The Ohio. 1810.
Fishing in the Ohio. 1810.
A Wild Horse. 1811.
Breaking up of the Ice. 1811.
The Prairie. 1812.
The Regulators.
The Earthquake. 1812.
The Hurricane. 1814.
Colonel Boone. 1815.
Natchez in 1820.
The Lost Portfolio. 1820.
The Original Painter. 1821.
The Cougar. 1821.
The Runaway. 1821.
A Tough Walk for a Youth. 1822.
Hospitality in the Woods. 1822.
Niagara. 1824.
Meadville. 1824.
The Burning of the Forests. 1824.
A Long Calm at Sea. 1826.
Still Becalmed. 1826.
Great Egg Harbor. 1829.
The Great Pine Swamp. 1829.
The Lost One. 1832.
The Live-Oakers. 1832.
Spring Garden. 1832.
Death of a Pirate. 1832.
Wreckers of Florida. 1832.
St. John's River, in Florida. 1832.
The Florida Keys, No. 1. 1832.
The Florida Keys, No. 2. 1832.
The Turtlers. 1832.
The Form of the Waters. 1833.
Journey in New Brunswick and Maine. 1833.
A Moose Hunt. 1833.
Labrador. 1833.
The Eggers of Labrador. 1833.
The Squatters of Labrador. 1833.
Cod-Fishing. 1833.
A Ball in Newfoundland. 1833.
The Bay of Fundy. 1833.
A Flood.
The Squatters of the Mississippi.
Improvements in the Navigation of the Mississippi.
Kentucky Sports.
The Traveller and the Pole-cat.
Deer-Hunting.
The Eccentric Naturalist.
Scipio and the Bear.
A Kentucky Barbecue.
A Raccoon Hunt in Kentucky.
The Pitting of Wolves.
The Opossum.
A Maple-Sugar Camp.
The White Perch.
The American Sun-Perch.
My Style of drawing Birds.
FOOTNOTE:
[46] One episode has been added,--"My Style of drawing Birds,"--and
three have been omitted, that on Bewick being in the "Journal of England
and France," and the others not of general interest.
EPISODES
LOUISVILLE IN KENTUCKY
Louisville in Kentucky has always been a favorite place of mine. The
beauty of its situation on the banks of _La Belle Riviere_, just at the
commencement of the famed rapids, commonly called the Falls of the Ohio,
had attracted my notice, and when I removed to it, immediately after my
marriage, I found it more agreeable than ever. The prospect from the
town is such that it would please even the eye of a Swiss. It extends
along the river for seven or eight miles, and is bounded on the opposite
side by a fine range of low mountains, known by the name of the Silver
Hills. The rumbling sound of the waters as they tumble over the
rock-paved bed of the rapids is at all times soothing to the ear. Fish
and game are abundant. But, above all, the generous hospitality of the
inhabitants, and the urbanity of their manners, had induced me to fix
upon it as a place of residence; and I did so with the more pleasure
when I found that my wife was as much gratified as myself by the kind
attentions which were shown to us, utter strangers as we were, on our
arrival.
No sooner had we landed, and made known our intention of remaining, than
we were introduced to the principal inhabitants of the place and its
vicinity, although we had not brought a single letter of introduction,
and could not but see, from their unremitting kindness, that the
Virginian spirit of hospitality displayed itself in all the words and
actions of our newly formed friends. I wish here to name those persons
who so unexpectedly came forward to render our stay among them
agreeable, but feel at a loss with whom to begin, so equally deserving
are they of our gratitude. The Croghans, the Clarks (our great traveller
included), the Berthouds, the Galts, the Maupins, the Tarascons, the
Beals, and the Booths, form but a small portion of the long list which I
could give. The matrons acted like mothers to my wife, the daughters
proved agreeable associates, and the husbands and sons were friends and
companions to me. If I absented myself on business, or otherwise, for
any length of time, my wife was removed to the hospitable abode of some
friend in the neighborhood until my return, and then, kind reader, I was
several times obliged to spend a week or more with these good people
before they could be prevailed upon to let us return to our own
residence. We lived for two years at Louisville, where we enjoyed many
of the best pleasures which this life can afford; and whenever we have
since chanced to pass that way, we have found the kindness of our former
friends unimpaired.
During my residence at Louisville, much of my time was employed in my
ever favorite pursuits. I drew and noted the habits of everything which
I procured, and my collection was daily augmenting, as every individual
who carried a gun always sent me such birds or quadrupeds as he thought
might prove useful to me. My portfolios already contained upwards of two
hundred drawings. Dr. W. C. Galt being a botanist, was often consulted
by me, as well as his friend, Dr. Ferguson. Mr. Gilly drew beautifully,
and was fond of my pursuits. So was my friend, and now relative, N.
Berthoud. As I have already said, our time was spent in the most
agreeable manner, through the hospitable friendship of our acquaintance.
One fair morning I was surprised by the sudden entrance into our
counting-room of Mr. Alexander Wilson, the celebrated author of the
"American Ornithology," of whose existence I had never until that moment
been apprised. This happened in March, 1810. How well do I remember him,
as he walked up to me! His long, rather hooked nose, the keenness of his
eyes, and his prominent cheek bones, stamped his countenance with a
peculiar character. His dress, too, was of a kind not usually seen in
that part of the country,--a short coat, trousers, and a waistcoat of
gray cloth. His stature was not above the middle size. He had two
volumes under his arm, and as he approached the table at which I was
working, I thought I discovered something like astonishment in his
countenance. He, however, immediately proceeded to disclose the object
of his visit, which was to procure subscriptions for his work. He opened
his books, explained the nature of his occupations, and requested my
patronage.
I felt surprised and gratified at the sight of his volumes, turned over
a few of the plates, and had already taken a pen to write my name in his
favor, when my partner, rather abruptly, said to me in French, "My dear
Audubon, what induces you to subscribe to this work? Your drawings are
certainly far better, and again, you must know as much of the habits of
American birds as this gentlemen." Whether Mr. Wilson understood French
or not, or if the suddenness with which I paused disappointed him, I
cannot tell; but I clearly perceived he was not pleased. Vanity and the
encomiums of my friend prevented me from subscribing. Mr. Wilson asked
me if I had many drawings of birds. I rose, took down a large portfolio,
laid it on the table, and showed him, as I would show you, kind reader,
or any other person fond of such subjects, the whole of the contents,
with the same patience with which he had shown me his own engravings.
His surprise appeared great, as he told me he never had the most distant
idea that any other individual than himself had been engaged in forming
such a collection. He asked me if it was my intention to publish, and
when I answered in the negative, his surprise seemed to increase. And,
truly, such was not my intention; for until long after, when I meet the
Prince of Musignano in Philadelphia, I had not the least idea of
presenting the fruits of my labors to the world. Mr. Wilson now examined
my drawings with care, asked if I should have any objections to lending
him a few during his stay, to which I replied that I had none; he then
bade me good-morning, not, however, until I had made an arrangement to
explore the woods in the vicinity with him, and had promised to procure
for him some birds of which I had drawings in my collection, but which
he had never seen.
It happened that he lodged in the same house with us, but his retired
habits, I thought, exhibited either a strong feeling of discontent or a
decided melancholy. The Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute
made me melancholy too, and I felt for him. I presented him to my wife
and friends, and seeing that he was all enthusiasm, exerted myself as
much as was in my power to procure for him the specimens which he
wanted. We hunted together, and obtained birds which he had never before
seen; but, reader, I did not subscribe to his work, for, even at that
time, my collection was greater than his. Thinking that perhaps he might
be pleased to publish the results of my researches, I offered them to
him, merely on condition that what I had drawn, or might afterwards draw
and send to him, should be mentioned in his work as coming from my
pencil. I, at the same time, offered to open a correspondence with him,
which I thought might prove beneficial to us both. He made no reply to
either proposal, and before many days had elapsed, left Louisville, on
his way to New Orleans, little knowing how much his talents were
appreciated in our little town, at least by myself and my friends.
Some time elapsed, during which I never heard of him, or of his work.
At length, having occasion to go to Philadelphia, I, immediately after
my arrival there, inquired for him, and paid him a visit. He was then
drawing a White-headed Eagle. He received me with civility, and took me
to the exhibition rooms of Rembrandt Peale, the artist, who had then
portrayed Napoleon crossing the Alps. Mr. Wilson spoke not of birds nor
drawings. Feeling, as I was forced to do, that my company was not
agreeable, I parted from him; and after that I never saw him again. But
judge of my astonishment sometime after, when, on reading the
thirty-ninth page of the ninth volume of "American Ornithology," I found
in it the following paragraph:--
"_March 23, 1810._ I bade adieu to Louisville, to which place I had four
letters of recommendation, and was taught to expect much of everything
there; but neither received one act of civility from those to whom I was
recommended, one subscriber nor one new bird; though I delivered my
letters, ransacked the woods repeatedly, and visited all the characters
likely to subscribe. Science or literature has not one friend in this
place."
THE OHIO
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, 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 traveller 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 a 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,[47] 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 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 so 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.
FISHING IN THE OHIO
It is with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret that I recall to my
mind the many pleasant days I have spent on the shores of the Ohio. The
visions of former years crowd on my view, as I picture to myself the
fertile soil and genial atmosphere of our great western garden,
Kentucky, and view the placid waters of the fair stream that flows along
its western boundary. Methinks I am now on the banks of the noble river.
Twenty years of my life have returned to me; my sinews are strong, and
the "bowspring of my spirit is not slack;" bright visions of the future
float before me, as I sit on a grassy bank, gazing on the glittering
waters. Around me are dense forests of lofty trees and thickly tangled
undergrowth, amid which are heard the songs of feathered choristers, and
from whose boughs hang clusters of glowing fruits and beautiful flowers.
Reader, I am very happy. But now the dream has vanished, and here I am
in the British Athens, penning an episode for my Ornithological
Biography, and having before me sundry well-thumbed and weather-beaten
folios, from which I expect to be able to extract some interesting
particulars respecting the methods employed in those days in catching
catfish.
But before entering on my subject I will present you with a brief
description of the place of my residence on the banks of the Ohio. When
I first landed at Henderson in Kentucky, my family, like the village,
was quite small. The latter consisted of six or eight houses, the former
of my wife, myself, and a young child. Few as the houses were, we
fortunately found one empty. It was a log _cabin_, not a log _house_;
but as better could not be had, we were pleased. Well, then, we were
located. The country around was thinly peopled, and all purchasable
provisions rather scarce; but our neighbors were friendly, and we had
brought with us flour and bacon-hams. Our pleasures were those of young
people not long married, and full of life and merriment; a single smile
from our infant was, I assure you, more valued by us than all the
treasure of a modern Croesus would have been. The woods were amply
stocked with game, the river with fish; and now and then the hoarded
sweets of the industrious bees were brought from some hollow tree to our
little table. Our child's cradle was our richest piece of furniture, our
guns and fishing-lines our most serviceable implements, for although we
began to cultivate a garden, the rankness of the soil kept the seeds we
planted far beneath the tall weeds that sprung up the first year. I had
then a partner, a "man of business," and there was also with me a
Kentucky youth, who much preferred the sports of the forest and river to
either day-book or ledger. He was naturally, as I may say, a good
woodsman, hunter, and angler, and, like me, thought chiefly of procuring
supplies of fish and fowl. To the task accordingly we directed all our
energies.
Quantity as well as quality was an object with us, and although we well
knew that three species of catfish existed in the Ohio, and that all
were sufficiently good, we were not sure as to the best method of
securing them. We determined, however, to work on a large scale, and
immediately commenced making a famous "trot-line." Now, reader, as you
may probably know nothing about this engine, I shall describe it to you.
A trot-line is one of considerable length and thickness, both qualities,
however, varying according to the extent of water, and the size of the
fish you expect to catch. As the Ohio, at Henderson, is rather more
than half a mile in breadth, and as catfishes weigh from one to an
hundred pounds, we manufactured a line which measured about two hundred
yards in length, as thick as the little finger of some fair one yet in
her teens, and as white as the damsel's finger well could be, for it was
wholly of Kentucky cotton, just, let me tell you, because that substance
stands the water better than either hemp or flax. The main line
finished, we made a hundred smaller ones, about five feet in length, to
each of which we fastened a capital hook of Kirby and Co.'s manufacture.
Now for the bait!
It was the month of May. Nature had brought abroad myriads of living
beings; they covered the earth, glided through the water, and swarmed in
the air. The catfish is a voracious creature, not at all nice in
feeding, but one who, like the Vulture, contents himself with carrion
when nothing better can be had. A few experiments proved to us that, of
the dainties with which we tried to allure them to our hooks, they gave
a decided preference, at that season, to _live toads_. These animals
were very abundant about Henderson. They ramble or feed, whether by
instinct or reason, during early or late twilight more than at any other
time, especially after a shower, and are unable to bear the heat of the
sun's rays for several hours before and after noon. We have a good
number of these crawling things in America, particularly in the western
and southern parts of the Union, and are very well supplied with frogs,
snakes, lizards, and even crocodiles, which we call alligators; but
there is enough of food for them all, and we generally suffer them to
creep about, to leap or to flounder as they please, or in accordance
with the habits which have been given them by the great Conductor of
all.
During the month of May, and indeed until autumn, we found an abundant
supply of toads. Many "fine ladies," no doubt, would have swooned, or
at least screamed and gone into hysterics, had they seen one of our
baskets filled with these animals, all alive and plump. Fortunately we
had no tragedy queen or sentimental spinster at Henderson. Our Kentucky
ladies mind their own affairs, and seldom meddle with those of others
farther than to do all they can for their comfort. The toads, collected
one by one, and brought home in baskets, were deposited in a barrel for
use. And now that night is over, and as it is the first trial we are
going to give our trot-line, just watch our movements from that high
bank beside the stream. There sit down under the large cotton-wood tree.
You are in no danger of catching cold at this season.