Finally, Audubon gave up the struggle of trying to be a business man. He
says: "I parted with every particle of property I had to my creditors,
keeping only the clothes I wore on that day, my original drawings, and my
gun, and without a dollar in my pocket, walked to Louisville alone."
This he speaks of as the saddest of all his journeys--"the only time in my
life when the wild turkeys that so often crossed my path, and the thousands
of lesser birds that enlivened the woods and the prairies, all looked like
enemies, and I turned my eyes from them, as if I could have wished that
they had never existed."
But the thought of his beloved Lucy and her children soon spurred him to
action. He was a good draughtsman, he had been a pupil of David, he would
turn his talents to account.
"As we were straightened to the very utmost, I undertook to draw portraits
at the low price of five dollars per head, in black chalk. I drew a few
gratis, and succeeded so well that ere many days had elapsed I had an
abundance of work."
His fame spread, his orders increased. A settler came for him in the middle
of the night from a considerable distance to have the portrait of his
mother taken while she was on the eve of death, and a clergyman had his
child's body exhumed that the artist might restore to him the lost
features.
Money flowed in and he was soon again established with his family in a
house in Louisville. His drawings of birds still continued and, he says,
became at times almost a mania with him; he would frequently give up a
head, the profits of which would have supplied the wants of his family a
week or more, "to represent a little citizen of the feathered tribe."
In 1819 he was offered the position of taxidermist in the museum at
Cincinnati, and soon moved there with his family. His pay not being
forthcoming from the museum, he started a drawing school there, and again
returned to his portraits. Without these resources, he says, he would have
been upon the starving list. But food was plentiful and cheap. He writes in
his journal: "Our living here is extremely moderate; the markets are well
supplied and cheap, beef only two and one half cents a pound, and I am able
to supply a good deal myself. Partridges are frequently in the streets, and
I can shoot wild turkeys within a mile or so. Squirrels and Woodcock are
very abundant in the season, and fish always easily caught."
In October, 1820, we again find him adrift, apparently with thought of
having his bird drawings published, after he shall have further added to
them by going through many of the southern and western states.
Leaving his family behind him, he started for New Orleans on a flatboat. He
tarried long at Natchez, and did not reach the Crescent City till
midwinter. Again he found himself destitute of means, and compelled to
resort to portrait painting. He went on with his bird collecting and bird
painting; in the meantime penetrating the swamps and bayous around the
city.
At this time he seems to have heard of the publication of Wilson's
"Ornithology," and tried in vain to get sight of a copy of it.
In the spring he made an attempt to get an appointment as draughtsman and
naturalist to a government expedition that was to leave the next year to
survey the new territory ceded to the United States by Spain. He wrote to
President Monroe upon the subject, but the appointment never came to him.
In March he called upon Vanderlyn, the historical painter, and took with
him a portfolio of his drawings in hopes of getting a recommendation.
Vanderlyn at first treated him as a mendicant and ordered him to leave his
portfolio in the entry. After some delay, in company with a government
official, he consented to see the pictures.
"The perspiration ran down my face," says Audubon, "as I showed him my
drawings and laid them on the floor." He was thinking of the expedition to
Mexico just referred to, and wanted to make a good impression upon
Vanderlyn and the officer. This he succeeded in doing, and obtained from
the artist a very complimentary note, as he did also from Governor
Robertson of Louisiana.
In June, Audubon left New Orleans for Kentucky, to rejoin his wife and
boys, but somewhere on the journey engaged himself to a Mrs. Perrie who
lived at Bayou Sara, Louisiana, to teach her daughter drawing during the
summer, at sixty dollars per month, leaving him half of each day to follow
his own pursuits. He continued in this position till October when he took
steamer for New Orleans. "My long, flowing hair, and loose yellow nankeen
dress, and the unfortunate cut of my features, attracted much attention,
and made me desire to be dressed like other people as soon as possible."
He now rented a house in New Orleans on Dauphine street, and determined to
send for his family. Since he had left Cincinnati the previous autumn, he
had finished sixty-two drawings of birds and plants, three quadrupeds, two
snakes, fifty portraits of all sorts, and had lived by his talents, not
having had a dollar when he started. "I sent a draft to my wife, and began
life in New Orleans with forty-two dollars, health, and much eagerness to
pursue my plan of collecting all the birds of America."
His family, after strong persuasion, joined him in December, 1821, and his
former life of drawing portraits, giving lessons, painting birds, and
wandering about the country, began again. His earnings proving inadequate
to support the family, his wife took a position as governess in the family
of a Mr. Brand.
In the spring, acting upon the judgment of his wife, he concluded to leave
New Orleans again, and to try his fortunes elsewhere. He paid all his bills
and took steamer for Natchez, paying his passage by drawing a crayon
portrait of the captain and his wife.
On the trip up the Mississippi, two hundred of his bird portraits were
sorely damaged by the breaking of a bottle of gunpowder in the chest in
which they were being conveyed.
Three times in his career he met with disasters to his drawings. On the
occasion of his leaving Hendersonville to go to Philadelphia, he had put
two hundred of his original drawings in a wooden box and had left them in
charge of a friend. On his return, several months later, he pathetically
recounts what befell them: "A pair of Norway rats had taken possession of
the whole, and reared a young family among gnawed bits of paper, which but
a month previous, represented nearly one thousand inhabitants of the air!"
This discovery resulted in insomnia, and a fearful heat in the head; for
several days he seemed like one stunned, but his youth and health stood him
in hand, he rallied, and, undaunted, again sallied forth to the woods with
dog and gun. In three years' time his portfolio was again filled.
The third catastrophe to some of his drawings was caused by a fire in a New
York building in which his treasures were kept during his sojourn in
Europe.
Audubon had an eye for the picturesque in his fellow-men as well as for the
picturesque in Nature. On the Levee in New Orleans, he first met a painter
whom he thus describes: "His head was covered by a straw hat, the brim of
which might cope with those worn by the fair sex in 1830; his neck was
exposed to the weather; the broad frill of a shirt, then fashionable,
flopped about his breast, whilst an extraordinary collar, carefully
arranged, fell over the top of his coat. The latter was of a light green
colour, harmonising well with a pair of flowing yellow nankeen trousers,
and a pink waistcoat, from the bosom of which, amidst a large bunch of the
splendid flowers of the magnolia, protruded part of a young alligator,
which seemed more anxious to glide through the muddy waters of a swamp than
to spend its life swinging to and fro amongst folds of the finest lawn. The
gentleman held in one hand a cage full of richly-plumed nonpareils, whilst
in the other he sported a silk umbrella, on which I could plainly read
'Stolen from I,' these words being painted in large white characters. He
walked as if conscious of his own importance; that is, with a good deal of
pomposity, singing, 'My love is but a lassie yet'; and that with such
thorough imitation of the Scotch emphasis that had not his physiognomy
suggested another parentage, I should have believed him to be a genuine
Scot. A narrower acquaintance proved him to be a Yankee; and anxious to
make his acquaintance, I desired to see his birds. He retorted, 'What the
devil did I know about birds?' I explained to him that I was a naturalist,
whereupon he requested me to examine his birds. I did so with much
interest, and was preparing to leave, when he bade me come to his lodgings
and see the remainder of his collection. This I willingly did, and was
struck with amazement at the appearance of his studio. Several cages were
hung about the walls, containing specimens of birds, all of which I
examined at my leisure. On a large easel before me stood an unfinished
portrait, other pictures hung about, and in the room were two young pupils;
and at a glance I discovered that the eccentric stranger was, like myself,
a naturalist and an artist. The artist, as modest as he was odd, showed me
how he laid on the paint on his pictures, asked after my own pursuits, and
showed a friendly spirit which enchanted me. With a ramrod for a rest, he
prosecuted his work vigorously, and afterwards asked me to examine a
percussion lock on his gun, a novelty to me at the time. He snapped some
caps, and on my remarking that he would frighten his birds, he exclaimed,
'Devil take the birds, there are more of them in the market.' He then
loaded his gun, and wishing to show me that he was a marksman, fired at one
of the pins on his easel. This he smashed to pieces, and afterward put a
rifle bullet exactly through the hole into which the pin fitted."
Audubon reached Natchez on March 24, 1822, and remained there and in the
vicinity till the spring of 1823, teaching drawing and French to private
pupils and in the college at Washington, nine miles distant, hunting, and
painting the birds, and completing his collection. Among other things he
painted the "Death of Montgomery" from a print. His friends persuaded him
to raffle the picture off. This he did, and taking one number himself, won
the picture, while his finances were improved by three hundred dollars
received for the tickets. Early in the autumn his wife again joined him,
and presently we find her acting as governess in the home of a clergyman
named Davis.
In December, there arrived in Natchez a wandering portrait painter named
Stein, who gave Audubon his first lessons in the use of oil colours, and
was instructed by Audubon in turn in chalk drawing.
There appear to have been no sacrifices that Mrs. Audubon was not willing
and ready to make to forward the plans of her husband. "My best friends,"
he says at this time, "solemnly regarded me as a mad man, 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."
She wanted him to go to Europe, and, to assist toward that end, she entered
into an engagement with a Mrs. Percy of Bayou Sara, to instruct her
children, together with her own, and a limited number of outside pupils.
Audubon, in the meantime, with his son Victor, and his new artist friend,
Stein, started off in a wagon, seeking whom they might paint, on a journey
through the southern states. They wandered as far as New Orleans, but
Audubon appears to have returned to his wife again in May, and to have
engaged in teaching her pupils music and drawing. But something went wrong,
there was a misunderstanding with the Percys, and Audubon went back to
Natchez, revolving various schemes in his head, even thinking of again
entering upon mercantile pursuits in Louisville.
He had no genius for accumulating money nor for keeping it after he had
gotten it. One day when his affairs were at a very low ebb, he met a
squatter with a tame black wolf which took Audubon's fancy. He says that he
offered the owner a hundred dollar bill for it on the spot, but was
refused. He probably means to say that he would have offered it had he had
it. Hundred dollar bills, I fancy, were rarer than tame black wolves in
that pioneer country in those days.
About this time he and his son Victor were taken with yellow fever, and
Mrs. Audubon was compelled to dismiss her school and go to nurse them. They
both recovered, and, in October (1823), set out for Louisville, making part
of the journey on foot. The following winter was passed at Shipping Port,
near Louisville, where Audubon painted birds, landscapes, portraits and
even signs. In March he left Shipping Port for Philadelphia, leaving his
son Victor in the counting house of a Mr. Berthoud. He reached Philadelphia
on April 5, and remained there till the following August, studying
painting, exhibiting his birds, making many new acquaintances, among them
Charles Lucien Bonaparte, giving lessons in drawing at thirty dollars per
month, all the time casting wistful eyes toward Europe, whither he hoped
soon to be able to go with his drawings. In July he made a pilgrimage to
Mill Grove where he had passed so many happy years. The sight of the old
familiar scenes filled him with the deepest emotions.
In August he left Philadelphia for New York, hoping to improve his
finances, and, may be, publish his drawings in that city. At this time he
had two hundred sheets, and about one thousand birds. While there he again
met Vanderlyn and examined his pictures, but says that he was not impressed
with the idea that Vanderlyn was a great painter.
The birds that he saw in the museum in New York appeared to him to be set
up in unnatural and constrained attitudes. With Dr. De Kay he visited the
Lyceum, and his drawings were examined by members of the Institute. Among
them he felt awkward and uncomfortable. "I feel that I am strange to all
but the birds of America," he said. As most of the persons to whom he had
letters of introduction were absent, and as his spirits soon grew low, he
left on the fifteenth for Albany. Here he found his money low also.
Abandoning the idea of visiting Boston, he took passage on a canal boat for
Rochester. His fellow-passengers on the boat were doubtful whether he was a
government officer, commissioner, or spy. At that time Rochester had only
five thousand inhabitants. After a couple of days he went on to Buffalo
and, he says, wrote under his name at the hotel this sentence: "Who, like
Wilson, will ramble, but never, like that great man, die under the lash of
a bookseller."
He visited Niagara, and gives a good account of the impressions which the
cataract made upon him. He did not cross the bridge to Goat Island on
account of the low state of his funds. In Buffalo he obtained a good dinner
of bread and milk for twelve cents, and went to bed cheering himself with
thoughts of other great men who had encountered greater hardships and had
finally achieved fame.
He soon left Buffalo, taking a deck passage on a schooner bound for Erie,
furnishing his own bed and provisions and paying a fare of one dollar and a
half. From Erie he and a fellow-traveller hired a man and cart to take them
to Meadville, paying their entertainers over night with music and portrait
drawing. Reaching Meadville, they had only one dollar and a half between
them, but soon replenished their pockets by sketching some of the leading
citizens.
Audubon's belief in himself helped him wonderfully. He knew that he had
talents, he insisted on using them. Most of his difficulties came from
trying to do the things he was not fitted to do. He did not hesitate to use
his talents in a humble way, when nothing else offered--portraits,
landscapes, birds and animals he painted, but he would paint the cabin
walls of the ship to pay his passage, if he was short of funds, or execute
crayon portraits of a shoemaker and his wife, to pay for shoes to enable
him to continue his journeys. He could sleep on a steamer's deck, with a
few shavings for a bed, and, wrapped in a blanket, look up at the starlit
sky, and give thanks to a Providence that he believed was ever guarding and
guiding him.
Early in September he left for Pittsburg where he spent one month scouring
the country for birds and continuing his drawings. In October, he was on
his way down the Ohio in a skiff, in company with "a doctor, an artist and
an Irishman." The weather was rainy, and at Wheeling his companions left
the boat in disgust. He sold his skiff and continued his voyage to
Cincinnati in a keel boat. Here he obtained a loan of fifteen dollars and
took deck passage on a boat to Louisville, going thence to Shipping Port to
see his son Victor. In a few days he was off for Bayou Sara to see his
wife, and with a plan to open a school there.
"I arrived at Bayou Sara with rent and wasted clothes, and uncut hair, and
altogether looking like the Wandering Jew."
In his haste to reach his wife and child at Mr. Percy's, a mile or more
distant through the woods, he got lost in the night, and wandered till
daylight before he found the house.
He found his wife had prospered in his absence, and was earning nearly
three thousand dollars a year, with which she was quite ready to help him
in the publication of his drawings. He forthwith resolved to see what he
could do to increase the amount by his own efforts. Receiving an offer to
teach dancing, he soon had a class of sixty organised. But the material
proved so awkward and refractory that the master in his first lesson broke
his bow and nearly ruined his violin in his excitement and impatience. Then
he danced to his own music till the whole room came down in thunders of
applause. The dancing lessons brought him two thousand dollars; this sum,
together with his wife's savings, enabled him to foresee a successful issue
to his great ornithological work.
On May, 1826, he embarked at New Orleans on board the ship _Delos_ for
Liverpool. His journal kept during this voyage abounds in interesting
incidents and descriptions. He landed at Liverpool, July 20, and delivered
some of his letters of introduction. He soon made the acquaintance of Mr.
Rathbone, Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Baring, and Lord Stanley. Lord Stanley said in
looking over his drawings: "This work is unique, and deserves the patronage
of the Crown." In a letter to his wife at this time, Audubon said: "I am
cherished by the most notable people in and around Liverpool, and have
obtained letters of introduction to Baron Humboldt, Sir Walter Scott, Sir
Humphry Davy, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Hannah More, Miss Edgeworth, and your
distinguished cousin, Robert Bakewell." Mark his courtesy to his wife in
this gracious mention of her relative--a courtesy which never forsook
him--a courtesy which goes far toward retaining any woman's affection.
His paintings were put on exhibition in the rooms of the Royal Institution,
an admittance of one shilling being charged. From this source he soon
realised a hundred pounds.
He then went to Edinburgh, carrying letters of introduction to many well
known literary and scientific men, among them Francis Jeffrey and
"Christopher North."
Professor Jameson, the Scotch naturalist, received him coldly, and told
him, among other things, that there was no chance of his seeing Sir Walter
Scott--he was too busy. "_Not see Sir Walter Scott_?" thought I; "I
SHALL, if I have to crawl on all fours for a mile." On his way up in the
stage coach he had passed near Sir Walter's seat, and had stood up and
craned his neck in vain to get a glimpse of the home of a man to whom, he
says, he was indebted for so much pleasure. He and Scott were in many ways
kindred spirits, men native to the open air, inevitable sportsmen, copious
and romantic lovers and observers of all forms and conditions of life. Of
course he will want to see Scott, and Scott will want to see him, if he
once scents his real quality.
Later, Professor Jameson showed Audubon much kindness and helped to
introduce him to the public.
In January, the opportunity to see Scott came to him.
"_January 22, Monday_. I was painting diligently when Captain Hall
came in, and said: 'Put on your coat, and come with me to Sir Walter Scott;
he wishes to see you _now_.' In a moment I was ready, for I really
believe my coat and hat came to me instead of my going to them. My heart
trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over. Had not his
wondrous pen penetrated my soul with the consciousness that here was a
genius from God's hand? I felt overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Sir
Walter, the Great Unknown. We reached the house, and a powdered waiter was
asked if Sir Walter were in. We were shown forward at once, and entering a
very small room Captain Hall said: 'Sir Walter, I have brought Mr.
Audubon.' Sir Walter came forward, pressed my hand warmly, and said he was
'glad to have the honour of meeting me.' His long, loose, silvery locks
struck me; he looked like Franklin at his best. He also reminded me of
Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of William Roscoe about him and
a kindness most prepossessing. I could not forbear looking at him, my eyes
feasted on his countenance. I watched his movements as I would those of a
celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck me forcibly. His
little room was tidy, though it partook a good deal of the character of a
laboratory. He was wrapped in a quilted morning-gown of light purple silk;
he had been at work writing on the 'Life of Napoleon.' He writes close
lines, rather curved as they go from left to right, and puts an immense
deal on very little paper. After a few minutes had elapsed, he begged
Captain Hall to ring a bell; a servant came and was asked to bid Miss Scott
come to see Mr. Audubon. Miss Scott came, black haired and black-dressed,
not handsome but said to be highly accomplished, and she is the daughter of
Sir Walter Scott. There was much conversation. I talked but little, but,
believe me, I listened and observed, careful if ignorant. I cannot write
more now. I have just returned from the Royal Society. Knowing that I was a
candidate for the electorate of the society, I felt very uncomfortable and
would gladly have been hunting on Tawapatee Bottom."
It may be worth while now to see what Scott thought of Audubon. Under the
same date, Sir Walter writes in his journal as follows: "_January_ 22,
1827. A visit from Basil Hall, with Mr. Audubon, the ornithologist, who has
followed the pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests. He
is an American by naturalisation, a Frenchman by birth; but less of a
Frenchman than I have ever seen--no dust or glimmer, or shine about him,
but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person and plainly
dressed; wears long hair, which time has not yet tinged; his countenance
acute, handsome, and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant
characteristic. 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
honour.'"
Two days later Audubon again saw Scott, and writes in his journal as
follows: "_January 24_. My second visit to Sir Walter Scott was much
more agreeable than my first. My portfolio and its contents were matters on
which I could speak substantially, and I found him so willing to level
himself with me for awhile that the time spent at his home was agreeable
and valuable. His daughter improved in looks the moment she spoke, having
both vivacity and good sense."
Scott's impressions of the birds as recorded in his journal, was that the
drawings were of the first order, but he thought that the aim at extreme
correctness and accuracy made them rather stiff.
In February Audubon met Scott again at the opening of the Exhibition at the
rooms of the Royal Institution.
"_Tuesday, February 13_. This was the grand, long promised, and much
wished-for day of the opening of the Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal
Institution. At one o'clock I went, the doors were just opened, and in a
few minutes the rooms were crowded. Sir Walter Scott was present; he came
towards me, shook my hand cordially, and pointing to Landseer's picture
said: 'Many such scenes, Mr. Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger days.'
We talked much of all about us, and I would gladly have joined him in a
glass of wine, but my foolish habits prevented me, and after inquiring of
his daughter's health, I left him, and shortly afterwards the rooms; for I
had a great appetite, and although there were tables loaded with
delicacies, and I saw the ladies particularly eating freely, I must say to
my shame I dared not lay my fingers on a single thing. In the evening I
went to the theatre where I was much amused by 'The Comedy of Errors,' and
afterwards, 'The Green Room.' I admire Miss Neville's singing very much;
and her manners also; there is none of the actress about her, but much of
the lady."
Audubon somewhere says of himself that he was "temperate to an intemperate
degree"--the accounts in later years show that he became less strict in
this respect. He would not drink with Sir Walter Scott at this time, but he
did with the Texan Houston and with President Andrew Jackson, later on.
In September we find him exhibiting his pictures in Manchester, but without
satisfactory results. In the lobby of the exchange where his pictures were
on exhibition, he overheard one man say to another: "Pray, have you seen
Mr. Audubon's collection of birds? I am told it is well worth a shilling;
suppose we go now."
"Pah! it is all a hoax; save your shilling for better use. I have seen
them; the fellow ought to be drummed out of town."
In 1827, in Edinburgh, he seems to have issued a prospectus for his work,
and to have opened books of subscription, and now a publisher, Mr. Lizars,
offers to bring out the first number of "Birds of America," and on November
28, the first proof of the first engraving was shown him, and he was
pleased with it.
With a specimen number he proposed to travel about the country in quest of
subscribers until he had secured three hundred. In his journal under date
of December 10, he says: "My success in Edinburgh borders on the
miraculous. My book is to be published in numbers containing four [in
another place he says five] birds in each, the size of life, in a style
surpassing anything now existing, at two guineas a number. The engravings
are truly beautiful; some of them have been coloured, and are now on
exhibition."
Audubon's journal, kept during his stay in Edinburgh, is copious, graphic,
and entertaining. It is a mirror of everything he saw and felt.
Among others he met George Combe, the phrenologist, author of the once
famous _Constitution of Man_, and he submitted to having his head
"looked at." The examiner said: "There cannot exist a moment of doubt that
this gentleman is a painter, colourist, and compositor, and, I would add,
an amiable though quick tempered man."
Audubon was invited to the annual feast given by the Antiquarian Society at
the Waterloo Hotel, at which Lord Elgin presided. After the health of many
others had been drunk, Audubon's was proposed by Skene, a Scottish
historian. "Whilst he was engaged in a handsome panegyric, the perspiration
poured from me. I thought I should faint." But he survived the ordeal and
responded in a few appropriate words. He was much dined and wined, and
obliged to keep late hours--often getting no more than four hours sleep,
and working hard painting and writing all the next day. He often wrote in
his journals for his wife to read later, bidding her Good-night, or rather
Good-morning, at three A.M.
Audubon had the bashfulness and awkwardness of the backwoodsman, and
doubtless the naiveté and picturesqueness also; these traits and his very
great merits as a painter of wild life, made him a favourite in Edinburgh
society. One day he went to read a paper on the Crow to Dr. Brewster, and
was so nervous and agitated that he had to pause for a moment in the midst
of it. He left the paper with Dr. Brewster and when he got it back again
was much shocked: "He had greatly improved the style (for I had none), but
he had destroyed the matter."
During these days Audubon was very busy writing, painting, receiving
callers, and dining out. He grew very tired of it all at times, and longed
for the solitude of his native woods. Some days his room was a perfect
levee. "It is Mr. Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon there; I only hope they
will not make a conceited fool of Mr. Audubon at last." There seems to have
been some danger of this, for he says: "I seem in a measure to have gone
back to my early days of society and fine dressing, silk stockings and
pumps, and all the finery with which I made a popinjay of myself in my
youth.... I wear my hair as long as usual, I believe it does as much for
me as my paintings."
He wrote to Thomas Sully of Philadelphia, promising to send him his first
number, to be presented to the Philadelphia Society--"an institution which
thought me unworthy to be a member," he writes.
About this time he was a guest for a day or two of Earl Morton, at his
estate Dalmahoy, near Edinburgh. He had expected to see an imposing
personage in the great Chamberlain to the late queen Charlotte. What was
his relief and surprise, then, to see a "small, slender man, tottering on
his feet, weaker than a newly hatched partridge," who welcomed him with
tears in his eyes. The countess, "a fair, fresh-complexioned woman, with
dark, flashing eyes," wrote her name in his subscription book, and offered
to pay the price in advance. The next day he gave her a lesson in drawing.
On his return to Edinburgh he dined with Captain Hall, to meet Francis
Jeffrey. "Jeffrey is a little man," he writes, "with a serious face and
dignified air. He looks both shrewd and cunning, and talks with so much
volubility he is rather displeasing.... Mrs. Jeffrey was nervous and very
much dressed."
Early in January he painted his "Pheasant attacked by a Fox." This was his
method of proceeding: "I take one [a fox] neatly killed, put him up with
wires, and when satisfied with the truth of the position, I take my palette
and work as rapidly as possible; the same with my birds. If practicable, I
finish the bird at one sitting,--often, it is true, of fourteen hours,--so
that I think they are correct, both in detail and in composition."
In pictures by Landseer and other artists which he saw in the galleries of
Edinburgh, he saw the skilful painter, "the style of men who know how to
handle a brush, and carry a good effect," but he missed that closeness and
fidelity to Nature which to him so much outweighed mere technique.
Landseer's "Death of a Stag" affected him like a farce. It was pretty, but
not real and true. He did not feel that way about the sermon he heard
Sydney Smith preach: "It was a sermon to _me_. He made me smile and he
made me think deeply. He pleased me at times by painting my foibles with
due care, and again I felt the colour come to my cheeks as he portrayed my
sins." Later, he met Sydney Smith and his "fair daughter," and heard the
latter sing. Afterwards he had a note from the famous divine upon which he
remarks: "The man should study economy; he would destroy more paper in a
day than Franklin would in a week; but all great men are more or less
eccentric. Walter Scott writes a diminutive hand, very difficult to read,
Napoleon a large scrawling one, still more difficult, and Sydney Smith goes
up hill all the way with large strides."
Having decided upon visiting London, he yielded to the persuasions of his
friends and had his hair cut before making the trip. He chronicles the
event in his journal as a very sad one, in which "the will of God was
usurped by the wishes of man." Shorn of his locks he probably felt humbled
like the stag when he loses his horns.
Quitting Edinburgh on April 5, he visited, in succession, Newcastle, Leeds,
York, Shrewsbury, and Manchester, in quest of subscribers to his great
work. A few were obtained at each place at two hundred pounds per head. At
Newcastle he first met Bewick, the famous wood engraver, and conceived a
deep liking for him.
We find him in London on May 21, 1827, and not in a very happy frame of
mind: "To me London is just like the mouth of an immense monster, guarded
by millions of sharp-edged teeth, from which, if I escape unhurt, it must
be called a miracle." It only filled him with a strong desire to be in his
beloved woods again. His friend, Basil Hall, had insisted upon his
procuring a black suit of clothes. When he put this on to attend his first
dinner party, he spoke of himself as "attired like a mournful raven," and
probably more than ever wished himself in the woods.
He early called upon the great portrait painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, who
inspected his drawings, pronounced them "very clever," and, in a few days,
brought him several purchasers for some of his animal paintings, thus
replenishing his purse with nearly one hundred pounds.
Considering Audubon's shy disposition, and his dread of persons in high
places, it is curious that he should have wanted to call upon the King, and
should have applied to the American Minister, Mr. Gallatin, to help him to
do so. Mr. Gallatin laughed and said: "It is impossible, my dear sir, the
King 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." But his work was presented
to the King who called it fine, and His Majesty became a subscriber on the
usual terms. Other noble persons followed suit, yet Audubon was despondent.
He had removed the publication of his work from Edinburgh to London, from
the hands of Mr. Lizars into those of Robert Havell. But the enterprise did
not prosper, his agents did not attend to business, nor to his orders, and
he soon found himself at bay for means to go forward with the work. At this
juncture he determined to make a sortie for the purpose of collecting his
dues and to add to his subscribers. He visited Leeds, York, and other
towns. Under date of October 9, at York, he writes in his journal: "How
often I thought during these visits of poor Alexander Wilson. Then
travelling as I am now, to procure subscribers he, as well as myself, was
received with rude coldness, and sometimes with that arrogance which
belongs to _parvenus."_
A week or two later we find him again in Edinburgh where he breakfasted
with Professor Wilson ("Christopher North"), whom he greatly enjoyed, a man
without stiffness or ceremonies: "No cravat, no waistcoat, but a fine frill
of his own profuse beard, his hair flowing uncontrolled, and his speech
dashing at once at the object in view, without circumlocution.... He gives
me comfort by being comfortable himself."
In early November he took the coach for Glasgow, he and three other
passengers making the entire journey without uttering a single word: "We
sat like so many owls of different species, as if afraid of one another."
Four days in Glasgow and only one subscriber.
Early in January he is back in London arranging with Mr. Havell for the
numbers to be engraved in 1828. One day on looking up to the new moon he
saw a large flock of wild ducks passing over, then presently another flock
passed. The sight of these familiar objects made him more homesick than
ever. He often went to Regent's Park to see the trees, and the green grass,
and to hear the sweet notes of the black birds and starlings.
The black birds' note revived his drooping spirits: to his wife he writes,
"it carries my mind to the woods around thee, my Lucy."
Now and then a subscriber withdrew his name, which always cut him to the
quick, but did not dishearten him.
"_January 28_. I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day announcing to
me the loss of four subscribers; but these things do not dampen my spirits
half so much as the smoke of London. I am as dull as a beetle."
In February he learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence who prevented the
British Museum from subscribing to his work: "He considered the drawings
so-so, and the engraving and colouring bad; when I remember how he praised
these same drawings _in my presence,_ I wonder--that is all."
The rudest man he met in England was the Earl of Kinnoul: "A small man with
a face like the caricature of an owl." He sent for Audubon to tell him that
all his birds were alike, and that he considered his work a swindle. "He
may really think this, his knowledge is probably small; but it is not the
custom to send for a gentleman to abuse him in one's own house." Audubon
heard his words, bowed and left him without speaking.
In March he went to Cambridge and met and was dined by many learned men.
The University, through its Librarian, subscribed for his work. Other
subscriptions followed. He was introduced to a judge who wore a wig that
"might make a capital bed for an Osage Indian during the whole of a cold
winter on the Arkansas River."
On his way to Oxford he saw them turn a stag from a cart "before probably a
hundred hounds and as many huntsmen. A curious land, and a curious custom,
to catch an animal and then set it free merely to catch it again." At
Oxford he received much attention, but complains that not one of the
twenty-two colleges subscribed for his work, though two other institutions
did.
Early in April we find him back in London lamenting over his sad fate in
being compelled to stay in so miserable a place. He could neither write nor
draw to his satisfaction amid the "bustle, filth, and smoke." His mind and
heart turned eagerly toward America, and to his wife and boys, and he began
seriously to plan for a year's absence from England. He wanted to renew and
to improve about fifty of his drawings. During this summer of 1828, he was
very busy in London, painting, writing, and superintending the colouring of
his plates. Under date of August 9, he writes in his journal: "I have been
at work from four every morning until dark; I have kept up my large
correspondence. My publication goes on well and regularly, and this very
day seventy sets have been distributed, yet the number of my subscribers
has not increased; on the contrary, I have lost some." He made the
acquaintance of Swainson, and the two men found much companionship in each
other, and had many long talks about birds: "Why, Lucy, thou wouldst think
that birds were all that we cared for in this world, but thou knowest this
is not so."
Together he and Mr. and Mrs. Swainson planned a trip to Paris, which they
carried out early in September. It tickled Audubon greatly to find that the
Frenchman at the office in Calais, who had never seen him, had described
his complexion in his passport as copper red, because he was an American,
all Americans suggesting aborigines. In Paris they early went to call upon
Baron Cuvier. They were told that he was too busy to be seen: "Being
determined to look at the Great Man, we waited, knocked again, and with a
certain degree of firmness, sent in our names. The messenger returned,
bowed, and led the way up stairs, where in a minute Monsieur le Baron, like
an excellent good man, came to us. He had heard much of my friend Swainson,
and greeted him as he deserves to be greeted; he was polite and kind to me,
though my name had never made its way to his ears. I looked at him and here
follows the result: Age about sixty-five; size corpulent, five feet five
English measure; head large, face wrinkled and brownish; eyes grey,
brilliant and sparkling; nose aquiline, large and red; mouth large with
good lips; teeth few, blunted by age, excepting one on the lower jaw,
_measuring nearly three-quarters of an inch square._" The italics are
not Audubon's. The great naturalist invited his callers to dine with him at
six on the next Saturday.
They next presented their letter to Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, with whom they
were particularly pleased. Neither had he ever heard of Audubon's work. The
dinner with Cuvier gave him a nearer view of the manners and habits of the
great man. "There was not the show of opulence at this dinner that is seen
in the same rank of life in England, no, not by far, but it was a good
dinner served _à la Française._" Neither was it followed by the
"drinking matches" of wine, so common at English tables.
During his stay in Paris Audubon saw much of Cuvier, and was very kindly
and considerately treated by him. One day he accompanied a portrait painter
to his house and saw him sit for his portrait: "I see the Baron now, quite
as plainly as I did this morning,--an old green surtout about him, a
neckcloth that would have wrapped his whole body if unfolded, loosely tied
about his chin, and his silver locks looking like those of a man who loves
to study books better than to visit barbers."
Audubon remained in Paris till near the end of October, making the
acquaintance of men of science and of artists, and bringing his work to the
attention of those who were likely to value it. Baron Cuvier reported
favourably upon it to the Academy of Sciences, pronouncing it "the most
magnificent monument which has yet been erected to ornithology." He
obtained thirteen subscribers in France and spent forty pounds.
On November 9, he is back in London, and soon busy painting, and pressing
forward the engraving and colouring of his work. The eleventh number was
the first for the year 1829.
The winter was largely taken up in getting ready for his return trip to
America. He found a suitable agent to look after his interests, collected
some money, paid all his debts, and on April 1 sailed from Portsmouth in
the packet ship _Columbia_. He was sea-sick during the entire voyage,
and reached New York May 5. He did not hasten to his family as would have
been quite natural after so long an absence, but spent the summer and part
of the fall in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, prosecuting his studies and
drawings of birds, making his headquarters in Camden, New Jersey. He spent
six weeks in the Great Pine Forest, and much time at Great Egg Harbor, and
has given delightful accounts of these trips in his journals. Four hours'
sleep out of the twenty-four was his allotted allowance.
One often marvels at Audubon's apparent indifference to his wife and his
home, for from the first he was given to wandering. Then, too, his
carelessness in money matters, and his improvident ways, necessitating his
wife's toiling to support the family, put him in a rather unfavourable
light as a "good provider," but a perusal of his journal shows that he was
keenly alive to all the hardships and sacrifices of his wife, and from
first to last in his journeyings he speaks of his longings for home and
family. "Cut off from all dearest me," he says in one of his youthful
journeys, and in his latest one he speaks of himself as being as happy as
one can be who is "three thousand miles from the dearest friend on earth."
Clearly some impelling force held him to the pursuit of this work,
hardships or no hardships. Fortunately for him, his wife shared his belief
in his talents and in their ultimate recognition.
Under date of October 11, 1829, he writes: "I am at work and have done
much, but I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot the
specimens; still I am delighted at what I have accumulated in drawings this
season. Forty-two drawings in four months, eleven large, eleven middle
size, and twenty-two small, comprising ninety-five birds, from eagles
downwards, with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty different kinds of eggs.
I live alone, see scarcely anyone besides those belonging to the house
where I lodge. I rise long before day, and work till nightfall, when I take
a walk and to bed."
Audubon's capacity for work was extraordinary. His enthusiasm and
perseverance were equally extraordinary. His purposes and ideas fairly
possessed him. Never did a man consecrate himself more fully to the
successful completion of the work of his life, than did Audubon to the
finishing of his "American Ornithology."
During this month Audubon left Camden and turned his face toward his wife
and children, crossing the mountains to Pittsburg in the mail coach with
his dog and gun, thence down the Ohio in a steamboat to Louisville, where
he met his son Victor, whom he had not seen for five years. After a few
days here with his two boys, he started for Bayou Sara to see his wife.
Beaching Mr. Johnson's house in the early morning, he went at once to his
wife's apartment: "Her door was ajar, already she was dressed and sitting
by her piano, on which a young lady was playing. I pronounced her name
gently, she saw me, and the next moment I held her in my arms. Her emotion
was so great I feared I had acted rashly, but tears relieved our hearts,
once more we were together."
Mrs. Audubon soon settled up her affairs at Bayou Sara, and the two set out
early in January, 1830, for Louisville, thence to Cincinnati, thence to
Wheeling, and so on to Washington, where Audubon exhibited his drawings to
the House of Representatives and received their subscriptions as a body. In
Washington, he met the President, Andrew Jackson, and made the acquaintance
of Edward Everett. Thence to Baltimore where he obtained three more
subscribers, thence to New York from which port he sailed in April with his
wife on the packet ship Pacific, for England, and arrived at Liverpool in
twenty-five days.
This second sojourn in England lasted till the second of August, 1831. The
time was occupied in pushing the publication of his "Birds," canvassing the
country for new subscribers, painting numerous pictures for sale, writing
his "Ornithological Biography," living part of the time in Edinburgh, and
part of the time in London, with two or three months passed in France,
where there were fourteen subscribers. While absent in America, he had been
elected a fellow of the Royal Society of London, and on May 6 took his seat
in the great hall.
He needed some competent person to assist him in getting his manuscript
ready for publication and was so fortunate as to obtain the services of
MacGillivray, the biographer of British Birds.
Audubon had learned that three editions of Wilson's "Ornithology" were
soon to be published in Edinburgh, and he set to work vigorously to get his
book out before them. Assisted by MacGillivray, he worked hard at his
biography of the birds, writing all day, and Mrs. Audubon making a copy of
the work to send to America to secure copyright there. Writing to her sons
at this time, Mrs. Audubon says: "Nothing is heard but the steady movement
of the pen; your father is up and at work before dawn, and writes without
ceasing all day."
When the first volume was finished, Audubon offered it to two publishers,
both of whom refused it, so he published it himself in March, 1831.
In April on his way to London he travelled "on that Extraordinary road
called the railway, at the rate of twenty-four miles an hour."
The first volume of his bird pictures was completed this summer, and, in
bringing it out, forty thousand dollars had passed through his hands. It
had taken four years to bring that volume before the world, during which
time no less than fifty of his subscribers, representing the sum of
fifty-six thousand dollars, had abandoned him, so that at the end of that
time, he had only one hundred and thirty names standing on his list.
It was no easy thing to secure enough men to pledge themselves to $1,000
for a work, the publication of which must of necessity extend over eight or
ten years.
Few enterprises, involving such labour and expense, have ever been carried
through against such odds.
The entire cost of the "Birds" exceeded one hundred thousand dollars, yet
the author never faltered in this gigantic undertaking.
On August 2, Audubon and his wife sailed for America, and landed in New
York on September 4. They at once went to Louisville where the wife
remained with her sons, while the husband went to Florida where the winter
of 1831-2 was spent, prosecuting his studies of our birds. His adventures
and experiences in Florida, he has embodied in his Floridian Episodes, "The
Live Oakers," "Spring Garden," "Deer Hunting," "Sandy Island," "The
Wreckers," "The Turtles," "Death of a Pirate," and other sketches. Stopping
at Charleston, South Carolina, on this southern trip, he made the
acquaintance of the Reverend John Bachman, and a friendship between these
two men was formed that lasted as long as they both lived. Subsequently,
Audubon's sons, Victor and John, married Dr. Bachman's two eldest
daughters.
In the summer of 1832, Audubon, accompanied by his wife and two sons, made
a trip to Maine and New Brunswick, going very leisurely by private
conveyance through these countries, studying the birds, the people, the
scenery, and gathering new material for his work. His diaries give minute
accounts of these journeyings. He was impressed by the sobriety of the
people of Maine; they seem to have had a "Maine law" at that early date;
"for on asking for brandy, rum, or whiskey, not a drop could I obtain." He
saw much of the lumbermen and was a deeply interested spectator of their
ways and doings. Some of his best descriptive passages are contained in
these diaries.
In October he is back in Boston planning a trip to Labrador, and intent on
adding more material to his "Birds" by another year in his home country.
That his interests abroad in the meantime might not suffer by being
entirely in outside hands, he sent his son Victor, now a young man of
considerable business experience, to England to represent him there. The
winter of 1832 and 1833 Audubon seems to have spent mainly in Boston,
drawing and re-drawing and there he had his first serious illness.
In the spring of 1833, a schooner was chartered and, accompanied by five
young men, his youngest son, John Woodhouse, among them, Audubon started on
his Labrador trip, which lasted till the end of summer. It was an expensive
and arduous trip, but was greatly enjoyed by all hands, and was fruitful in
new material for his work. Seventy-three bird skins were prepared, many
drawings made, and many new plants collected.
The weather in Labrador was for the most part rainy, foggy, cold, and
windy, and his drawings were made in the cabin of his vessel, often under
great difficulties. He makes this interesting observation upon the Eider
duck: "In one nest of the Eider ten eggs were found; this is the most we
have seen as yet in any one nest. The female draws the down from her
abdomen as far toward her breast as her bill will allow her to do, but the
feathers are not pulled, and on examination of several specimens, I found
these well and regularly planted, and cleaned from their original down, as
a forest of trees is cleared of its undergrowth. In this state the female
is still well clothed, and little or no difference can be seen in the
plumage, unless examined."
He gives this realistic picture of salmon fishermen that his party saw in
Labrador: "On going to a house on the shore, we found it a tolerably good
cabin, floored, containing a good stove, a chimney, and an oven at the
bottom of this, like the ovens of the French peasants, three beds, and a
table whereon the breakfast of the family was served. This consisted of
coffee in large bowls, good bread, and fried salmon. Three Labrador dogs
came and sniffed about us, and then returned under the table whence they
had issued, with no appearance of anger. Two men, two women, and a babe
formed the group, which I addressed in French. They were French-Canadians
and had been here several years, winter and summer, and are agents for the
Fur and Fish Co., who give them food, clothes, and about $80 per annum.
They have a cow and an ox, about an acre of potatoes planted in sand, seven
feet of snow in winter, and two-thirds less salmon than was caught here ten
years since. Then, three hundred barrels was a fair season; now one hundred
is the maximum; this is because they will catch the fish both ascending and
descending the river. During winter the men hunt Foxes, Martens, and
Sables, and kill some bear of the black kind, but neither Deer nor other
game is to be found without going a great distance in the interior, where
Reindeer are now and then procured. One species of Grouse, and one of
Ptarmigan, the latter white at all seasons; the former, I suppose to be,
the Willow Grouse. The men would neither sell nor give us a single salmon,
saying, that so strict were their orders that, should they sell _one,_
the place might be taken from them. If this should prove the case
everywhere, I shall not purchase many for my friends. The furs which they
collect are sent off to Quebec at the first opening of the waters in
spring, and not a skin of any sort was here for us to look at."
He gives a vivid picture of the face of Nature in Labrador on a fine day,
under date of July 2: "A beautiful day for Labrador. Drew another _M.
articus._ Went on shore, and was most pleased with what I saw. The
country, so wild and grand, is of itself enough to interest any one in its
wonderful dreariness. Its mossy, grey-clothed rocks, heaped and thrown
together as if by chance, in the most fantastical groups imaginable, huge
masses hanging on minor ones as if about to roll themselves down from their
doubtful-looking situations, into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays
without end, sprinkled with rocky islands of all shapes and sizes, where in
every fissure a Guillemot, a Cormorant, or some other wild bird retreats to
secure its egg, and raise its young, or save itself from the hunter's
pursuit. The peculiar cast of the sky, which never seems to be certain,
butterflies flitting over snowbanks, probing beautiful dwarf flowerets of
many hues, pushing their tender, stems from the thick bed of moss which
everywhere covers the granite rocks. Then the morasses, wherein you plunge
up to your knees, or the walking over the stubborn, dwarfish shrubbery,
making one think that as he goes he treads down the _forests_ of
Labrador. The unexpected Bunting, or perhaps Sylvia, which, perchance, and
indeed as if by chance alone, you now and then see flying before you, or
hear singing from the creeping plants on the ground. The beautiful
freshwater lakes, on the rugged crests of greatly elevated islands, wherein
the Red and Black-necked Divers swim as proudly as swans do in other
latitudes, and where the fish appear to have been cast as strayed beings
from the surplus food of the ocean. All--all is wonderfully grand, wild--aye,
and terrific. And yet how beautiful it is now, when one sees the wild
bee, moving from one flower to another in search of food, which doubtless
is as sweet to it, as the essence of the magnolia is to those of favoured
Louisiana. The little Ring Plover rearing its delicate and tender young,
the Eider Duck swimming man-of-war-like amid her floating brood, like the
guardship of a most valuable convoy; the White-crowned Bunting's sonorous
note reaching the ear ever and anon; the crowds of sea birds in search of
places wherein to repose or to feed--how beautiful is all this in this
wonderful rocky desert at this season, the beginning of July, compared with
the horrid blasts of winter which here predominate by the will of God, when
every rock is rendered smooth with snows so deep that every step the
traveller takes is as if entering into his grave; for even should he escape
an avalanche, his eye dreads to search the horizon, for full well he knows
that snow--snow is all that can be seen. I watched the Ring Plover for some
time; the parents were so intent on saving their young that they both lay
on the rocks as if shot, quivering their wings and dragging their bodies as
if quite disabled. We left them and their young to the care of the Creator.
I would not have shot one of the old ones, or taken one of the young for
any consideration, and I was glad my young men were as forbearing. The
_L. marinus_ is extremely abundant here; they are forever harassing
every other bird, sucking their eggs, and devouring their young; they take
here the place of Eagles and Hawks; not an Eagle have we seen yet, and only
two or three small Hawks, and one small Owl; yet what a harvest they would
have here, were there trees for them to rest upon."
On his return from Labrador in September, Audubon spent three weeks in New
York, after which with his wife, he started upon another southern trip,
pausing at Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, and Richmond. In Washington
he made some attempts to obtain permission to accompany a proposed
expedition to the Rocky Mountains, under Government patronage. But the cold
and curt manner in which Cass, then Secretary of War, received his
application, quite disheartened him. But he presently met Washington
Irving, whose friendly face and cheering words revived his spirits. How one
would like a picture of that meeting in Washington between Audubon and
Irving--two men who in so many ways were kindred spirits!
Charleston, South Carolina, was reached late in October, and at the home of
their friend Bachman the Audubons seem to have passed the most of the
winter of 1833-4: "My time was well employed; I hunted for new birds or
searched for more knowledge of old. I drew, I wrote many long pages. I
obtained a few new subscribers, and made some collections on account of my
work."
His son Victor wrote desiring the presence of his father in England, and on
April 16, we find him with his wife and son John, again embarked for
Liverpool. In due time they are in London where they find Victor well, and
the business of publication going on prosperously. One of the amusing
incidents of this sojourn, narrated in the diaries, is Audubon's and his
son's interview with the Baron Rothschild, to whom he had a letter of
introduction from a distinguished American banking house. The Baron was not
present when they entered his private office, but "soon a corpulent man
appeared, hitching up his trousers, and a face red with the exertion of
walking, and without noticing anyone present, dropped his fat body into a
comfortable chair, as if caring for no one else in this wide world but
himself. While the Baron sat, we stood, with our hats held respectfully in
our hands. I stepped forward, and with a bow tendered my credentials.
'Pray, sir,' said the man of golden consequence, 'is this a letter of
business, or is it a mere letter of introduction?' This I could not well
answer, for I had not read the contents of it, and I was forced to answer
rather awkwardly, that I could not tell. The banker then opened the letter,
read it with the manner of one who was looking only at the temporal side of
things, and after reading it said, 'This is only a letter of introduction,
and I expect from its contents that you are the publisher of some book or
other and need my subscription.'
"Had a man the size of a mountain spoken to me in that arrogant style in
America, I should have indignantly resented it; but where I then was it
seemed best to swallow and digest it as well as I could. So in reply to the
offensive arrogance of the banker, I said I should be _honoured_ by
his subscription to the "Birds of America." 'Sir,' he said, 'I never sign
my name to any subscription list, but you may send in your work and I will
pay for a copy of it. Gentlemen, I am busy. I wish you good morning.' We
were busy men, too, and so bowing respectfully, we retired, pretty well
satisfied with the small slice of his opulence which our labour was likely
to obtain.
"A few days afterwards I sent the first volume of my work half bound, and
all the numbers besides, then published. On seeing them we were told that
he ordered the bearer to take them to his house, which was done directly.
Number after number was sent and delivered to the Baron, and after eight or
ten months my son made out his account and sent it by Mr. Havell, my
engraver, to his banking-house. The Baron looked at it with amazement, and
cried out, 'What, a hundred pounds for birds! Why, sir, I will give you
five pounds and not a farthing more!' Representations were made to him of
the magnificence and expense of the work, and how pleased his Baroness and
wealthy children would be to have a copy; but the great financier was
unrelenting. The copy of the work was actually sent back to Mr. Havell's
shop, and as I found that instituting legal proceedings against him would
cost more than it would come to, I kept the work, and afterwards sold it to
a man with less money but a nobler heart. What a distance there is between
two such men as the Baron Rothschild of London, and the merchant of
Savannah!"
Audubon remained in London during the summer of 1834, and in the fall
removed to Edinburgh, where he hired a house and spent a year and a half at
work on his "Ornithological Biography," the second and third volumes of
which were published during that time.
In the summer of 1836, he returned to London, where he settled his family
in Cavendish Square, and in July, with his son John, took passage at
Portsmouth for New York, desiring to explore more thoroughly the southern
states for new material for his work. On his arrival in New York, Audubon,
to his deep mortification, found that all his books, papers, and valuable
and curious things, which he had collected both at home and abroad, had
been destroyed in the great fire in New York, in 1835.
In September he spent some time in Boston where he met Brewer and Nuttall,
and made the acquaintance of Daniel Webster, Judge Story, and others.
Writing to his son in England, at this time, admonishing him to carry on
the work, should he himself be taken away prematurely, he advises him thus:
"Should you deem it wise to remove the publication of the work to this
country, I advise you to settle in Boston; _I have faith in the
Bostonians."_
In Salem he called upon a wealthy young lady by the name of Silsby, who had
the eyes of a gazelle, but "when I mentioned subscription it seemed to fall
on her ears, not as the cadence of the wood thrush, or of the mocking bird
does on mine, but as a shower bath in cold January."
From Boston Audubon returned in October to New York, and thence went
southward through Philadelphia to Washington, carrying with him letters
from Washington Irving to Benjamin F. Butler, then the Attorney General of
the United States, and to Martin Van Buren who had just been elected to the
presidency. Butler was then quite a young man: "He read Washington Irving's
letter, laid it down, and began a long talk about his talents, and after a
while came round to my business, saying that the Government allows so
little money to the departments, that he did not think it probable that
their subscription could be obtained without a law to that effect from
Congress."
At this time he also met the President, General Jackson: "He was very kind,
and as soon as he heard that we intended departing to-morrow evening for
Charleston, invited us to dine with him _en famille._ At the hour
named we went to the White House, and were taken into a room, where the
President soon joined us, I sat close to him; we spoke of olden times, and
touched slightly on politics, and I found him very averse to the Cause of
the Texans.... The dinner was what might be called plain and substantial in
England; I dined from a fine young turkey, shot within twenty miles of
Washington. The General drank no wine, but his health was drunk by us more
than once; and he ate very moderately; his last dish consisting of bread
and milk."
In November Audubon is again at the house of his friend Dr. Bachman, in
Charleston, South Carolina. Here he passed the winter of 1836-7, making
excursions to various points farther south, going as far as Florida. It was
at this time that he seems to have begun, in connection with Dr. Bachman,
his studies in Natural History which resulted in the publication, a few
years later, of the "Quadrupeds of North America."
In the spring he left Charleston and set out to explore the Gulf of Mexico,
going to Galveston and thence well into Texas, where he met General Sam
Houston. Here is one of his vivid, realistic pen pictures of the famous
Texan: "We walked towards the President's house, accompanied by the
Secretary of the Navy, and as soon as we rose above the bank, we saw before
us a level of far-extending prairie, destitute of timber, and rather poor
soil. Houses half finished, and most of them without roofs, tents, and a
liberty pole, with the capitol, were all exhibited to our view at once. We
approached the President's mansion, however, wading through water above our
ankles. This abode of President Houston is a small log house, consisting of
two rooms, and a passage through, after the southern fashion. The moment we
stepped over the threshold, on the right hand of the passage we found
ourselves ushered into what in other countries would be called the
antechamber; the ground floor, however, was muddy and filthy, a large fire
was burning, a small table covered with paper and writing materials, was in
the centre, camp-beds, trunks, and different materials, were strewed about
the room. We were at once presented to several members of the cabinet, some
of whom bore the stamp of men of intellectual ability, simple, though bold,
in their general appearance. Here we were presented to Mr. Crawford, an
agent of the British Minister to Mexico, who has come here on some secret
mission.
"The President was engaged in the opposite room on some national business,
and we could not see him for some time. Meanwhile we amused ourselves by
walking to the capitol, which was yet without a roof, and the floors,
benches, and tables of both houses of Congress were as well saturated with
water as our clothes had been in the morning. Being invited by one of the
great men of the place to enter a booth to take a drink of grog with him,
we did so; but I was rather surprised that he offered his name, instead of
the cash to the bar-keeper.
"We first caught sight of President Houston as he walked from one of the
grog shops, where he had been to prevent the sale of ardent spirits. He was
on his way to his house, and wore a large grey coarse hat; and the bulk of
his figure reminded me of the appearance of General Hopkins of Virginia,
for like him he is upwards of six feet high, and strong in proportion. But
I observed a scowl in the expression of his eyes, that was forbidding and
disagreeable. We reached his abode before him, but he soon came, and we
were presented to his excellency. He was dressed in a fancy velvet coat,
and trousers trimmed with broad gold lace; around his neck was tied a
cravat somewhat in the style of seventy-six. He received us kindly, was
desirous of retaining us for awhile, and offered us every facility within
his power. He at once removed us from the ante-room to his private chamber,
which, by the way, was not much cleaner than the former. We were severally
introduced by him to the different members of his cabinet and staff, and at
once asked to drink grog with him, which we did, wishing success to his new
republic. Our talk was short: but the impression which was made on my mind
at the time by himself, his officers, and his place of abode, can never be
forgotten."
Late in the summer of 1837, Audubon, with his son John and his new
wife--the daughter of Dr. Bachman, returned to England for the last time.
He finally settled down again in Edinburgh and prepared the fourth volume
of his "Ornithological Biography." This work seems to have occupied him a
year. The volume was published in November, 1838. More drawings for his
"Birds of America" were finished the next winter, and also the fifth volume
of the "Biography" which was published in May, 1839.
In the fall of that year the family returned to America and settled in New
York City, at 86 White street. His great work, the "Birds of America," had
been practically completed, incredible difficulties had been surmounted,
and the goal of his long years of striving had been reached. About one
hundred and seventy-five copies of his "Birds" had been delivered to
subscribers, eighty of the number in this country.
In a copy of the "Ornithological Biography" given in 1844 by Audubon to J.
Prescott Hall, the following note, preserved in the _Magazine of American
History_ (1877) was written by Mr. Hall. It is reproduced here in spite
of its variance from statements now accepted:--
"Mr. Audubon told me in the year 184- that he did not sell more than 40
copies of his great work in England, Ireland, Scotland and France, of which
Louis Philippe took 10.
"The following received their copies but never paid for them: George IV.,
Duchess of Clarence, Marquis of Londonderry, Princess of Hesse Homburg.
"An Irish lord whose name he would not give, took two copies and paid for
neither. Rothschild paid for his copy, but with great reluctance.
"He further said that he sold 75 copies in America, 26 in New York and 24
in Boston; that the work cost him £27,000 and that he lost $25,000 by it.
"He said that Louis Philippe offered to subscribe for 100 copies if he
would publish the work in Paris. This he found could not be done, as it
would have required 40 years to finish it as things were then in Paris. Of
this conversation I made a memorandum at the time which I read over to Mr.
Audubon and he pronounced it correct.
"J. PRESCOTT HALL."