSION OF HIS GRANDSON, JOHN CONWAY BENTLEY, FORMERLY OF GLASGOW. IN THE ORIGINAL AUDUBON IS REPRESENTED IN A GREEN COAT, A CRIMSON CLOAK WITH DEEP FUR EDGING THROWN OVER ONE SHOULDER, AND WITH PORTFOLIO IN HAND. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH IN POSSESSION OF MR. RUTHVEN DEANE.

By November Audubon was once more in London, busy at painting to fill his orders and his purse. On the 11th of the month, we find Swainson, whose own exchequer was empty, writing to Audubon for a loan; this letter, and one soon to follow, illustrate some of the characteristics to which we have referred:

In December the Swainsons invited Audubon to dine with them at Christmas; in his letter Swainson said:

In the following letter Swainson refers to the second series of his Zoölogical Illustrations,[365] the sale of which was irritating him, and to N. A. Vigors, with whom he had entered upon a notorious controversy in 1828:

Early in 1829 Bonaparte wrote from Rome, where he had then settled, and the following letter shows that he had then heard of Audubon's visit to France, and was keenly interested in his success:

Rome January 10 th 1829.

Dear Sir,

I received in due time your favours of November 3d. & December 21 st. & now come to thank you for them, wishing you or rather expressing to you at the occasion of the renewal of the year, the warm wishes I constantly have for your health, happiness & especially for the success of your work. From the contents of your letter I clearly perceive that one at least of my letters to you must have miscarried. Nothing could be more interesting to me than the narrative of your journey to France, though I had heard from other quarters the good & well deserved reception you met with. Your letter of August 20 th. never came at hand, & it must have been the same with at least one of mine to you. What you mention about Temminck quite astonishes me! ... I thought he would have undertaken even a journey to see you & your drawings!!! Please let me know when you write whether the Ornithological Illustrations of Jardine, Vigors & Co are stopped or still going on.—The animals I spoke to you of were reported as delivered to you by Mr Gray of the British Museum who had received them for me from the U. States. Is it not so? ... Corvus Cornix with us is very fond of the sea shore & feeds occasionally on fish, but I never observed it had the singular habits of C. ossifragus at least as described by Wilson.

I am surprized at Messrs J B's conduct; I have always found them extremely kind and well disposed towards me; & although we have settled our accounts I had no reason to believe they would refuse our box. However we can do without their interference quite as well, & I hope you have already forwarded the box to Leghorn recommending it to the care of my agent in that port. Messrs F. & A. Filuchs.(?) I shall keep a good lookout for it being extremely anxious to see your new number. I should never have done if I was [to] repeat [to] you all the praise given to your work by our Italian artists & men of science!... I shall merely state that on my part I prefer the plate of Goldfinches to any other, birds and plants, being life itself; & that I am most anxious to see Astur Stanleyi which I strongly suspect to be my Falco Cooperii.... By this time, however you may have been able to ascertain the fact ... please let me know how the thing stands. It is only by your letter that I hear of my work (2 d) being in London: I have not yet seen a copy myself nor did I know positively that it had been published. You must surely have received one from myself at all events, for I directed Messrs Gay & Lea to let you have one of the very first out. Let me know whether you have it & your opinion about it.—I think you are right in going to Russia, especially as in giving them the American Birds you will probably give us the Russians, some of which are hardly known. Try to get for me Pyrrhula longicauda, P. rosea & Scalopax—thalina, the latter especially. I shall not loose sight of the portrait, but it will be still more difficult to get the signature. I will however endeavor from some of my relations. You were right in supposing me "dans les bras de la paix & le bonheur d'un heureux père de famille" but greatly mistaken to think I was taking "le plaisir des sciences". Settling and other cursed worldly affairs have so much taken up my time, that I have not looked a specimen or a book since I am in Rome ... my small library itself & my Cabinet have not even been arranged & I tremble to find all my birds destroyed when the happy day will come to look into them. In the mean time an addition has been made six weeks ago to my small family. I have another son who has received the names of Lucien Louis Joseph Napoleon & better than that who is the porthrait of health itself. I am sure you will divide my happiness & excuse my delay in answering you principally on that account. I am in debt with half the scientific world & this has been the first letter I scratched since I am in Rome!... I hope to be more regular & less in a hurry in future ... though God knows!... I will not however close this letter without mentionaing the pleasure I had the other day in getting you a new subscriber & that among the English themselves.! The Earl of Shrewsbury & his good Lady highly admired your work the other day at my house & were so pleased with it that they said they would write immediately to add their name to the list. The Earl of Shrewsbury is as you know the first Earl of Great Britain a catholic & what is more to you a man of great taste. His not having heard of your work shows that you have not made enough noise about it: & I am sure his name will be followed by a great many others to which Mr. Chapittar (Lord Shrewsb. friend) has promised me to show the work & deliver the prospectuses. Did you hear of the death of poor Mr Barnes killed by a stag (?). It is a great loss for the Queen. I remain, Dear Sir, begging you the London news

your most obliged friend
Charles L. Bonaparte.

[Addressed] Mr. J. J. Audubon
79 Newman Street
Oxford St.
London
Inghilterra.
[Endorsed] Answered Feby. 8 th. 1829.
J. J. A.

Audubon continued to work on his paintings during the winter of 1828-9, hoping to put his affairs in such order that he might be able to start for America in the following year.

PART OF LETTER OF CHARLES LUCIEN BONAPARTE TO AUDUBON, JANUARY 10, 1829.

From the Howland MSS.

Audubon settles for a time in Camden—Paints in a fisherman's cottage by the sea—With the lumbermen in the Great Pine Woods—Work done—Visits his sons—Joins his wife at St. Francisville—Record of journey south—Life at "Beechgrove"—Mrs. Audubon retires from teaching—Their plans to return to England—Meeting with President Jackson and Edward Everett.

Audubon laid his plans to visit America in 1829 with unusual care, and was fortunate in being able to entrust his publication to the competent hands of John George Children, of the British Museum. This was to be actually his third voyage to the United States, but it was the first which he made from English soil, and after he had become known as an ornithologist and animal painter. He wished to renew at least fifty of his earlier drawings and to obtain new materials of every description. Although he was naturally anxious to see his wife, from whom he had been absent for nearly three years, and his boys, the elder of whom had been left at Shippingport five years before, he felt constrained to devote to his work every moment that could be spared.

When writing to his wife of his difficulties and prospects at this period, he assured her that he would act cautiously, with all due diligence and sobriety, and continued:

A little later in 1829 he also wrote: "I have finished the two first years of publication, the two most difficult to be encountered." At that time he fully expected that fourteen years would be required for the completion of his task, owing to the many difficulties experienced, especially in securing competent workmen, as well as the necessity of distributing the expense for the benefit of his subscribers.

When Havell had been provided with all the drawings needed for the remainder of the year 1829 and the first issue of 1830, Audubon sailed from Portsmouth on the 1st of April, 1829, in the packet ship Columbia, which reached New York on the opening day of May. "I chose the ship," he said, "on account of her name, and paid thirty pounds for my passage."

He paused in New York to exhibit his drawings at the Lyceum of Natural History, of which he had become a member in 1824, but soon hurried to Philadelphia, and finally settled down for work at Camden, in New Jersey, later known to fame as the home of "the good gray poet." There, at a boarding house kept by a Mr. Armstrong, he remained three weeks, from about May 23 to June 13, hunting and painting every day. From Camden he went to Great Egg Harbor, then a famous resort of both land and water birds in great variety, and for three weeks more he lived and worked in a fisherman's cabin by the sea. It is interesting to recall that Alexander Wilson, in company with George Ord, had spent a month at this point in the spring of 1813.

The following letter[367] from Swainson was probably the one to which Audubon replied from New Jersey on September 14:

On the 4th of July Audubon returned to Philadelphia and prepared for a longer sojourn in the Great Pine Forest, or Great Pine Swamp, as it was sometimes called, in Northumberland County, Pennsylvania. In this letter to his son we shall find an account of his plans and accomplishments:

After outfitting himself in Philadelphia, Audubon proceeded to Mauch Chunk; his provisions for this journey to the forest consisted of a "wooden box containing a small stock of linin, drawing-paper, my journal, colors and pencils, together with twenty pounds of shot, several flints, a due quantum of cash, my gun 'Tear Jacket,' and a heart as true to nature as ever." From Mauch Chunk he traveled fifteen miles into the heart of the wooded hills, and was received into the family of Jedediah Irish, lumberman and philosopher, whose praise was celebrated in a later "Episode."[368] "What pleasure," said the naturalist, "I had in listening to him, as he read his favourite poems of Burns, while my pencil was occupied in smoothing and softening the drawing of the bird before me. Was this not enough to recall to my mind the early impressions that had been made upon it by the description of the golden age, which I here found realized?"

During his stay in the forest Audubon paid particular attention to the smaller land birds, such as finches, warblers and flycatchers, and many of the original drawings which were made in the summer of 1829 still bear his penciled designations of time and place[369]. About ten weeks[370] were spent in the woods, from late July until the 10th of October, when the naturalist returned to Philadelphia and settled again for a time in Camden. At this period he was enjoying the best of health and spirits, and he worked during the entire season under the highest pressure of which he was capable. At Camden, October 11, 1829, he wrote:

At about the middle of October Audubon set out to join his family in the South. Crossing the mountains by mail-coach to Pittsburgh, where he met his former partner in business, Thomas Pears (see p. 254), he descended once more his favorite river, the Ohio. It was no longer necessary to rough it on a flatboat or to sleep on a steamer's deck; it was to be "poor Audubon" no longer. To be sure, he was not rich, but he had made his way and his mark, and the attention which he now began to receive when traveling in his adopted land must have gratified his heart. He paused at Louisville to visit his two boys, the elder of whom, Victor, was then a clerk in the office of his uncle, William G. Bakewell, while John was with another uncle, Nicholas A. Berthoud. Hastening on he reached Bayou Sara on November 17, where he finally joined his wife, who was living at the home of William Garrett Johnson, in West Feliciana Parish, near Wakefield. Some account of this journey is given in the following letter,[372] written on the eighteenth to Dr. Richard Harlan; in the postscript Audubon gives the first reference to a new hawk which he proposed to name after his friend, and which has given no little trouble to ornithologists ever since:[373]

The following extracts are from a letter[374] written by Swainson, January 30, 1830, and sent to Havell in London to be readdressed:

About the beginning of the year 1827 Mrs. Audubon gave up her "Beechwoods" school, and thereafter took a position as governess in the home of Mr. William Garrett Johnson, whose plantation, called "Beechgrove," was situated in the same parish. An anonymous writer thus referred to this house in 1851.[375]

There Audubon spent nearly two months at the close of 1829, and followed his usual occupations of hunting and drawing, while his wife prepared for their contemplated journey to Europe. He is said to have drawn at this time the "Black Vulture attacking a herd of Deer," several large hawks, squirrels, and heads of deer which were never finished.

Although Audubon's business affairs in England had been left in charge of his trustworthy friend, John G. Children, his engraver, Havell, had become alarmed at the loss of subscribers and the failure of certain of their agents, and particularly M. Pitois of Paris,[376] to render due returns. Havell, as it proved, was unduly disturbed, but his gloomy accounts tended to hasten the naturalist's departure, a circumstance that was later deplored. These matters are clearly reflected in the following letter written from the Johnson home in Louisiana when the Audubons were preparing to leave it; particularly interesting are the included statements through which it was hoped that a competent successor might be secured for the duties of the position which Mrs. Audubon had so ably filled:

"On January 1, 1830," said the naturalist, "we started for New Orleans, taking with us the only three servants yet belonging to us, namely, Cecilia, and her two sons, Reuben and Lewis. We stayed a few days at our friend Mr. Braud's, with whom we left our servants, and on the seventh of January took passage on the splendid steamer Philadelphia for Louisville, paying sixty dollars fare."[378] After a long visit with their sons, on the seventh of March they ascended the Ohio to Cincinnati, and at Wheeling took the mail-coach to Washington. At the national capital Audubon met the President, Andrew Jackson, and was befriended by Edward Everett, at that time a leader in the House of Representatives. "Congress," said the naturalist, "was then in session, and I exhibited my drawings to the House of Representatives, and received their subscription as a body." He also recorded that he obtained three subscribers in Baltimore, and left for Philadelphia, where they remained a week. The following note, which Edward Everett gave Audubon for New York, is particularly interesting, since it expressly states that at that time the ornithologist had not received a single subscriber in the United States:

Audubon had evidently reconsidered his expressed intention of presenting a copy[379] to Congress, and to Edward Everett belongs the credit of subscribing to The Birds of America in behalf of the Congressional Library. At about this time also he obtained another subscriber at Washington, in the person of Baron Krudener, the Russian envoy, but later experienced difficulty in collecting his dues.[380]

Settlement in London—Starts on canvassing tour with his wife—Change of plans—In Edinburgh—Discovery of MacGillivray—His hand in the Ornithological Biography—Rival editions of Wilson and Bonaparte—Brown's extraordinary atlas—Reception of the Biography—Joseph Bartholomew Kidd and the Ornithological Gallery—In London again.

On the 1st of April, 1830, Audubon and his wife sailed from New York in the packet ship Pacific, bound for Liverpool, where they landed after a voyage of twenty-five days. Upon returning to London the naturalist found that upon the 18th of the preceding March he had been elected to membership in the Royal Society, an honor for which he felt indebted to Lord Stanley and his friend Children, of the British Museum; after paying the entrance fee of £50, he took his seat in that body on the 6th of May. The painting of pictures was at once resumed to meet his heavy expenses, but towards the end of July he started with Mrs. Audubon on a canvassing tour, in the course of which his plans suddenly were changed so that London did not see him again for nearly a year.[381] On this journey they touched at Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, York, Hull, Scarborough, Whitby, New Castle, and Belford, to visit the Selbys, and on the 13th of October reached Edinburgh, where they were soon comfortably settled in the naturalist's old lodging place, the house of Mrs. Dickey, Number 26, George Street.

Audubon was now ready to begin the text of his Birds of America, to be called Ornithological Biography, which is often referred to as his "Biography of Birds." This work, which was eventually extended to five large volumes of over three thousand pages, was published at Edinburgh from 1831 to 1839. He had made crude beginnings with this in view as early as 1821, and on October 16, 1830, he wrote: "I know that I am not a scholar ..." but, "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." To supply this need, as we have seen already, he had earlier applied to William Swainson, but the negotiations with that naturalist were soon broken off, and led to a sharp and acrid discussion upon the authorship of the work itself.[382]

By a rare stroke of genius or good fortune, Audubon chose for his assistant a young Scotch naturalist, William MacGillivray, who had been introduced to him by another naturalist, James Wilson, soon after he reached the Scottish capital. MacGillivray agreed "to revise and correct" his manuscript at the rate of two guineas per sheet of sixteen pages, and in the latter part of October, 1830, they set to work. We shall soon have occasion to speak more fully of his debt to this estimable Scotchman,[383] and will only add here that a better trained or more competent helper than MacGillivray could hardly have been found in Great Britain or elsewhere.

MRS. DICKIE'S "BOARDING RESIDENCE," 26 GEORGE STREET, EDINBURGH, WHERE AUDUBON OCCUPIED APARTMENTS AND PAINTED AND WROTE IN 1826-27 AND 1830-31. A LARGE PUBLIC BUILDING NOW OCCUPIES THE SITE.

After a photograph in possession of Mr. Ruthven Deane.

THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF PHILADELPHIA.

After an old print; reproduced from Cassinia for 1910.

No sooner had Audubon begun to write than it was learned that "no less than three editions of 'Wilson's Ornithology' were about to be published, one by Jameson, one by Sir W. Jardine, and another by a Mr. Brown." The outlook could not be considered encouraging, but this intelligence only nerved him to greater effort, and he was determined to push his own publication with such unremitting vigor as to anticipate them all. "Since I have been in England," he wrote in his journal, "I have studied the character of Englishmen as carefully as I have studied the birds in America, and I know full well that in England novelty is always in demand, and that if a thing is well known it will not receive much support." Audubon worked continuously at his Biography, rising before the dawn and writing all day, while the able worker at his side carried his efforts far into the night, and in three months the first volume was ready for the printer; Mrs. Audubon meanwhile copied their entire manuscript to be sent to the United States in order to secure the American copyright. When this work was offered to the publishers at Edinburgh, however, not one of them, said the naturalist, would offer a shilling for it, but this did not deter him from publishing it at once and at his own expense.[384] On March 13, 1831, he wrote: "The printing will be completed in a few days, and I have sent copies of the sheets to Dr. Harlan, and Mr. McMurtie, at Philadelphia, and also one hundred pounds sterling to Messrs. T. Walker & Sons, to be paid to Dr. Harlan to secure the copyright, and have the book published there."

The following friendly letter from one of Wilson's editors belongs to this period:

TITLE PAGE OF VOLUME I OF THE "ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY."
From a copy presented by Audubon to William MacGillivray and bearing the latter's signature.

Audubon was not outstripped by his Edinburgh rivals, who to all appearances had planned to cover the field of American ornithology so thoroughly as to render his work a drug on the market, if not to make it superfluous. Whether this were really true or not, there is no doubt that Audubon's activity furnished the stimulus to the sudden appreciation of the work of his predecessor that was manifested in Edinburgh at this very moment of time. It will be interesting to see just what these rival enterprises were. Professor Jameson, who had been of great service to Audubon at the beginning of his undertaking, prepared a pocket edition of Wilson's and Bonaparte's Ornithology, with miniature plates which were issued separately, and the two works, which were intended to go together, were published in 1831.[385] Sir William Jardine brought out an edition of Wilson's and Bonaparte's work, in three large volumes, with plates engraved by W. H. Lizars after the originals and carefully colored by hand.[386] This was thoroughly legitimate enterprise, but the climax was reached when Captain Thomas Brown began to publish an "Audubonized edition" of Wilson's and Bonaparte's plates, or an attempt to present their plates of American birds in the Audubonian manner, to the extent at least of showing the characteristic flowers, trees, and insects of the American continent, a plan to which some of Audubon's earlier critics in Philadelphia had offered strenuous objection. Brown's large atlas of plates[387] was issued in parts, from 1831 to 1835, and was intended as a further companion to Jameson's text for all who could afford that expensive form of illustration. By a curious coincidence Audubon's Ornithological Biography (vol. i), Jameson's edition of Wilson and Bonaparte (vol. i), and Brown's Illustrations (pt. i), were all noticed on the same page of the London Literary Gazette for April 9, 1831. "This day is published," so reads the advertisement of Audubon's work, "price 25s. in royal octavo, cloth, Ornithological Biography...." If the desire of these various editors were to cripple the work of the American naturalist, their efforts were certainly vain, for he was able to make his way against all competitors. Brown's work was a failure, so few copies having been distributed that it is doubtful if more than one ever came to this country, and only one is known to be in possession of any large library in England.

Audubon's initial volume of the Biography was well received and drew forth immediate and unstinted praise from many sources. He was anxious that MacGillivray should contribute some account of it to the London Quarterly Review, then under the editorial management of John Gibson Lockhart, but his suggestion was coldly received and drew forth the following declaration of independence from his able, if as yet undistinguished, coadjutor:[388]

Some of the criticism, whether friendly or hostile, which this work eventually evoked will be considered in a later chapter.

Shortly after his arrival in London, Audubon received a call from Joseph Bartholomew Kidd, a young artist whom he had met at Edinburgh the previous March, and was attracted so much by his "youth, simplicity and cleverness" that he again invited him to paint in his rooms. On the 31st of March, 1831, an agreement was made with Kidd[389] to copy some of his drawings in oils and put in appropriate backgrounds. "It was our intention," said Audubon, "to send them to the exhibition for sale, and to divide the amount between us. He painted eight, and then I proposed, if he would paint the one hundred engravings which comprise my first volume of the Birds of America, I would pay him one hundred pounds." In 1832 Captain Thomas Brown gave this notice of the undertaking in the Caledonian Mercury:

Kidd worked intermittently on some such scheme for about three years, and produced numerous pictures on canvas or mill-board. He was thus engaged in 1833 when he wrote to ask for an advance of from twelve to fourteen pounds on account of an accident that had befallen him on the 16th of May of that year. Kidd said in his letter that while he was attending a sale of Lord Eldin's pictures, the floor of the building suddenly gave way with a crash and precipitated the whole company, together with the furniture, into a room below; that he had sustained many bruises himself, not to speak of a dislocated arm, but what with blisters, cupping, nurses and remedies of all sorts, he was then slowly mending. Another of their projects was to publish Kidd's copies of Audubon's drawings as individual pieces, and a notice of this appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for 1831. John Wilson, in reviewing Audubon's work in the magazine for that year said: "it is expected that there will be completed by Audubon, Kidd, and others,—Four Hundred Subjects. Audubon purposes opening, on his return [from America], an Ornithological Gallery, of which may the proceeds prove a moderate fortune!" All such plans, however, seem to have been delayed or frustrated, and a misunderstanding with Kidd brought them suddenly to a close in 1833. Audubon's explicit directions under this head were given in a letter to his son Victor, written at Charleston on Christmas Day of that year.[390]

When his letterpress was finished, Audubon left Edinburgh with Mrs. Audubon on April 15, 1831. Newcastle, York, Leeds, and Manchester were again visited, and a pause of several days was made at Liverpool before proceeding to London, when, as the naturalist recorded, they "traveled on that extraordinary road, called the railway, at the rate of 24 miles an hour." In May[391] they visited Paris, Audubon no doubt wishing to collect the money due from his agent there, as well as to introduce his wife to the unrivaled attractions of the great city. Upon returning to London in July he had the pleasure of again meeting his fidus Achates, Edward Harris,[392] of Moorestown, New Jersey, and immediately began to put his affairs in order for a long period of absence.

While Audubon was in Paris, the following letter[393] was written by his staunch friend and supporter in Congress, Edward Everett, who, as has been seen, fully appreciated the national character of his great undertakings. The effort of this able advocate to give The Birds of America free passage to their native land, however, do not appear to have been successful until two years later, as a letter to be quoted in due course clearly indicates.

Upon balancing his accounts with The Birds of America at about this time, Audubon thought it was truly remarkable that $40,000 should have passed through his hands for the completion of the first volume.