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AUDUBON
AND
HIS JOURNALS
[Illustration]
AUDUBON AND HIS
JOURNALS
BY
MARIA R. AUDUBON
WITH ZOOLOGICAL AND OTHER NOTES
BY
ELLIOTT COUES
VOLUME I.
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
_Copyright, 1897_,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
In Loving Memory
OF MY FATHER,
JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON,
AND OF
HIS LOVE AND ADMIRATION FOR HIS FATHER,
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON,
THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN.
PREFACE
It is customary at the close of a Preface to make some acknowledgment
of the services rendered by others in the preparation of a volume; but
in my case this aid has been so generous, so abundant, and so helpful,
that I must reverse the order of things and begin by saying that my
heartiest thanks are due to the many who have assisted me in a work
which for many years has been my dream.
Without the very material aid, both by pen and advice, of Dr. Elliott
Coues, these pages would have lost more than I care to contemplate.
All the zoological notes are his, and many of the geographical,
besides suggestions too numerous to mention; moreover, all this
assistance was most liberally given at a time when he personally was
more than busy; and yet my wishes and convenience have always been
consulted.
Next to the memory of my father, Mr. Ruthven Deane has been the motive
power which has caused this volume to be written. For many years he
has urged me to attempt it, and has supplied me with some valuable
material, especially regarding Henderson. During the months that I
have been working on much that I have felt incompetent to deal with,
his encouragement has helped me over many a difficulty.
To my sisters Harriet and Florence, and my cousin M. Eliza Audubon, I
am especially indebted. The first and last have lent me of their
choicest treasures; letters, journals, and other manuscripts they have
placed unconditionally in my hands, besides supplying many details
from other sources; and my sister Florence has been my almost hourly
assistant in more ways than I can specify.
The arrangement of the papers and journals was suggested by the late
Dr. G. Brown Goode; and many names come to mind of friends who have
helped me in other ways. Among them are those of Mr. W. H. Wetherill,
Messrs. Richard R. and William Rathbone, my aunt, Mrs. James Hall, Dr.
Arthur T. Lincoln, Mr. Morris F. Tyler, Mr. Joseph Coolidge, Rev. A.
Gordon Bakewell, and Mr. George Bird Grinnell.
I wish also to say that without the loving generosity of my friend the
late Miss M. Louise Comstock, I should never have had the time at my
command which I have needed for this work; and last, but by no means
least, I thank my mother for her many memories, and for her wise
criticisms.
There came into my hands about twelve years ago some of these
journals,--those of the Missouri and Labrador journeys; and since then
others have been added, all of which had been virtually lost for
years. The story of how I heard of some, and traced others, is too
long to tell here, so I will only say that these journals have formed
my chief sources of information. So far as has been possible I have
verified and supplemented them by every means. Researches have been
made in San Domingo, New Orleans, and France; letters and journals
have been consulted which prove this or that statement; and from the
mass of papers I have accumulated, I have used perhaps one fifth.
"The Life of Audubon the Naturalist, edited by Mr. Robert Buchanan
from material supplied by his widow," covers, or is supposed to cover,
the same ground I have gone over. That the same journals were used is
obvious; and besides these, others, destroyed by fire in Shelbyville,
Ky., were at my grandmother's command, and more than all, her own
recollections and voluminous diaries. Her manuscript, which I never
saw, was sent to the English publishers, and was not returned to the
author by them or by Mr. Buchanan. How much of it was valuable, it is
impossible to say; but the fact remains that Mr. Buchanan's book is so
mixed up, so interspersed with anecdotes and episodes, and so
interlarded with derogatory remarks of his own, as to be practically
useless to the world, and very unpleasant to the Audubon family.
Moreover, with few exceptions everything about birds has been left
out. Many errors in dates and names are apparent, especially the date
of the Missouri River journey, which is ten years later than he
states. However, if Mr. Buchanan had done his work better, there would
have been no need for mine; so I forgive him, even though he dwells at
unnecessary length on Audubon's vanity and selfishness, of which I
find no traces.
In these journals, nine in all, and in the hundred or so of letters,
written under many skies, and in many conditions of life, by a man
whose education was wholly French, one of the journals dating as far
back as 1822, and some of the letters even earlier,--there is not one
sentence, one expression, that is other than that of a refined and
cultured gentleman. More than that, there is not one utterance of
"anger, hatred or malice." Mr. George Ord and Mr. Charles Waterton
were both my grandfather's bitter enemies, yet one he rarely mentions,
and of the latter, when he says, "I had a scrubby letter from
Waterton," he has said his worst.
But the journals will speak for themselves better than I can, and so I
send them forth, believing that to many they will be of absorbing
interest, as they have been to me.
M. R. A.
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
AUDUBON 5
THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS. 1826-1829 79
THE LABRADOR JOURNAL. 1833 343
THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS. 1843 447
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOL. I.
PAGE
AUDUBON _Frontispiece_
From the portrait by J. W. Audubon, November, 1843.
MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK 16
From a photograph from W. H. Wetherill, Esq.
FATLAND FORD MANSION, LOOKING TOWARD VALLEY FORGE 20
From a photograph from W. H. Wetherill, Esq.
AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KY. 34
Now owned by Mr. David Clark.
JOHN J. AUDUBON 48
From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, published by
Robert Havell, January 12, 1835.
MRS. AUDUBON 64
From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1835.
AUDUBON 74
Date unknown. From a daguerreotype owned by M.
Eliza Audubon.
AUDUBON MONUMENT IN TRINITY CHURCH CEMETERY, NEW YORK 76
FLYCATCHERS. (_Heretofore unpublished._) 114
From a drawing made by Audubon in 1826, and
presented to Mrs. Rathbone of Green Bank,
Liverpool. Still in the possession of the Rathbone
family.
FROM A PENCIL SKETCH OF AUDUBON 128
Drawn by himself for Mrs. Rathbone. Now in the
possession of Mr. Richard R. Rathbone,
Glan-y-Menai, Anglesey.
AUDUBON IN INDIAN DRESS 132
From a pencil sketch drawn by himself for Miss
Rathbone, 1826. Now in the possession of Mrs.
Abraham Dixon (nee Rathbone), London, England.
AUDUBON 206
From the portrait by Henry Inman. Now in the
possession of the family.
FACSIMILE OF ENTRY IN JOURNAL 221
EAGLE AND LAMB 342
Painted by Audubon, London, 1828. In the possession
of the family.
AUDUBON 348
From the portrait by George P. A. Healy, London,
1838. Now in the possession of the Boston Society
of Natural History.
VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON 384
From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1838.
JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON 412
From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1838.
AUDUBON 454
From the portrait by John Woodhouse Audubon
(about 1841).
COLUMBA PASSERINA (NOW COLUMBIGALLINA PASSERINA
TERRESTRIS), GROUND DOVE 474
From the unpublished drawing by J. J. Audubon, 1838.
FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNAL 510
Reduced one third.
VIEW ON THE MISSOURI RIVER, ABOVE GREAT BEND 516
From a water-color drawing by Isaac Sprague.
INDIAN HATCHET PIPE 532
Carried by Audubon during many of his journeys.
AUDUBON
INTRODUCTION
In the brief biography of Audubon which follows, I have given, I
believe, the only correct account that has been written, and as such I
present it. I am not competent to give an opinion as to the merits of
his work, nor is it necessary. His place as naturalist, woodsman,
artist, author, has long since been accorded him, and he himself says:
"My enemies have been few, and my friends numerous."
I have tried only to put Audubon _the man_ before my readers, and in
his own words so far as possible, that they may know what he was, not
what others _thought_ he was.
M. R. A.
AUDUBON
The village of Mandeville in the parish of St. Tammany, Louisiana, is
about twenty miles from New Orleans on the north shore of Lake
Ponchartrain. Here, on the plantation of the same name, owned by the
Marquis de Mandeville de Marigny, John James Laforest Audubon[1] was
born, the Marquis having lent his home, in the generous southern
fashion, to his friend Admiral Jean Audubon, who, with his Spanish
Creole wife, lived here some months. In the same house, towards the
close of the last century, Louis Philippe found refuge for a time with
the ever hospitable Marigny family, and he named the beautiful
plantation home "Fontainebleau." Since then changes innumerable have
come, the estate has other owners, the house has gone, those who once
dwelt there are long dead, their descendants scattered, the old
landmarks obliterated.
Audubon has given a sketch of his father in his own words in "Myself,"
which appears in the pages following; but of his mother little indeed
is known. Only within the year, have papers come into the hands of her
great-grandchildren, which prove her surname to have been _Rabin_.
Audubon himself tells of her tragic death, which was not, however, in
the St. Domingo insurrection of 1793, but in one of the local
uprisings of the slaves which were of frequent occurrence in that
beautiful island, whose history is too dark to dwell upon. Beyond this
nothing can be found relating to the mother, whom Audubon lost before
he was old enough to remember her, except that in 1822 one of the
family Marigny told my father, John Woodhouse Audubon, then a boy of
ten, who with his parents was living in New Orleans, that she was "une
dame d'une beaute incomparable et avec beaucoup de fierte." It may
seem strange that nothing more can be found regarding this lady, but
it is to be remembered these were troublous days, when stormy changes
were the rule; and the roving and adventurous sailor did not, I
presume, encumber himself with papers. To these circumstances also it
is probably due that the date of Audubon's birth is not known, and
must always remain an open question. In his journals and letters
various allusions are made to his age, and many passages bearing on
the matter are found, but with one exception no two agree; he may have
been born anywhere between 1772 and 1783, and in the face of this
uncertainty the date usually given, May 5, 1780, may be accepted,
though the true one is no doubt earlier.
The attachment between Audubon and his father was of the strongest
description, as the long and affectionate, if somewhat infrequent
letters, still in the possession of the family, fully demonstrate.
When the Admiral was retired from active service, he lived at La
Gerbetiere in France with his second wife, Anne Moynette, until his
death, on February 19, 1818, at the great age of ninety-five.
In this home near the Loire, Audubon spent his happy boyhood and
youth, dearly beloved and loving, and receiving the best education
time and place afforded. As the boy grew older and more advantages
were desired for him, came absences when he was at school in La
Rochelle and Paris; but La Gerbetiere was his home till in early
manhood he returned to America, the land he loved above all others,
as his journals show repeatedly. The impress of the years in France
was never lost; he always had a strong French accent, he possessed in
a marked degree the adaptability to circumstances which is a trait of
that nation, and his disposition inherited from both parents was
elated or depressed by a trifle. He was quick-tempered, enthusiastic,
and romantic, yet affectionate, forgiving, and with unlimited industry
and perseverance; he was generous to every one with time, money, and
possessions; nothing was too good for others, but his own personal
requirements were of the simplest character. His life shows all this
and more, better than words of mine can tell; and as the only account
of his years till he left Henderson, Ky., in 1819, is in his own
journal, it is given here in full.[2]
MYSELF.[3]
The precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I can
only say what I have often heard my father repeat to me on this
subject, which is as follows: It seems that my father had large
properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting
frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and known
by the name of, Louisiana, then owned by the French Government.
During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish
extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful
as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my
father three sons and a daughter,--I being the youngest of the
sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother,
soon after my birth, accompanied my father to the estate of Aux
Cayes, on the island of Santo Domingo, and she was one of the
victims during the ever-to-be-lamented period of the negro
insurrection of that island.
My father, through the intervention of some faithful servants,
escaped from Aux Cayes with a good portion of his plate and
money, and with me and these humble friends reached New Orleans
in safety. From this place he took me to France, where, having
married the only mother I have ever known, he left me under her
charge and returned to the United States in the employ of the
French Government, acting as an officer under Admiral
Rochambeau. Shortly afterward, however, he landed in the United
States and became attached to the army under La Fayette.
The first of my recollective powers placed me in the central
portion of the city of Nantes, on the Loire River, in France,
where I still recollect particularly that I was much cherished
by my dear stepmother, who had no children of her own, and that
I was constantly attended by one or two black servants, who had
followed my father from Santo Domingo to New Orleans and
afterward to Nantes.
One incident which is as perfect in my memory as if it had
occurred this very day, I have thought of thousands of times
since, and will now put on paper as one of the curious things
which perhaps did lead me in after times to love birds, and to
finally study them with pleasure infinite. My mother had several
beautiful parrots and some monkeys; one of the latter was a
full-grown male of a very large species. One morning, while the
servants were engaged in arranging the room I was in, "Pretty
Polly" asking for her breakfast as usual, "_Du pain au lait pour
le perroquet Mignonne_," the man of the woods probably thought
the bird presuming upon his rights in the scale of nature; be
this as it may, he certainly showed his supremacy in strength
over the denizen of the air, for, walking deliberately and
uprightly toward the poor bird, he at once killed it, with
unnatural composure. The sensations of my infant heart at this
cruel sight were agony to me. I prayed the servant to beat the
monkey, but he, who for some reason preferred the monkey to the
parrot, refused. I uttered long and piercing cries, my mother
rushed into the room, I was tranquillized, the monkey was
forever afterward chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp
of a cherished lost one.
This made, as I have said, a very deep impression on my youthful
mind. But now, my dear children, I must tell you somewhat of
_my_ father, and of his parentage.
John Audubon, my grandfather, was born and lived at the small
village of Sable d'Olhonne, and was by trade a very humble
fisherman. He appears to have made up for the want of wealth by
the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he actually
raised to man and womanhood. All were sons, with one exception;
my aunt, one uncle, and my father, who was the twentieth son,
being the only members of that extraordinary numerous family who
lived to old age. In subsequent years, when I visited Sable
d'Olhonne, the old residents assured me that they had seen the
whole family, including both parents, at church many times.
When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father
presented him with a shirt, a dress of coarse material, a stick,
and his blessing, and urged him to go and seek means for his
future support and sustenance.
Some _kind_ whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a
"Boy." Of his life during his early voyages it would be useless
to trouble you; let it suffice for me to say that they were of
the usual most uncomfortable nature. How many trips he made I
cannot say, but he told me that by the time he was seventeen he
had become an able seaman before the mast; when twenty-one he
commanded a fishing-smack, and went to the great Newfoundland
Banks; at twenty-five he owned several small crafts, all
fishermen, and at twenty-eight sailed for Santo Domingo with his
little flotilla heavily loaded with the produce of the deep.
"Fortune," said he to me one day, "now began to smile upon me. I
did well in this enterprise, and after a few more voyages of the
same sort gave up the sea, and purchased a small estate on the
Isle a Vaches;[4] the prosperity of Santo Domingo was at its
zenith, and in the course of ten years I had realized something
very considerable. The then Governor gave me an appointment
which called me to France, and having received some favors
there, I became once more a seafaring man, the government having
granted me the command of a small vessel of war."[5]
How long my father remained in the service, it is impossible for
me to say. The different changes occurring at the time of the
American Revolution, and afterward during that in France, seem
to have sent him from one place to another as if a foot-ball;
his property in Santo Domingo augmenting, however, the while,
and indeed till the liberation of the black slaves there.
During a visit he paid to Pennsylvania when suffering from the
effects of a sunstroke, he purchased the beautiful farm of Mill
Grove, on the Schuylkill and Perkiomen streams. At this place,
and a few days only before the memorable battle (_sic_) of
Valley Forge, General Washington presented him with his
portrait, now in my possession; and highly do I value it as a
memento of that noble man and the glories of those days.[6] At
the conclusion of the war between England and her child of the
West, my father returned to France and continued in the employ
of the naval department of that country, being at one time sent
to Plymouth, England, in a seventy-five-gun ship to exchange
prisoners. This was, I think, in the short peace that took place
between England and France in 1801. He returned to Rochefort,
where he lived for several years, still in the employ of
government. He finally sent in his resignation and returned to
Nantes and La Gerbetiere. He had many severe trials and
afflictions before his death, having lost my two older brothers
early in the French Revolution; both were officers in the army.
His only sister was killed by the Chouans of La Vendee,[7] and
the only brother he had was not on good terms with him. This
brother resided at Bayonne, and, I believe, had a large family,
none of whom I have ever seen or known.[8]
In personal appearance my father and I were of the same height
and stature, say about five feet ten inches, erect, and with
muscles of steel; his manners were those of a most polished
gentleman, for those and his natural understanding had been
carefully improved both by observation and by self-education. In
temper we much resembled each other also, being warm, irascible,
and at times violent; but it was like the blast of a hurricane,
dreadful for a time, when calm almost instantly returned. He
greatly approved of the change in France during the time of
Napoleon, whom he almost idolized. My father died in 1818,
regretted most deservedly on account of his simplicity, truth,
and perfect sense of honesty. Now I must return to myself.
My stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me, far too much so
for my good, was desirous that I should be brought up to live
and die "like a gentleman," thinking that fine clothes and
filled pockets were the only requisites needful to attain this
end. She therefore completely spoiled me, hid my faults, boasted
to every one of my youthful merits, and, worse than all, said
frequently in my presence that I was the handsomest boy in
France. All my wishes and idle notions were at once gratified;
she went so far as actually to grant me _carte blanche_ at all
the confectionery shops in the town, and also of the village of
Coueron, where during the summer we lived, as it were, in the
country.
My father was quite of another, and much more valuable
description of mind as regarded my future welfare; he believed
not in the power of gold coins as efficient means to render a
man happy. He spoke of the stores of the mind, and having
suffered much himself through the want of education, he ordered
that I should be put to school, and have teachers at home.
"Revolutions," he was wont to say, "too often take place in the
lives of individuals, and they are apt to lose in one day the
fortune they before possessed; but talents and knowledge, added
to sound mental training, assisted by honest industry, can never
fail, nor be taken from any one once the possessor of such
valuable means." Therefore, notwithstanding all my mother's
entreaties and her tears, off to a school I was sent. Excepting
only, perhaps, military schools, none were good in France at
this period; the thunders of the Revolution still roared over
the land, the Revolutionists covered the earth with the blood of
man, woman, and child. But let me forever drop the curtain over
the frightful aspect of this dire picture. To think of these
dreadful days is too terrible, and would be too horrible and
painful for me to relate to you, my dear sons.
The school I went to was none of the best; my private teachers
were the only means through which I acquired the least benefit.
My father, who had been for so long a seaman, and who was then
in the French navy, wished me to follow in his steps, or else to
become an engineer. For this reason I studied drawing,
geography, mathematics, fencing, etc., as well as music, for
which I had considerable talent. I had a good fencing-master,
and a first-rate teacher of the violin; mathematics was hard,
dull work, I thought; geography pleased me more. For my other
studies, as well as for dancing, I was quite enthusiastic; and I
well recollect how anxious I was then to become the commander of
a corps of dragoons.
My father being mostly absent on duty, my mother suffered me to
do much as I pleased; it was therefore not to be wondered at
that, instead of applying closely to my studies, I preferred
associating with boys of my own age and disposition, who were
more fond of going in search of birds' nests, fishing, or
shooting, than of better studies. Thus almost every day, instead
of going to school when I ought to have gone, I usually made for
the fields, where I spent the day; my little basket went with
me, filled with good eatables, and when I returned home, during
either winter or summer, it was replenished with what I called
curiosities, such as birds' nests, birds' eggs, curious lichens,
flowers of all sorts, and even pebbles gathered along the shore
of some rivulet.
The first time my father returned from sea after this my room
exhibited quite a show, and on entering it he was so pleased to
see my various collections that he complimented me on my taste
for such things: but when he inquired what else I had done, and
I, like a culprit, hung my head, he left me without saying
another word. Dinner over he asked my sister for some music,
and, on her playing for him, he was so pleased with her
improvement that he presented her with a beautiful book. I was
next asked to play on my violin, but alas! for nearly a month I
had not touched it, it was stringless; not a word was said on
that subject. "Had I any drawings to show?" Only a few, and
those not good. My good father looked at his wife, kissed my
sister, and humming a tune left the room. The next morning at
dawn of day my father and I were under way in a private
carriage; my trunk, etc., were fastened to it, my violin-case
was under my feet, the postilion was ordered to proceed, my
father took a book from his pocket, and while he silently read I
was left entirely to my own thoughts.
After some days' travelling we entered the gates of Rochefort.
My father had scarcely spoken to me, yet there was no anger
exhibited in his countenance; nay, as we reached the house where
we alighted, and approached the door, near which a sentinel
stopped his walk and presented arms, I saw him smile as he
raised his hat and said a few words to the man, but so low that
not a syllable reached my ears.
The house was furnished with servants, and everything seemed to
go on as if the owner had not left it. My father bade me sit by
his side, and taking one of my hands calmly said to me: "My
beloved boy, thou art now safe. I have brought thee here that I
may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies; thou shalt
have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder _must_ be
employed with industry and care. This day is entirely thine own,
and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the
docks, the fine ships-of-war, and walk round the wall, thou
may'st accompany me." I accepted, and off together we went; I
was presented to every officer we met, and they noticing me more
or less, I saw much that day, yet still I perceived that I was
like a prisoner-of-war on parole in the city of Rochefort.
My best and most amiable companion was the son of Admiral, or
Vice-Admiral (I do not precisely recollect his rank) Vivien,
who lived nearly opposite to the house where my father and I
then resided; his company I much enjoyed, and with him all my
leisure hours were spent. About this time my father was sent to
England in a corvette with a view to exchange prisoners, and he
sailed on board the man-of-war "L'Institution" for Plymouth.
Previous to his sailing he placed me under the charge of his
secretary, Gabriel Loyen Dupuy Gaudeau, the son of a fallen
nobleman. Now this gentleman was of no pleasing nature to me; he
was, in fact, more than too strict and severe in all his
prescriptions to me, and well do I recollect that one morning,
after having been set to a very arduous task in mathematical
problems, I gave him the slip, jumped from the window, and ran
off through the gardens attached to the Marine Secretariat. The
unfledged bird may stand for a while on the border of its nest,
and perhaps open its winglets and attempt to soar away, but his
youthful imprudence may, and indeed often does, prove inimical
to his prowess, as some more wary and older bird, that has kept
an eye toward him, pounces relentlessly upon the young
adventurer and secures him within the grasp of his more powerful
talons. This was the case with me in this instance. I had leaped
from the door of my cage and thought myself quite safe, while I
rambled thoughtlessly beneath the shadow of the trees in the
garden and grounds in which I found myself; but the secretary,
with a side glance, had watched my escape, and, ere many minutes
had elapsed, I saw coming toward me a corporal with whom, in
fact, I was well acquainted. On nearing me, and I did not
attempt to escape, our past familiarity was, I found, quite
evaporated; he bid me, in a severe voice, to follow him, and on
my being presented to my father's secretary I was at once
ordered on board the pontoon in port. All remonstrances proved
fruitless, and on board the pontoon I was conducted, and there
left amid such a medley of culprits as I cannot describe, and of
whom, indeed, I have but little recollection, save that I felt
vile myself in their vile company. My father returned in due
course, and released me from these floating and most
disagreeable lodgings, but not without a rather severe
reprimand.
Shortly after this we returned to Nantes, and later to La
Gerbetiere. My stay here was short, and I went to Nantes to
study mathematics anew, and there spent about one year, the
remembrance of which has flown from my memory, with the
exception of one incident, of which, when I happen to pass my
hand over the left side of my head, I am ever and anon reminded.
'Tis this: one morning, while playing with boys of my own age, a
quarrel arose among us, a battle ensued, in the course of which
I was knocked down by a round stone, that brought the blood from
that part of my skull, and for a time I lay on the ground
unconscious, but soon rallying, experienced no lasting effects
but the scar.
During all these years there existed within me a tendency to
follow Nature in her walks. Perhaps not an hour of leisure was
spent elsewhere than in woods and fields, and to examine either
the eggs, nest, young, or parents of any species of birds
constituted my delight. It was about this period that I
commenced a series of drawings of the birds of France, which I
continued until I had upward of two hundred drawings, all bad
enough, my dear sons, yet they were representations of birds,
and I felt pleased with them. Hundreds of anecdotes respecting
my life at this time might prove interesting to you, but as they
are not in my mind at this moment I will leave them, though you
may find some of them in the course of the following pages.
I was within a few months of being seventeen years old, when my
stepmother, who was an earnest Catholic, took into her head that
I should be confirmed; my father agreed. I was surprised and
indifferent, but yet as I loved her as if she had been my own
mother,--and well did she merit my deepest affection,--I took to
the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the
ceremony, and all was performed to her liking. Not long after
this, my father, anxious as he was that I should be enrolled in
Napoleon's army as a Frenchman, found it necessary to send me
back to my own beloved country, the United States of America,
and I came with intense and indescribable pleasure.
On landing at New York I caught the yellow fever by walking to
the bank at Greenwich to get the money to which my father's
letter of credit entitled me. The kind man who commanded the
ship that brought me from France, whose name was a common one,
John Smith, took particular charge of me, removed me to
Morristown, N.J., and placed me under the care of two Quaker
ladies who kept a boarding-house. To their skilful and untiring
ministrations I may safely say I owe the prolongation of my
life. Letters were forwarded by them to my father's agent, Miers
Fisher of Philadelphia, of whom I have more to say hereafter. He
came for me in his carriage and removed me to his villa, at a
short distance from Philadelphia and on the road toward Trenton.
There I would have found myself quite comfortable had not
incidents taken place which are so connected with the change in
my life as to call immediate attention to them.
Miers Fisher had been my father's trusted agent for about
eighteen years, and the old gentlemen entertained great mutual
friendship; indeed it would seem that Mr. Fisher was actually
desirous that I should become a member of his family, and this
was evinced within a few days by the manner in which the good
Quaker presented me to a daughter of no mean appearance, but
toward whom I happened to take an unconquerable dislike. Then he
was opposed to music of all descriptions, as well as to dancing,
could not bear me to carry a gun, or fishing-rod, and, indeed,
condemned most of my amusements. All these things were
difficulties toward accomplishing a plan which, for aught I know
to the contrary, had been premeditated between him and my
father, and rankled the heart of the kindly, if somewhat strict
Quaker. They troubled me much also; at times I wished myself
anywhere but under the roof of Mr. Fisher, and at last I
reminded him that it was his duty to install me on the estate to
which my father had sent me.
One morning, therefore, I was told that the carriage was ready
to carry me there, and toward my future home he and I went. You
are too well acquainted with the position of Mill Grove for me
to allude to that now; suffice it to say that we reached the
former abode of my father about sunset. I was presented to our
tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took
possession under certain restrictions, which amounted to my not
receiving more than enough money per quarter than was
considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young
gentleman.
[Illustration: MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.]
Miers Fisher left me the next morning, and after him went my
blessings, for I thought his departure a true deliverance; yet
this was only because our tastes and educations were so
different, for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill
Grove was ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought
I perceived the traces left by my father as I looked on the even
fences round the fields, or on the regular manner with which
avenues of trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by
his hand. The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the
cave, which you too remember, where the Pewees were wont to
build, I never failed to find quietude and delight.
Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment;
cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I purchased
excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbors as I
found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy could be. A
few months after my arrival at Mill Grove, I was informed one
day that an English family had purchased the plantation next to
mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell, and moreover that
he had several very handsome and interesting daughters, and
beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but cared not a jot about
them at the time. The place was within sight of Mill Grove, and
Fatland Ford, as it was called, was merely divided from my
estate by a road leading to the Schuylkill River. Mr. William
Bakewell, the father of the family, had called on me one day,
but, finding I was rambling in the woods in search of birds,
left a card and an invitation to go shooting with him. Now this
gentleman was an Englishman, and I such a foolish boy that,
entertaining the greatest prejudices against all of his
nationality, I did not return his visit for many weeks, which
was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite.
Mrs. Thomas, good soul, more than once spoke to me on the
subject, as well as her worthy husband, but all to no import;
English was English with me, my poor childish mind was settled
on that, and as I wished to know none of the race the call
remained unacknowledged.
Frosty weather, however, came, and anon was the ground covered
with the deep snow. Grouse were abundant along the fir-covered
ground near the creek, and as I was in pursuit of game one
frosty morning I chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell in the woods. I
was struck with the kind politeness of his manner, and found him
an expert marksman. Entering into conversation, I admired the
beauty of his well-trained dogs, and, apologizing for my
discourtesy, finally promised to call upon him and his family.
Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please God that I
may never forget it, when for the first time I entered Mr.
Bakewell's dwelling. It happened that he was absent from home,
and I was shown into a parlor where only one young lady was
snugly seated at her work by the fire. She rose on my entrance,
offered me a seat, and assured me of the gratification her
father would feel on his return, which, she added, would be in a
few moments, as she would despatch a servant for him. Other
ruddy cheeks and bright eyes made their transient appearance,
but, like spirits gay, soon vanished from my sight; and there I
sat, my gaze riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me,
who, half working, half talking, essayed to make the time
pleasant to me. Oh! may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons,
who afterward became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr.
Bakewell soon made his appearance, and received me with the
manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other
members of the family were soon introduced to me, and "Lucy" was
told to have luncheon produced. She now arose from her seat a
second time, and her form, to which I had previously paid but
partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my heart
followed every one of her steps. The repast over, guns and dogs
were made ready.
Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some favor,
and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I felt that
certain "_je ne sais quoi_" which intimated that, at least, she
was not indifferent to me.
To speak of the many shooting parties that took place with Mr.
Bakewell would be quite useless, and I shall merely say that he
was a most excellent man, a great shot, and possessed of
extraordinary learning--aye, far beyond my comprehension. A few
days after this first interview with the family the Perkiomen
chanced to be bound with ice, and many a one from the
neighborhood was playing pranks on the glassy surface of that
lovely stream. Being somewhat of a skater myself, I sent a note
to the inhabitants of Fatland Ford, inviting them to come and
partake of the simple hospitality of Mill Grove farm, and the
invitation was kindly received and accepted. My own landlady
bestirred herself to the utmost in the procuring of as many
pheasants and partridges as her group of sons could entrap, and
now under my own roof was seen the whole of the Bakewell family,
seated round the table which has never ceased to be one of
simplicity and hospitality.
After dinner we all repaired to the ice on the creek, and there
in comfortable sledges, each fair one was propelled by an ardent
skater. Tales of love may be extremely stupid to the majority,
so that I will not expatiate on these days, but to me, my dear
sons, and under such circumstances as then, and, thank God, now
exist, every moment was to me one of delight.
But let me interrupt my tale to tell you somewhat of other
companions whom I have heretofore neglected to mention. These
are two Frenchmen, by name Da Costa and Colmesnil. A lead mine
had been discovered by my tenant, William Thomas, to which,
besides the raising of fowls, I paid considerable attention; but
I knew nothing of mineralogy or mining, and my father, to whom I
communicated the discovery of the mine, sent Mr. Da Costa as a
partner and partial guardian from France. This fellow was
intended to teach me mineralogy and mining engineering, but, in
fact, knew nothing of either; besides which he was a covetous
wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father, and indeed
swindled both of us to a large amount. I had to go to France and
expose him to my father to get rid of him, which I fortunately
accomplished at first sight of my kind parent. A greater
scoundrel than Da Costa never probably existed, but peace be
with his soul.
The other, Colmesnil, was a very interesting young Frenchman
with whom I became acquainted. He was very poor, and I invited
him to come and reside under my roof. This he did, remaining for
many months, much to my delight. His appearance was typical of
what he was, a perfect gentleman; he was handsome in form, and
possessed of talents far above my own. When introduced to your
mother's family he was much thought of, and at one time he
thought himself welcome to my Lucy; but it was only a dream, and
when once undeceived by her whom I too loved, he told me he must
part with me. This we did with mutual regret, and he returned to
France, where, though I have lost sight of him, I believe he is
still living.
During the winter connected with this event your uncle Thomas
Bakewell, now residing in Cincinnati, was one morning skating
with me on the Perkiomen, when he challenged me to shoot at his
hat as he tossed it in the air, which challenge I accepted with
great pleasure. I was to pass by at full speed, within about
twenty-five feet of where he stood, and to shoot only when he
gave the word. Off I went like lightning, up and down, as if
anxious to boast of my own prowess while on the glittering
surface beneath my feet; coming, however, within the agreed
distance the signal was given, the trigger pulled, off went the
load, and down on the ice came the hat of my future
brother-in-law, as completely perforated as if a sieve. He
repented, alas! too late, and was afterward severely reprimanded
by Mr. Bakewell.
Another anecdote I must relate to you on paper, which I have
probably too often repeated in words, concerning my skating in
those early days of happiness; but, as the world knows nothing
of it, I shall give it to you at some length. It was arranged
one morning between your young uncle, myself, and several other
friends of the same age, that we should proceed on a
duck-shooting excursion up the creek, and, accordingly, off we
went after an early breakfast. The ice was in capital order
wherever no air-holes existed, but of these a great number
interrupted our course, all of which were, however, avoided as
we proceeded upward along the glittering, frozen bosom of the
stream. The day was spent in much pleasure, and the game
collected was not inconsiderable.
[Illustration: FATLAND FORD MANSION, LOOKING TOWARD VALLEY
FORGE.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.]
On our return, in the early dusk of the evening, I was bid to
lead the way; I fastened a white handkerchief to a stick, held
it up, and we all proceeded toward home as a flock of wild ducks
to their roosting-grounds. Many a mile had already been passed,
and, as gayly as ever, we were skating swiftly along when
darkness came on, and now our speed was increased. Unconsciously
I happened to draw so very near a large air-hole that to check
my headway became quite impossible, and down it I went, and soon
felt the power of a most chilling bath. My senses must, for
aught I know, have left me for a while; be this as it may, I
must have glided with the stream some thirty or forty yards,
when, as God would have it, up I popped at another air-hole, and
here I did, in some way or another, manage to crawl out. My
companions, who in the gloom had seen my form so suddenly
disappear, escaped the danger, and were around me when I emerged
from the greatest peril I have ever encountered, not excepting
my escape from being murdered on the prairie, or by the hands of
that wretch S---- B----, of Henderson. I was helped to a shirt
from one, a pair of dry breeches from another, and completely
dressed anew in a few minutes, if in motley and ill-fitting
garments; our line of march was continued, with, however, much
more circumspection. Let the reader, whoever he may be, think as
he may like on this singular and, in truth, most extraordinary
escape from death; it is the truth, and as such I have written
it down as a wonderful act of Providence.
Mr. Da Costa, my tutor, took it into his head that my affection
for your mother was rash and inconsiderate. He spoke triflingly
of her and of her parents, and one day said to me that for a man
of my rank and expectations to marry Lucy Bakewell was out of
the question. If I laughed at him or not I cannot tell you, but
of this I am certain, that my answers to his talks on this
subject so exasperated him that he immediately afterward
curtailed my usual income, made some arrangements to send me to
India, and wrote to my father accordingly. Understanding from
many of my friends that his plans were fixed, and finally
hearing from Philadelphia, whither Da Costa had gone, that he
had taken my passage from Philadelphia to Canton, I walked to
Philadelphia, entered his room quite unexpectedly, and asked
him for such an amount of money as would enable me at once to
sail for France and there see my father.
The cunning wretch, for I cannot call him by any other name,
smiled, and said: "Certainly, my dear sir," and afterward gave
me a letter of credit on a Mr. Kauman, a half-agent,
half-banker, then residing at New York. I returned to Mill
Grove, made all preparatory plans for my departure, bid a sad
adieu to my Lucy and her family, and walked to New York. But
never mind the journey; it was winter, the country lay under a
covering of snow, but withal I reached New York on the third
day, late in the evening.
Once there, I made for the house of a Mrs. Palmer, a lady of
excellent qualities, who received me with the utmost kindness,
and later on the same evening I went to the house of your
grand-uncle, Benjamin Bakewell, then a rich merchant of New
York, managing the concerns of the house of Guelt, bankers, of
London. I was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Bakewell, of
Fatland Ford, to this brother of his, and there I was again most
kindly received and housed.
The next day I called on Mr. Kauman; he read Da Costa's letter,
smiled, and after a while told me he had nothing to give me, and
in plain terms said that instead of a letter of credit, Da
Costa--that rascal!--had written and advised him to have me
arrested and shipped to Canton. The blood rose to my temples,
and well it was that I had no weapon about me, for I feel even
now quite assured that his heart must have received the result
of my wrath. I left him half bewildered, half mad, and went to
Mrs. Palmer, and spoke to her of my purpose of returning at once
to Philadelphia and there certainly murdering Da Costa. Women
have great power over me at any time, and perhaps under all
circumstances. Mrs. Palmer quieted me, spoke religiously of the
cruel sin I thought of committing, and, at last, persuaded me to
relinquish the direful plan. I returned to Mr. Bakewell's
low-spirited and mournful, but said not a word about all that
had passed. The next morning my sad visage showed something was
wrong, and I at last gave vent to my outraged feelings.
Benjamin Bakewell was a _friend_ of his brother (may you ever be
so toward each other). He comforted me much, went with me to the
docks to seek a vessel bound to France, and offered me any sum
of money I might require to convey me to my father's house. My
passage was taken on board the brig "Hope," of New Bedford, and
I sailed in her, leaving Da Costa and Kauman in a most
exasperated state of mind. The fact is, these rascals intended
to cheat both me and my father. The brig was bound direct for
Nantes. We left the Hook under a very fair breeze, and proceeded
at a good rate till we reached the latitude of New Bedford, in
Massachusetts, when my captain came to me as if in despair, and
said he must run into port, as the vessel was so leaky as to
force him to have her unloaded and repaired before he proceeded
across the Atlantic. Now this was only a trick; my captain was
newly married, and was merely anxious to land at New Bedford to
spend a few days with his bride, and had actually caused several
holes to be bored below water-mark, which leaked enough to keep
the men at the pumps. We came to anchor close to the town of New
Bedford; the captain went on shore, entered a protest, the
vessel was unloaded, the apertures bunged up, and after a week,
which I spent in being rowed about the beautiful harbor, we
sailed for La Belle France. A few days after having lost sight
of land we were overtaken by a violent gale, coming fairly on
our quarter, and before it we scudded at an extraordinary rate,
and during the dark night had the misfortune to lose a fine
young sailor overboard. At one part of the sea we passed through
an immensity of dead fish floating on the surface of the water,
and, after nineteen days from New Bedford, we had entered the
Loire, and anchored off Painboeuf, the lower harbor of Nantes.
On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs, he
came on board, and afterward sent me to my father's villa, La
Gerbetiere, in his barge, and with his own men, and late that
evening I was in the arms of my beloved parents. Although I had
written to them previous to leaving America, the rapidity of my
voyage had prevented them hearing of my intentions, and to them
my appearance was sudden and unexpected. Most welcome, however,
I was; I found my father hale and hearty, and _chere maman_ as
fair and good as ever. Adored _maman_, peace be with thee!