for the following two years, but will merely tell you that my
first object being that of having Da Costa disposed of, this was
first effected; the next was my father's consent to my marriage,
and this was acceded to as soon as my good father had received
answers to letters written to your grandfather, William
Bakewell. In the very lap of comfort my time was happily spent;
I went out shooting and hunting, drew every bird I procured, as
well as many other objects of natural history and zoology,
though these were not the subjects I had studied under the
instruction of the celebrated David.
It was during this visit that my sister Rosa was married to
Gabriel Dupuy Gaudeau, and I now also became acquainted with
Ferdinand Rozier, whom you well know. Between Rozier and myself
my father formed a partnership to stand good for nine years in
America.
France was at that time in a great state of convulsion; the
republic had, as it were, dwindled into a half monarchical, half
democratic era. Bonaparte was at the height of success,
overflowing the country as the mountain torrent overflows the
plains in its course. Levies, or conscriptions, were the order
of the day, and my name being French my father felt uneasy lest
I should be forced to take part in the political strife of those
days.
I underwent a mockery of an examination, and was received as
midshipman in the navy, went to Rochefort, was placed on board a
man-of-war, and ran a short cruise. On my return, my father had,
in some way, obtained passports for Rozier and me, and we sailed
for New York. Never can I forget the day when, at St. Nazaire,
an officer came on board to examine the papers of the many
passengers. On looking at mine he said: "My dear Mr. Audubon, I
wish you joy; would to God that I had such papers; how thankful
I should be to leave unhappy France under the same passport."
About a fortnight after leaving France a vessel gave us chase.
We were running before the wind under all sail, but the unknown
gained on us at a great rate, and after a while stood to the
windward of our ship, about half a mile off. She fired a gun,
the ball passed within a few yards of our bows; our captain
heeded not, but kept on his course, with the United States flag
displayed and floating in the breeze. Another and another shot
was fired at us; the enemy closed upon us; all the passengers
expected to receive her broadside. Our commander hove to: a boat
was almost instantaneously lowered and alongside our vessel;[9]
two officers leaped on board, with about a dozen mariners; the
first asked for the captain's papers, while the latter with his
men kept guard over the whole.
The vessel which had pursued us was the "Rattlesnake" and was
what I believe is generally called a privateer, which means
nothing but a pirate; every one of the papers proved to be in
perfect accordance with the laws existing between England and
America, therefore we were not touched nor molested, but the
English officers who had come on board robbed the ship of almost
everything that was nice in the way of provisions, took our pigs
and sheep, coffee and wines, and carried off our two best
sailors despite all the remonstrances made by one of our members
of Congress, I think from Virginia, who was accompanied by a
charming young daughter. The "Rattlesnake" kept us under her
lee, and almost within pistol-shot, for a whole day and night,
ransacking the ship for money, of which we had a good deal in
the run beneath a ballast of stone. Although this was partially
removed they did not find the treasure. I may here tell you that
I placed the gold belonging to Rozier and myself, wrapped in
some clothing, under a cable in the bow of the ship, and there
it remained snug till the "Rattlesnake" had given us leave to
depart, which you may be sure we did without thanks to her
commander or crew; we were afterward told the former had his
wife with him.
After this rencontre we sailed on till we came to within about
thirty miles of the entrance to the bay of New York,[10] when
we passed a fishing-boat, from which we were hailed and told
that two British frigates lay off the entrance of the Hook, had
fired an American ship, shot a man, and impressed so many of our
seamen that to attempt reaching New York might prove to be both
unsafe and unsuccessful. Our captain, on hearing this, put about
immediately, and sailed for the east end of Long Island Sound,
which we entered uninterrupted by any other enemy than a
dreadful gale, which drove us on a sand-bar in the Sound, but
from which we made off unhurt during the height of the tide and
finally reached New York.
I at once called on your uncle Benjamin Bakewell, stayed with
him a day, and proceeded at as swift a rate as possible to
Fatland Ford, accompanied by Ferdinand Rozier. Mr. Da Costa was
at once dismissed from his charge. I saw my dear Lucy, and was
again my own master.
Perhaps it would be well for me to give you some slight
information respecting my mode of life in those days of my
youth, and I shall do so without gloves. I was what in plain
terms may be called extremely extravagant. I had no vices, it is
true, neither had I any high aims. I was ever fond of shooting,
fishing, and riding on horseback; the raising of fowls of every
sort was one of my hobbies, and to reach the maximum of my
desires in those different things filled every one of my
thoughts. I was ridiculously fond of dress. To have seen me
going shooting in black satin smallclothes, or breeches, with
silk stockings, and the finest ruffled shirt Philadelphia could
afford, was, as I now realize, an absurd spectacle, but it was
one of my many foibles, and I shall not conceal it. I purchased
the best horses in the country, and rode well, and felt proud of
it; my guns and fishing-tackle were equally good, always
expensive and richly ornamented, often with silver. Indeed,
though in America, I cut as many foolish pranks as a young dandy
in Bond Street or Piccadilly.
I was extremely fond of music, dancing, and drawing; in all I
had been well instructed, and not an opportunity was lost to
confirm my propensities in those accomplishments. I was, like
most young men, filled with the love of amusement, and not a
ball, a skating-match, a house or riding party took place
without me. Withal, and fortunately for me, I was not addicted
to gambling; cards I disliked, and I had no other evil
practices. I was, besides, temperate to an _intemperate_ degree.
I lived, until the day of my union with your mother, on milk,
fruits, and vegetables, with the addition of game and fish at
times, but never had I swallowed a single glass of wine or
spirits until the day of my wedding. The result has been my
uncommon, indeed iron, constitution. This was my constant mode
of life ever since my earliest recollection, and while in France
it was extremely annoying to all those round me. Indeed, so much
did it influence me that I never went to dinners, merely because
when so situated my peculiarities in my choice of food
occasioned comment, and also because often not a single dish was
to my taste or fancy, and I could eat nothing from the sumptuous
tables before me. Pies, puddings, eggs, milk, or cream was all I
cared for in the way of food, and many a time have I robbed my
tenant's wife, Mrs. Thomas, of the cream intended to make butter
for the Philadelphia market. All this time I was as fair and as
rosy as a girl, though as strong, indeed stronger than most
young men, and as active as a buck. And why, have I thought a
thousand times, should I not have kept to that delicious mode of
living? and why should not mankind in general be more abstemious
than mankind is?
Before I sailed for France I had begun a series of drawings of
the birds of America, and had also begun a study of their
habits. I at first drew my subjects dead, by which I mean to say
that, after procuring a specimen, I hung it up either by the
head, wing, or foot, and copied it as closely as I possibly
could.
In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He
always commended my efforts, nay he even went farther, for one
morning, while I was drawing a figure of the _Ardea
herodias_,[11] he assured me the time might come when I should
be a great American naturalist. However curious it may seem to
the scientific world that these sayings from the lips of such a
man should affect me, I assure you they had great weight with
me, and I felt a certain degree of pride in these words even
then.
Too young and too useless to be married, your grandfather
William Bakewell advised me to study the mercantile business; my
father approved, and to insure this training under the best
auspices I went to New York, where I entered as a clerk for your
great-uncle Benjamin Bakewell, while Rozier went to a French
house at Philadelphia.
The mercantile business did not suit me. The very first venture
which I undertook was in indigo; it cost me several hundred
pounds, the whole of which was lost. Rozier was no more
fortunate than I, for he shipped a cargo of hams to the West
Indies, and not more than one-fifth of the cost was returned.
Yet I suppose we both obtained a smattering of business.
Time passed, and at last, on April 8th, 1808, your mother and I
were married by the Rev. Dr. Latimer, of Philadelphia, and the
next morning left Fatland Ford and Mill Grove for Louisville,
Ky. For some two years previous to this, Rozier and I had
visited the country from time to time as merchants, had thought
well of it, and liked it exceedingly. Its fertility and
abundance, the hospitality and kindness of the people were
sufficiently winning things to entice any one to go there with a
view to comfort and happiness.
We had marked Louisville as a spot designed by nature to become
a place of great importance, and, had we been as wise as we now
are, I might never have published the "Birds of America;" for a
few hundred dollars laid out at that period, in lands or town
lots near Louisville, would, if left to grow over with grass to
a date ten years past (this being 1835), have become an immense
fortune. But young heads are on young shoulders; it was not to
be, and who cares?
On our way to Pittsburg, we met with a sad accident, that nearly
cost the life of your mother. The coach upset on the mountains,
and she was severely, but fortunately not fatally hurt. We
floated down the Ohio in a flatboat, in company with several
other young families; we had many goods, and opened a large
store at Louisville, which went on prosperously when I attended
to it; but birds were birds then as now, and my thoughts were
ever and anon turning toward them as the objects of my greatest
delight. I shot, I drew, I looked on nature only; my days were
happy beyond human conception, and beyond this I really cared
not.
Victor was born June 12, 1809, at Gwathway's Hotel of the Indian
Queen. We had by this time formed the acquaintance of many
persons in and about Louisville; the country was settled by
planters and farmers of the most benevolent and hospitable
nature; and my young wife, who possessed talents far above par,
was regarded as a gem, and received by them all with the
greatest pleasure. All the sportsmen and hunters were fond of
me, and I became their companion; my fondness for fine horses
was well kept up, and I had as good as the country--and the
country was Kentucky--could afford. Our most intimate friends
were the Tarascons and the Berthouds, at Louisville and
Shippingport. The simplicity and whole-heartedness of those days
I cannot describe; man was man, and each, one to another, a
brother.
I seldom passed a day without drawing a bird, or noting
something respecting its habits, Rozier meantime attending the
counter. I could relate many curious anecdotes about him, but
never mind them; he made out to grow rich, and what more could
_he_ wish for?
In 1810 Alexander Wilson the naturalist--not the _American_
naturalist--called upon me.[12] About 1812 your uncle Thomas W.
Bakewell sailed from New York or Philadelphia, as a partner of
mine, and took with him all the disposable money which I had at
that time, and there [New Orleans] opened a mercantile house
under the name of "Audubon & Bakewell."
Merchants crowded to Louisville from all our Eastern cities.
None of them were, as I was, intent on the study of birds, but
all were deeply impressed with the value of dollars. Louisville
did not give us up, but we gave up Louisville. I could not bear
to give the attention required by my business, and which,
indeed, every business calls for, and, therefore, my business
abandoned me. Indeed, I never thought of it beyond the
ever-engaging journeys which I was in the habit of taking to
Philadelphia or New York to purchase goods; these journeys I
greatly enjoyed, as they afforded me ample means to study birds
and their habits as I travelled through the beautiful, the
darling forests of Ohio, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania.
Were I here to tell you that once, when travelling, and driving
several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost
sight of the pack-saddles, and the cash they bore, to watch the
motions of a warbler, I should only repeat occurrences that
happened a hundred times and more in those days. To an ordinary
reader this may appear very odd, but it is as true, my dear
sons, as it is that I am now scratching this poor book of mine
with a miserable iron pen. Rozier and myself still had some
business together, but we became discouraged at Louisville, and
I longed to have a wilder range; this made us remove to
Henderson, one hundred and twenty-five miles farther down the
fair Ohio. We took there the remainder of our stock on hand, but
found the country so very new, and so thinly populated that the
commonest goods only were called for. I may say our guns and
fishing-lines were the principal means of our support, as
regards food.
John Pope, our clerk, who was a Kentuckian, was a good shot and
an excellent fisherman, and he and I attended to the procuring
of game and fish, while Rozier again stood behind the counter.
Your beloved mother and I were as happy as possible, the people
round loved us, and we them in return; our profits were
enormous, but our sales small, and my partner, who spoke English
but badly, suggested that we remove to St. Genevieve, on the
Mississippi River. I acceded to his request to go there, but
determined to leave your mother and Victor at Henderson, not
being quite sure that our adventure would succeed as we hoped. I
therefore placed her and the children under the care of Dr.
Rankin and his wife, who had a fine farm about three miles from
Henderson, and having arranged our goods on board a large
flatboat, my partner and I left Henderson in the month of
December, 1810, in a heavy snow-storm. This change in my plans
prevented me from going, as I had intended, on a long
expedition. In Louisville we had formed the acquaintance of
Major Croghan (an old friend of my father's), and of General
Jonathan Clark, the brother of General William Clark, the first
white man who ever crossed the Rocky Mountains. I had engaged to
go with him, but was, as I have said, unfortunately prevented.
To return to our journey. When we reached Cash Creek we were
bound by ice for a few weeks; we then attempted to ascend the
Mississippi, but were again stopped in the great bend called
Tawapatee Bottom, where we again planted our camp till a thaw
broke the ice.[13] In less than six weeks, however, we reached
the village of St. Genevieve. I found at once it was not the
place for me; its population was then composed of low French
Canadians, uneducated and uncouth, and the ever-longing wish to
be with my beloved wife and children drew my thoughts to
Henderson, to which I decided to return almost immediately.
Scarcely any communication existed between the two places, and I
felt cut off from all dearest to me. Rozier, on the contrary,
liked it; he found plenty of French with whom to converse. I
proposed selling out to him, a bargain was made, he paid me a
certain amount in cash, and gave me bills for the residue. This
accomplished, I purchased a beauty of a horse, for which I paid
dear enough, and bid Rozier farewell. On my return trip to
Henderson I was obliged to stop at a humble cabin, where I so
nearly ran the chance of losing my life, at the hands of a woman
and her two desperate sons, that I have thought fit since to
introduce this passage in a sketch called "The Prairie," which
is to be found in the first volume of my "Ornithological
Biography."
Winter was just bursting into spring when I left the land of
lead mines. Nature leaped with joy, as it were, at her own
new-born marvels, the prairies began to be dotted with beauteous
flowers, abounded with deer, and my own heart was filled with
happiness at the sights before me. I must not forget to tell you
that I crossed those prairies on foot at another time, for the
purpose of collecting the money due to me from Rozier, and that
I walked one hundred and sixty-five miles in a little over three
days, much of the time nearly ankle deep in mud and water, from
which I suffered much afterward by swollen feet. I reached
Henderson in early March, and a few weeks later the lower
portions of Kentucky and the shores of the Mississippi suffered
severely by earthquakes. I felt their effects between Louisville
and Henderson, and also at Dr. Rankin's. I have omitted to say
that my second son, John Woodhouse, was born under Dr. Rankin's
roof on November 30, 1812; he was an extremely delicate boy till
about a twelvemonth old, when he suddenly acquired strength and
grew to be a lusty child.
Your uncle, Thomas W. Bakewell, had been all this time in New
Orleans, and thither I had sent him almost all the money I could
raise; but notwithstanding this, the firm could not stand, and
one day, while I was making a drawing of an otter, he suddenly
appeared. He remained at Dr. Rankin's a few days, talked much to
me about our misfortunes in trade, and left us for Fatland Ford.
My pecuniary means were now much reduced. I continued to draw
birds and quadrupeds, it is true, but only now and then thought
of making any money. I bought a wild horse, and on its back
travelled over Tennessee and a portion of Georgia, and so round
till I finally reached Philadelphia, and then to your
grandfather's at Fatland Ford. He had sold my plantation of Mill
Grove to Samuel Wetherell, of Philadelphia, for a good round
sum, and with this I returned through Kentucky and at last
reached Henderson once more. Your mother was well, both of you
were lovely darlings of our hearts, and the effects of poverty
troubled us not. Your uncle T. W. Bakewell was again in New
Orleans and doing rather better, but this was a mere transient
clearing of that sky which had been obscured for many a long
day.
Determined to do something for myself, I took to horse, rode to
Louisville with a few hundred dollars in my pockets, and there
purchased, half cash, half credit, a small stock, which I
brought to Henderson. _Chemin faisant_, I came in contact with,
and was accompanied by, General Toledo, then on his way as a
revolutionist to South America. As our flatboats were floating
one clear moonshiny night lashed together, this individual
opened his views to me, promising me wonders of wealth should I
decide to accompany him, and he went so far as to offer me a
colonelcy on what he was pleased to call "his Safe Guard." I
listened, it is true, but looked more at the heavens than on his
face, and in the former found so much more of peace than of war
that I concluded not to accompany him.
When our boats arrived at Henderson, he landed with me,
purchased many horses, hired some men, and coaxed others, to
accompany him, purchased a young negro from me, presented me
with a splendid Spanish dagger and my wife with a ring, and went
off overland toward Natchez, with a view of there gathering
recruits.
I now purchased a ground lot of four acres, and a meadow of four
more at the back of the first. On the latter stood several
buildings, an excellent orchard, etc., lately the property of an
English doctor, who had died on the premises, and left the whole
to a servant woman as a gift, from whom it came to me as a
freehold. The pleasures which I have felt at Henderson, and
under the roof of that log cabin, can never be effaced from my
heart until after death. The little stock of goods brought from
Louisville answered perfectly, and in less than twelve months I
had again risen in the world. I purchased adjoining land, and
was doing extremely well when Thomas Bakewell came once more on
the tapis, and joined me in commerce. We prospered at a round
rate for a while, but unfortunately for me, he took it into his
brain to persuade me to erect a steam-mill at Henderson, and to
join to our partnership an Englishman of the name of Thomas
Pears, now dead.
Well, up went the steam-mill at an enormous expense, in a
country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me
to attempt to settle in the moon. Thomas Pears came to Henderson
with his wife and family of children, the mill was raised, and
worked very badly. Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost ours.
It was now our misfortune to add other partners and petty agents
to our concern; suffice it for me to tell you, nay, to assure
you, that I was gulled by all these men. The new-born Kentucky
banks nearly all broke in quick succession; and again we started
with a new set of partners; these were your present uncle N.
Berthoud and Benjamin Page of Pittsburg. Matters, however, grew
worse every day; the times were what men called "bad," but I am
fully persuaded the great fault was ours, and the building of
that accursed steam-mill was, of all the follies of man, one of
the greatest, and to your uncle and me the worst of all our
pecuniary misfortunes. How I labored at that infernal mill! from
dawn to dark, nay, at times all night. But it is over now; I am
old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the different
trials of those sad days. We also took it into our heads to have
a steamboat, in partnership with the engineer who had come from
Philadelphia to fix the engine of that mill. This also proved an
entire failure, and misfortune after misfortune came down upon
us like so many avalanches, both fearful and destructive.
About this time I went to New Orleans, at the suggestion of your
uncle, to arrest T---- B----, who had purchased a steamer from
us, but whose bills were worthless, and who owed us for the
whole amount. I travelled down to New Orleans in an open skiff,
accompanied by two negroes of mine; I reached New Orleans one
day too late; Mr. B---- had been compelled to surrender the
steamer to a prior claimant. I returned to Henderson, travelling
part way on the steamer "Paragon," walked from the mouth of the
Ohio to Shawnee, and rode the rest of the distance. On my
arrival old Mr. Berthoud told me that Mr. B---- had arrived
before me, and had sworn to kill me. My affrighted Lucy forced
me to wear a dagger. Mr. B---- walked about the streets and
before my house as if watching for me, and the continued reports
of our neighbors prepared me for an encounter with this man,
whose violent and ungovernable temper was only too well known.
As I was walking toward the steam-mill one morning, I heard
myself hailed from behind; on turning, I observed Mr. B----
marching toward me with a heavy club in his hand. I stood still,
and he soon reached me. He complained of my conduct to him at
New Orleans, and suddenly raising his bludgeon laid it about me.
Though white with wrath, I spoke nor moved not till he had given
me twelve severe blows, then, drawing my dagger with my left
hand (unfortunately my right was disabled and in a sling, having
been caught and much injured in the wheels of the
steam-engine), I stabbed him and he instantly fell. Old Mr.
Berthoud and others, who were hastening to the spot, now came
up, and carried him home on a plank. Thank God, his wound was
not mortal, but his friends were all up in arms and as
hot-headed as himself. Some walked through my premises armed
with guns; my dagger was once more at my side, Mr. Berthoud had
his gun, our servants were variously armed, and our carpenter
took my gun "Long Tom." Thus protected, I walked into the
Judiciary Court, that was then sitting, and was blamed,
_only_,--for not having killed the scoundrel who attacked me.