[From _Audubon and His Journals_, edited by Maria R. Audubon (New
York, 1900, v. ii)]
When my wife, my eldest son (then an infant), and myself were returning
from Pennsylvania to Kentucky, we found it expedient, the waters being
unusually low, to provide ourselves with a _skiff_, to enable us to
proceed to our abode at Henderson. I purchased a large, commodious, and
light boat of that denomination. We procured a mattress, and our friends
furnished us with ready prepared viands. We had two stout negro rowers,
and in this trim we left the village of Shippingport [now within the
corporate limits of Louisville], in expectation of reaching the place of
our destination in a very few days.
It was in the month of October. The autumnal tints already decorated the
shores of that queen of rivers, the Ohio. Every tree was hung with long
and flowing festoons of different species of vines, many loaded with
clustered fruits of varied brilliancy, their rich bronzed carmine
mingling beautifully with the yellow foliage which now predominated over
the yet green leaves, reflecting more lively tints from the clear stream
than ever landscape painter portrayed, or poet imagined. The days were
yet warm. The sun had assumed the rich and glowing hue which at that
season produces the singular phenomenon called there the "Indian
Summer." The moon had rather passed the meridian of her grandeur. We
glided down the river, meeting no other ripple of the water than that
formed by the propulsion of our boat. Leisurely we moved along, gazing
all day on the grandeur and beauty of the wild scenery around us.
Now and then a large catfish rose to the surface of the water, in
pursuit of a shoal of fry, which, starting simultaneously from the
liquid element like so many silver arrows, produced a shower of light,
while the pursuer with open jaws seized the stragglers, and, with a
splash of his tail, disappeared from our view. Other fishes we heard,
uttering beneath our bark a rumbling noise, the strange sound of which
we discovered to proceed from the white perch, for on casting our net
from the bow, we caught several of that species, when the noise ceased
for a time.
Nature, in her varied arrangements, seems to have felt a partiality
towards this portion of our country. As the traveler ascends or
descends the Ohio, he cannot help remarking that alternately, nearly
the whole length of the river, the margin, on one side, is bounded by
lofty hills and a rolling surface, while on the other, extensive
plains of the richest alluvial land are seen as far as the eye can
command the view. Islands of varied size and form rise here and there
from the bosom of the water, and the winding course of the stream
frequently brings you to places where the idea of being on a river of
great length changes to that of floating on a lake of moderate extent.
Some of these islands are of considerable size and value; while
others, small and insignificant, seem as if intended for contrast, and
as serving to enhance the general interest of the scenery. These
little islands are frequently overflowed during great freshets or
floods, and receive at their heads prodigious heaps of drifted timber.
We foresaw with great concern the alterations that cultivation would
soon produce along those delightful banks.
As night came, sinking in darkness the broader portions of the river,
our minds became affected by strong emotions, and wandered far beyond
the present moments. The tinkling of bells told us that the cattle
which bore them were gently roving from valley to valley in search of
food, or returning to their distant homes. The hooting of the Great
Owl, or the muffled noise of its wings, as it sailed smoothly over the
stream, were matters of interest to us; so was the sound of the
boatman's horn, as it came winding more and more softly from afar.
When daylight returned, many songsters burst forth with echoing notes,
more and more mellow to the listening ear. Here and there the lonely
cabin of a squatter struck the eye, giving note of commencing
civilization. The crossing of the stream by a Deer foretold how soon
the hills would be covered with snow.
Many sluggish flatboats we overtook and passed; some laden with
produce from the different head-waters of the small rivers that pour
their tributary streams into the Ohio; others, of less dimensions,
crowded with emigrants from distant parts, in search of a new home.
Purer pleasures I never felt; nor have you, reader, I ween, unless
indeed you have felt the like, and in such company.
The margins of the shores and of the river were, at this season amply
supplied with game. A Wild Turkey, a Grouse, or a Blue-winged Teal,
could be procured in a few moments; and we fared well, for, whenever
we pleased we landed, struck up a fire, and provided as we were with
the necessary utensils, procured a good repast.
Several of these happy days passed, and we neared our home, when, one
evening, not far from Pigeon Creek (a small stream which runs into the
Ohio from the State of Indiana), a loud and strange noise was heard,
so like the yells of Indian warfare, that we pulled at our oars, and
made for the opposite side as fast and as quietly as possible. The
sounds increased, we imagined we heard cries of "murder;" and as we
knew that some depredations had lately been committed in the country
by dissatisfied parties of aborigines, we felt for a while extremely
uncomfortable. Ere long, however, our minds became more calmed, and we
plainly discovered that the singular uproar was produced by an
enthusiastic set of Methodists, who had wandered thus far out of the
common way for the purpose of holding one of their annual
camp-meetings, under the shade of a beech forest. Without meeting with
any other interruption, we reached Henderson, distant from
Shippingport, by water, about two hundred miles.
When I think of these times, and call back to my mind the grandeur and
beauty of those almost uninhabited shores; when I picture to myself
the dense and lofty summits of the forests, that everywhere spread
along the hills and overhung the margins of the stream, unmolested by
the axe of the settler; when I know how dearly purchased the safe
navigation of that river has been, by the blood of many worthy
Virginians; when I see that no longer any aborigines are to be found
there, and that the vast herds of Elk, Deer, and Buffaloes which once
pastured on these hills, and in these valleys, making for themselves
great roads to the several salt-springs, have ceased to exist; when I
reflect that all this grand portion of our Union, instead of being in
a state of nature, is now more or less covered with villages, farms,
and towns, where the din of hammers and machinery is constantly
heard; that the woods are fast disappearing under the axe by day, and
the fire by night; that hundreds of steamboats are gliding to and fro,
over the whole length of the majestic river, forcing commerce to take
root and to prosper at every spot; when I see the surplus population
of Europe coming to assist in the destruction of the forest, and
transplanting civilization into its darkest recesses; when I remember
that these extraordinary changes have all taken place in the short
period of twenty years, I pause, wonder, and although I know all to be
a fact, can scarcely believe its reality.
Whether these changes are for the better or for the worse, I shall not
pretend to say; but in whatever way my conclusions may incline, I feel
with regret that there are on record no satisfactory accounts of the
state of that portion of the country, from the time when our people
first settled in it. This has not been because no one in America is
able to accomplish such an undertaking. Our Irvings and our Coopers
have proved themselves fully competent for the task. It has more
probably been because the changes have succeeded each other with such
rapidity as almost to rival the movements of their pens. However, it
is not too late yet; and I sincerely hope that either or both of them
will ere long furnish the generations to come with those delightful
descriptions which they are so well qualified to give, of the original
state of a country that has been rapidly forced to change her form and
attire under the influence of increasing population. Yes, I hope to
read, ere I close my earthly career, accounts from those delightful
writers of the progress of civilization in our Western Country. They
will speak of the Clarks, the Croghans, the Boones, and many other men
of great and daring enterprise. They will analyze, as it were, into
each component part the country as it once existed, and will render
the picture, as it ought to be, immortal.