but you may procure them with a cast-net or a seine, provided you are
well acquainted with the localities. On the contrary, when the waters
are clear and low, every secluded hole, every eddy under the lee of a
rock, every place sheltered by a raft of timber, will afford you
amusement. In some parts of the Southern States, the negroes procure
these fishes late in the autumn in shallow ponds or bayous, by wading
through the water with caution, and placing at every few steps a wicker
apparatus, not unlike a small barrel, open at both ends. The moment the
fishes find themselves confined within the lower part of this, which is
pressed to the bottom of the stream, their skippings announce their
capture, and the fisher secures his booty.
This species, the _Labrus auritus_ of Linnaeus, the _Pomotis vulgaris_ of
Cuvier, seldom exceeds five or six inches in length, but is rather deep
in proportion. The usual size is from four to five inches, with a depth
of from two to two and a half. They are not bony, and at all seasons
afford delicate eating. Having observed a considerable change in their
color in different parts of the United States, and in different streams,
ponds, or lakes, I was led to think that this curious effect might be
produced by the difference of color in the water. Thus the Sunfish
caught in the deep waters of Green River, in Kentucky, exhibit a depth
of olive-brown quite different from the general tint of those caught in
the colorless waters of the Ohio or Schuylkill; those of the
reddish-colored waters of the bayous of the Louisiana swamps look as if
covered with a coppery tarnish; and, lastly, those met with in streams
that glide beneath cedars or other firs, have a pale and sallow
complexion.
The Sun Perch, wherever found, seems to give a decided preference to
sandy, gravelly, or rocky beds of streams, avoiding those of which the
bottom is muddy. At the period of depositing their eggs this preference
is still more apparent. The little creature is then seen swimming
rapidly over shallows, the bed of which is mostly formed of fine gravel,
when after a time it is observed to poise itself and gradually sink to
the bottom, where with its fin it pushes aside the sand to the extent of
eight or ten inches, thus forming a circular cavity. In a few days a
little ridge is thus raised around, and in the cleared area the roe is
deposited. By wading carefully over the extent of the place, a person
may count forty, fifty, or more of these beds, some within a few feet of
each other, and some several yards apart. Instead of abandoning its
spawn, as others of the family are wont to do, this little fish keeps
guard over it with all the care of a sitting bird. You observe it poised
over the bed, watching the objects around. Should the rotten leaf of a
tree, a piece of wood, or any other substance, happen to be rolled over
the border of the bed, the Sunfish carefully removes it, holding the
obnoxious matter in its mouth, and dropping it over the margin. Having
many times witnessed this act of prudence and cleanliness in the little
sunny, and observed that at this period it will not seize on any kind of
bait, I took it into my head one fair afternoon to make a few
experiments for the purpose of judging how far its instinct or reason
might induce it to act when disturbed or harassed.
Provided with a fine fishing-line, and such insects as I knew were
relished by this fish, I reached a sand-bar covered by about one foot of
water, where I had previously seen many deposits. Approaching the
nearest to the shore with great care, I baited my hook with a living
ground-worm, the greater part of which was left at liberty to writhe as
it pleased, and, throwing the line up the stream, managed it so that at
last it passed over the border of the nest, when I allowed it to remain
on the bottom. The fish, I perceived, had marked me, and as the worm
intruded on its premises, it swam to the farther side, there poised
itself for a few moments, then approached the worm, and carried it in
its mouth over the side next to me, with a care and gentleness so very
remarkable as to afford me much surprise. I repeated the experiment six
or seven times, and always with the same result. Then changing the bait,
I employed a young grasshopper, which I floated into the egg-bed. The
insect was removed, as the worm had been, and two attempts to hook the
fish proved unsuccessful. I now threw my line with the hook bare, and
managed as before. The Sunny appeared quite alarmed. It swam to one
side, then to another, in rapid succession, and seemed to entertain a
fear that the removal of the suspicious object might prove extremely
dangerous to it. Yet it gradually approached the hook, took it
delicately up, and the next instant dropped it over the edge of the bed.
Reader, if you are one who, like me, have studied Nature with a desire
to improve your mental faculties, and contemplate the wonderful
phenomena that present themselves to the view at every step we take in
her wide domain, you would have been struck, had you witnessed the
actions of this little fish, as I was, with admiration of the Being who
gave such instincts to so humble an object. I gazed in amazement at the
little creature, and wondered that Nature had endowed it with such
feelings and powers. The irrepressible desire of acquiring knowledge
prompted me to continue the experiment; but with whatever dexterity I
could in those days hook a fish, all my efforts proved abortive, not
with this individual only, but with many others which I subjected to the
same trials.
Satisfied that at this period the Sunfish was more than a match for me,
I rolled up my line, and with the rod gave a rap on the water as nearly
over the fish as I could.
The Sunny darted off to a distance of several yards, poised itself
steadily, and as soon as my rod was raised from the water, returned to
its station. The effect of the blow on the water was now apparent, for I
perceived that the fish was busily employed in smoothing the bed; but
here ended my experiments on the Sunfish.
MY STYLE OF DRAWING BIRDS[61]
When, as a little lad, I first began my attempts at representing birds
on paper, I was far from possessing much knowledge of their nature, and,
like hundreds of others, when I had laid the effort aside, I was under
the impression that it was a finished picture of a bird because it
possessed some sort of a head and tail, and two sticks in lieu of legs;
I never troubled myself with the thought that abutments were requisite
to prevent it from falling either backward or forward, and oh! what
bills and claws I did draw, to say nothing of a perfectly straight line
for a back, and a tail stuck in anyhow, like an unshipped rudder.
Many persons besides my father saw my miserable attempts, and so many
praised them to the skies that perhaps no one was ever nearer being
completely wrecked than I by these mistaken, though affectionate words.
My father, however, spoke very differently to me; he constantly
impressed upon me that nothing in the world possessing life and
animation was easy to imitate, and that as I grew older he hoped I would
become more and more alive to this. He was so kind to me, and so deeply
interested in my improvement that to have listened carelessly to his
serious words would have been highly ungrateful. I listened less to
others, more to him, and his words became my law.
The first collection of drawings I made were from European specimens,
procured by my father or myself, and I still have them in my
possession.[62] They were all represented _strictly ornithologically_,
which means neither more nor less than in stiff, unmeaning profiles,
such as are found in most works published to the present day. My next
set was begun in America, and there, without my honored mentor, I betook
myself to the drawing of specimens hung by a string tied to one foot,
having a desire to show every portion, as the wings lay loosely spread,
as well as the tail. In this manner I made some pretty fair signs for
poulterers.
One day, while watching the habits of a pair of Pewees at Mill Grove, I
looked so intently at their graceful attitudes that a thought struck my
mind like a flash of light, that nothing, after all, could ever answer
my enthusiastic desires to represent nature, except to copy her in her
own way, alive and moving! Then I began again. On I went, forming,
literally, hundreds of outlines of my favorites, the Pewees; how good or
bad I cannot tell, but I fancied I had mounted a step on the high
pinnacle before me. I continued for months together, simply outlining
birds as I observed them, either alighted or on the wing, but could
finish none of my sketches. I procured many individuals of different
species, and laying them on the table or on the ground, tried to place
them in such attitudes as I had sketched. But, alas! they were _dead_,
to all intents and purposes, and neither wing, leg, nor tail could I
place according to my wishes. A second thought came to my assistance; by
means of threads I raised or lowered a head, wing, or tail, and by
fastening the threads securely, I had something like life before me;
yet much was wanting. When I saw the living birds, I felt the blood rush
to my temples, and almost in despair spent about a month without
drawing, but in deep thought, and daily in the company of the feathered
inhabitants of dear Mill Grove.
I had drawn from the "manikin" whilst under David, and had obtained
tolerable figures of our species through this means, so I cogitated how
far a manikin of a bird would answer. I labored with wood, cork, and
wires, and formed a grotesque figure, which I cannot describe in any
other words than by saying that when set up it was a tolerable-looking
Dodo. A friend roused my ire by laughing at it immoderately, and
assuring me that if I wished to represent a tame gander it might do. I
gave it a kick, broke it to atoms, walked off, and thought again.
Young as I was, my impatience to obtain my desire filled my brains with
many plans. I not infrequently dreamed that I had made a new discovery;
and long before day, one morning, I leaped out of bed fully persuaded
that I had obtained my object. I ordered a horse to be saddled, mounted,
and went off at a gallop towards the little village of Norristown,
distant about five miles. When I arrived there not a door was open, for
it was not yet daylight. Therefore I went to the river, took a bath,
and, returning to the town, entered the first opened shop, inquired for
wire of different sizes, bought some, leaped on my steed, and was soon
again at Mill Grove. The wife of my tenant, I really believe, thought
that I was mad, as, on offering me breakfast, I told her I only wanted
my gun. I was off to the creek, and shot the first Kingfisher I met. I
picked the bird up, carried it home by the bill, sent for the miller,
and bade him bring me a piece of board of soft wood. When he returned he
found me filing sharp points to some pieces of wire, and I proceeded to
show him what I meant to do. I pierced the body of the fishing bird,
and fixed it on the board; another wire passed above his upper mandible
held the head in a pretty fair attitude, smaller ones fixed the feet
according to my notions, and even common pins came to my assistance. The
last wire proved a delightful elevator to the bird's tail, and at
last--there stood before me the _real_ Kingfisher.
[Illustration: OLD MILL AND MILLER'S COTTAGE AT MILL GROVE ON THE
PERKIOMEN CREEK.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.]
Think not that my lack of breakfast was at all in my way. No, indeed! I
outlined the bird, aided by compasses and my eyes, colored it, finished
it, without a thought of hunger. My honest miller stood by the while,
and was delighted to see me pleased. This was what I shall call my first
drawing actually from nature, for even the eye of the Kingfisher was as
if full of life whenever I pressed the lids aside with my finger.
In those happy days of my youth I was extremely fond of reading what I
still call the delightful fables of La Fontaine. I had frequently
perused the one entitled "_L'hirondelle et les petits oiseaux_," and
thought much of the meaning imparted in the first line, which, if I now
recollect rightly, goes on to say that "_Quiconque a beaucoup vu, peut
avoir beaucoup retenu_." To me this meant that to study Nature was to
ramble through her domains late and early, and if I observed all as I
should, that the memory of what I saw would at least be of service to
me.
"Early to bed, and early to rise," was another adage which I thought,
and still think, of much value; 'tis a pity that instead of being merely
an adage it has not become a general law; I have followed it ever since
I was a child, and am ever grateful for the hint it conveyed.
As I wandered, mostly bent on the study of birds, and with a wish to
represent all those found in our woods, to the best of my powers, I
gradually became acquainted with their forms and habits, and the use of
my wires was improved by constant practice. Whenever I produced a better
representation of any species the preceding one was destroyed, and
after a time I laid down what I was pleased to call a constitution of my
manner of drawing birds, formed upon natural principles, which I will
try to put briefly before you.
The gradual knowledge of the forms and habits of the birds of our
country impressed me with the idea that each part of a family must
possess a certain degree of affinity, distinguishable at sight in any
one of them. The Pewees, which I knew by experience were positively
Flycatchers, led me to the discovery that every bird truly of that
genus, when standing, was usually in a passive attitude; that they sat
uprightly, now and then glancing their eyes upwards or sideways, to
watch the approach of their insect prey; that if in pursuit of this prey
their movements through the air were, in each and all of that tribe, the
same, etc., etc.
Gallinaceous birds I saw were possessed of movements and positions
peculiar to them. Amongst the water-birds also I found characteristic
manners. I observed that the Herons walked with elegance and
stateliness, that, in fact, every family had some mark by which it could
be known; and, after having collected many ideas and much material of
this kind, I fairly began, in greater earnest than ever, the very
collection of Birds of America, which is now being published.
The better I understood my subjects, the better I became able to
represent them in what I hoped were natural positions. The bird once
fixed with wires on squares, I studied as a lay figure before me, its
nature, previously known to me as far as habits went, and its general
form having been frequently observed. Now I could examine more
thoroughly the bill, nostrils, eyes, legs, and claws, as well as the
structure of the wings and tail; the very tongue was of importance to
me, and I thought the more I understood all these particulars, the
better representations I made of the originals.
[Illustration: AUDUBON.
FROM A PENCIL SKETCH AFTER DEATH, BY JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON.
January 28, 1851.]
My drawings at first were made altogether in water-colors, but they
wanted softness and a great deal of finish. For a long time I was much
dispirited at this, particularly when vainly endeavoring to imitate
birds of soft and downy plumage, such as that of most Owls, Pigeons,
Hawks, and Herons. How this could be remedied required a new train of
thought, or some so-called accident, and the latter came to my aid.
One day, after having finished a miniature portrait of the one dearest
to me in all the world, a portion of the face was injured by a drop of
water, which dried where it fell; and although I labored a great deal to
repair the damage, the blur still remained. Recollecting that, when a
pupil of David, I had drawn heads and figures in different colored
chalks, I resorted to a piece of that material of the tint required for
the part, applied the pigment, rubbed the place with a cork stump, and
at once produced the desired effect.
My drawings of Owls and other birds of similar plumage were much
improved by such applications; indeed, after a few years of patience,
some of my attempts began almost to please me, and I have continued the
same style ever since, and that now is for more than thirty years.
Whilst travelling in Europe as well as America, many persons have
evinced the desire to draw birds in my manner, and I have always felt
much pleasure in showing it to any one by whom I hoped ornithological
delineations or portraitures would be improved.
[Illustration: BOWIE KNIFE.
Presented by Henry Carleton.]
FOOTNOTES:
[47] This was in 1810 or 1811.
[48] This was written in 1835.
[49] Vincent Nolte, in "Fifty Years in Both Hemispheres," gives an
account of his meeting on this occasion with Audubon, part of which is
as follows: "About ten o'clock I arrived at a small inn, close by the
falls of the Juniata River. The landlady showed me into a room and said
I perhaps would not mind taking my meal with a strange gentleman, who
was already there. This personage struck me as an odd fish. He was
sitting at a table before the fire, with a Madras handkerchief wound
around his head, exactly in the style of the French mariners of a
seaport town.... He showed himself to be an original throughout, but
admitted he was a Frenchman by birth, and a native of La Rochelle.
However, he had come in his early youth to Louisiana, had grown up in
the sea-service, and had gradually become a thorough American. This man,
who afterwards won for himself so great a name in natural history,
particularly in ornithology, was Audubon." It is needless to say that
the personal history of Audubon as here given is entirely erroneous; but
as the meeting was in 1811, and the book written _from memory_ in 1854,
Mr. Nolte must be pardoned for his misstatements, which were doubtless
unintentional.
[50] This was on the journey made by Audubon and his partner, Ferdinand
Rozier, from Louisville to St. Genevieve, then in Upper Louisiana. They
left Louisville in the autumn of 1810, and Audubon returned in the
spring of 1811.
[51] This incident occurred during Audubon's return trip to St.
Genevieve in the early spring of 1812.
[52] _Sylvia parus_, Hemlock Warbler; Ornith. Biog. vol. ii. page 205.
[53] Audubon and Mr. Irish met many times afterwards, the last being, I
believe, in Philadelphia, on the eve of Audubon's departure for his
Missouri River trip.
[54] Then Philadelphia.
[55] The name given by the wreckers and smugglers to the "Marion."
[56] Plate cclxxxi., ed. 1827-1839; plate ccclxviii., ed. 1843.
[57] The "Moose Hunt" was communicated to me by my young friend, Thomas
Lincoln, of Dennysville in Maine.
[58] The last Episode in vol. ii. of the "Ornithological Biographies."
[59] "On the 16th [June, 1778], before sunrise, I departed in the most
secret manner, and arrived at Boonesborough on the 20th, after a journey
of 160 miles, during which I had but one meal." (Letter of Daniel Boone,
who was then forty-three.)
[60] This bird [the White Ibis], to procure the Cray-fish, walks with
remarkable care to the mounds of mud which the latter throws up while
forming its hole, and breaks up the upper part of the fabric, dropping
the fragments into the deep cavity that has been made by the animal.
Then the Ibis retires a single step, and patiently waits the result. The
Cray-fish, incommoded by the load of earth, instantly sets to work anew,
and at last reaches the entrance of its burrow; but the moment it comes
in sight the Ibis seizes it with his bill. (The White Ibis, _Ibis Alba_,
Plate CCXXII., Ornith. Biog., vol. iii., p. 176).
[61] Audubon's drawings have been criticised for their _flatness_. Of
this, Cuvier says: "It is difficult to give a true picture of a bird
with the same effect of perspective as a landscape, and the lack of this
is no defect in a work on Natural History. Naturalists prefer the real
color of objects to those accidental tints which are the result of the
varied reflections of light necessary to complete picturesque
representations, but foreign and even injurious to scientific truth."
[62] This was in 1838; they have since been destroyed by fire, or, at
least, the greater number.
INDEX
Abert, Col. John, i. 70.
Abingdon, ii. 218.
Abyssinian, i. 199.
Academie des Sciences, i. 308, 312, 317.
Academy of Arts, Edinburgh, i. 177.
Academy of Sciences, Philadelphia, i. 55, 56, 90, 525.
Academy of Sciences, New York. _See_ New York Academy of Sciences.
Acer saccharinum, ii. 508.
Actitis macularia, i. 365.
Adams, Bernard, ii. 97.
Adams, John Quincy, i. 275.
Adamson, John, i. 230, 233, 235, 262-264, 437.
AEgialitis semipalmatus, i. 386.
Africa, i. 217.
Alabama, i. 329; ii. 445.
Alauda alpestris, i. 384, 419, 420, 424.
_See also_ Lark, Shore.
---- spragueii, ii. 41.
Albagash River, ii. 392.
Alca torda, i. 364-366, 369, 383, 384, 391, 428.
Alexis, i. 529, 530, 536; ii. 4, 7, 9, 16, 20, 23, 25, 36, 38, 39,
41, 42, 71.
Algiers, ii. 232.
Allan, William, i. 171, 189.
Alleghanies, Mountains, i. 62, 454, 459; ii. 437, 454.
Alligator, i. 87, 187, 205; ii. 251, 255, 258, 267, 309, 337, 354,
355.
Aln River, i. 228.
Alnwick, i. 228, 263.
Alnwick Castle, i. 262.
America, i. 66, 69, 91, 94, 228, 232, 235, 237, 245, 253-255, 270,
276, 277, 281, 289, 295-297, 301, 310, 313, 315, 329, 330, 331,
333, 339, 342; ii. 210, 231, 527.
American Fur Company, i. 72, 525; ii. 6, 47, 188.
American Harbor, i. 365, 380, 383, 384.
American Ornithological Union, i. 77.
Amherst Island, i. 354, 355.
Amiens, i. 305.
Ammodramus bairdi, ii. 117.
---- [Colurniculus] lecontei, i. 510.
Amsterdam, i. 301.
Anas fusca, i. 418.
---- glacialis, i. 414.
_See also_ Duck, Velvet.
---- obscura, i. 366.
Anatomical School, Oxford, i. 292.
Andes, i. 271.
"Andromache, The" (brig), i. 88.
Angel Inn, i. 275.
Anhingas, ii. 337.
Anser albifrons gambeli, i. 459.
---- canadensis, i. 370.
_See also_ Goose, Wild.
Antelope, i. 496, 499, 504, 505, 507-512, 525; ii. 9, 19, 36, 42-50,
56, 58, 60-65, 87, 90, 95, 102, 104-106, 108, 113, 114, 117,
118, 121, 122, 126, 128, 130-133, 138, 140, 154, 155, 166, 167,
169.
Anthus pennsylvanicus, i. 384.
---- spinoletta, i. 384, 391, 399.
_See also_ Lark, Brown.
---- [Neocorys] spraguei, ii. 41.
Anticosti Island, i. 363.
Antilocapra americana, ii. 42.
Antiquarian Society, Edinburgh, i. 169, 181, 205, 211.
Apple Creek, ii. 5, 158.
Apple White, i. 505.
Aquila chrysaetus, i. 415.
Archibald, George, i. 438.
Arctomys [cynomys] ludovicianus, i. 458, 522.
_See also_ Dog, Prairie.
---- monax, i. 461.
Ardea herodias, i. 27, 354.
---- occidentalis, ii. 370.
Arickaras, i. 532; ii. 3.
Arkansas River, i. 161, 291; ii. 215, 437.
Arkwright, Sir Thomas, i. 137, 138.
Armadillo, ii. 36.
Arrow Rock, ii. 174.
Arthur's Seat, i. 213, 266.
Artemisia, ii. 26, 39.
Artois, i. 305.
Arvicola pennsylvanica, i. 530; ii. 165.
---- riparius, i. 530.
Ashley, General, ii. 3.
Asia, i. 217.
Assiniboin, ii. 23, 25, 26, 38, 48, 51, 77, 78, 97, 107-109, 112,
121, 124, 126, 127, 133, 140, 145, 154, 156.
"Assiniboin" (steamer), ii. 7, 42.
_Astoria_, Irving's, i. 456, 486.
Athenaeum, Liverpool, i. 270.
Athenaeum, London, i. 253.
Athens, British, ii. 208.
Atherton, Mr., i. 271.
Atkinson, Mr., i. 243.
Atlantic Ocean, i. 91, 354, 440.
Auckland, Lord, i. 282.
Audubon, Georgiana, ii. 175.
----, Admiral Jean, i. 5, 9, 42.
----, John Woodhouse, i. 6, 32, 38, 47, 51, 60, 62, 66, 67, 69, 70,
73-76, 81, 120, 230, 232, 259, 291;
companion in Labrador, 345-445; 476; ii. 168, 176.
----, Mrs. Lucy, i. 18, 21, 26, 34, 35, 39-41, 48, 51, 52, 60, 63,
64, 66, 68, 70, 81, 449; ii. 158.
----, Lucy, infant, i. 37.
----, Rosa, i. 24, 35, 37.
----, Mrs. V. G. _See_ Audubon, Georgiana.
----, Victor Gifford, i. 10, 29, 30, 38, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 60,
62, 66-71, 73, 75, 76, 230, 291, 300, 302, 345, 453, 520; ii.
117, 168; 274, 277.
Audubon and Bakewell, i. 29.
Audubonian period, i. 64.
Audubon Park, i. 71.
Audubon's Bluff, ii. 107.
Audubon's Isle, ii. 338.
Auk, Great, ii. 131.
----, Razor-billed, i. 364.
Aux Cayes, i. 7, 8.
Avocet, i. 517.
Ayowah River, ii. 169.
Ayre River, i. 245, 246.
Ayres, W. O., ii. 41.
Baamchenunsgamook, Lake, ii. 392.
Bachman, John, D.D., i. 40, 56, 66-68, 70, 72, 76, 426, 441, 449,
467, 476, 510, 529; ii. 29, 97, 173, 378.
----, Maria R., i. 70.
Backhouse, John, i. 285.
Bad River, i. 526.
Badger, ii. 35, 36, 146, 147, 166, 168, 170, 173.
Baird, Spencer F., ii. 12, 117;
_Birds of North America_, ii. 117.
Bakewell, i. 135, 138.
----, Benjamin, i. 22, 26, 28.
----, Lucy. _See_ Audubon, Mrs. Lucy.
----, Thomas W., i. 20, 29, 32, 33, 35, 46.
----, William, i. 17, 18, 24, 28, 39.
----, William Gifford, i. 174, 454, 526.
Balacouda, i. 83; ii. 303, 305.
Balize, i. 87; ii. 301.
_Ball in Newfoundland_, i. 433.
Baltimore, i. 310, 449, 453, 477; ii. 219, 221.
Bamborough Castle, i. 225.
Bangor, ii. 390, 392, 393.
Bantams, i. 303.
Baptiste. _See_ Moncrevier, Jean Baptiste.
Barbier, Antoine Alexandre, i. 314.
Barclay, Mr., i. 101, 102, 260, 261.
Barro, ii. 218, 221.
Barry's Hotel, i. 190, 194.
Basil, ii. 93, 98-101.