after crossing Laurel Creek once more encountered rough roads,
but soon reached a tavern called the "Jacob Hoff," where we
breakfasted. Still pushing forward, at noon we came to the
small house of a family called Margennefs, and procured a
meager lunch. At a short distance from this place a change
of horses was made, and after driving all the afternoon we
entered the attractive village of Greensburg, where we spent
the night. Rising reluctantly at peep of day, we continued on
our course and made ten miles before breakfasting at a tavern,
the "Stewart Auberge" by name. After leaving this point we
came to Turtle Creek, when the road descended so abruptly that
it was decided to dismount and walk, but the heat was sultry
and oppressive, and we suffered greatly. At last, however,
the city of Pittsburgh was reached, and there we found good
and commodious lodgings at the Jefferson Hotel, conducted by
Mr. Galland, a most genial and agreeable host. We remained
in Pittsburgh several days, and became acquainted with many
of its citizens, among whom were several countrymen of ours
who were engaged in business and were very congenial and
hospitable. The city does not present a pleasing appearance;
it has been increasing in size with astounding rapidity,[166]
and possesses a remarkable commerce; the Ohio River there is
most beautiful.
The remainder of our journey was by way of the Ohio, and we
made it entirely in an open flatboat, a cumbersome unwieldy
craft, managed by hand, and in this particular instance
very badly. One who has never had this experience can little
understand the terrible monotony, hardships and deprivations
encountered on a long journey such as we endured. We were
unprotected from the elements, and our beds consisted of bare
pine boards, upon which we slept as best we could, enveloped
in our great coats.
There were times without number when our boat would run upon
hidden sand bars to become grounded, and we were then often
obliged to get into the cold water and assist in the work
of extricating her. At other times, unprotected as we were,
the rains drenched us to the skin, and our clothing was so
saturated that it took many hours to dry. At night when it
was clear, we continued our course down the river, but, in
bad weather, or when very cloudy and dark, we were obliged
to tie up to the shore, frequently to the bank of some wild,
uninhabited island, and wait there for daylight; then we would
resume our slow, tedious and seemingly never ending journey.
Added to these hardships, our boat was commanded by a most
disagreeable and ungentlemanly captain, named Harris; his
language, and demeanor marked him as a person of low birth
and bad character.
Among some of the places which were passed _en route_, I
remember the following: Wheeling, Marietta, Market Slough,
famous for the conspiracy of Colonel Burr, Belleville, Litards
Falls, Point Pleasant, Manchester, Maysville, Cincinnati, and
finally our journey's end, Louisville.
At Louisville the partners were attracted by the country and its
prospects, as well as by the hospitable character of the people. Their
choice, as they then thought, had been well made, and they decided to
make it their future home. "We marked Louisville," said Audubon, "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."[167]
Rozier did not say when either they or their goods reached the
pioneer settlement, but from an item in their account current with the
Bakewell house,[168] it is evident that they opened a retail shop in
Louisville at once, for on September 29 they were charged with $57 for
an order of powder horns and shotbags. In the same record there is a
more interesting entry under date of December 31, 1807: "advanced per
[sailing packet] _Jane_, for indigo and expences ... $1,516.43," ordered
evidently through Mr. Bakewell, presumably for export to France. This
incident Audubon must have had in mind when in after life he wrote:
"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." It may be recalled that in his letter of April
24 of this year, Audubon wrote Francois Rozier[169] that the Bakewell
house had sent him a consignment of indigo by the same ship, Captain
Sammis, and hoped for its favorable sale in France. No doubt the venture
succeeded so well that the young traders were induced to repeat the
experiment. As it happened, however, on December 22, a week before
this entry for the indigo was made, the famous Embargo Act of President
Jefferson had taken effect, with the result of cutting off all exports
to England and France and at the same time of paralyzing American trade.
The Bakewell house, as we have already noticed, like so many others,
immediately went down, and the partners found that their tobacco and
other western produce found so little sale in New York that by April 7,
1808, they were obliged to call for an extension of their notes.
Notwithstanding the gloomy outlook for trade, Audubon had no fears for
the future. As early as March, 1808, he left Rozier in Kentucky and
returned to Pennsylvania. No time was lost in making known his plans
to Lucy Bakewell and her family, and having received their approval,
the lovers prepared for the adventurous journey that was to celebrate
their wedding. Audubon was married to Miss Bakewell, at "Fatland
Ford," on Friday, April 8, 1808, by the Reverend Doctor Latimer, an
Episcopal clergyman of Philadelphia, and on the next morning started
with his bride for the frontier. This event must be regarded as the most
auspicious in his career, for in all probability the world would never
have heard of Audubon had it not been for the spur to his ambition and
the balance wheel to his character which came through his admirable
wife.
The first stage of their honeymoon involved the long ride of over 250
miles to Pittsburgh, the hazards and discomforts of which we have
learned from Rozier's description; it was marked in this instance
by an accident, for in crossing the Alleghany mountains their coach
was upset and Mrs. Audubon did not escape without severe bruises. At
Pittsburgh the Audubons met a number of young emigrants bound westward
like themselves, and in their company they prepared to float down the
beautiful Ohio in a flatboat or ark. Their entire journey, which, owing
to the windings of the river, could not have been much less than a
thousand miles, was made in twelve days, and without further mishap.
The wild and varied beauty of the Ohio of that day had great attractions
for the naturalist, who often regretted that no facile writer had
left a true and vivid picture of it for the benefit of posterity, for
he foresaw with great concern the inevitable changes which advancing
civilization would quickly produce along its delightful banks. Audubon
traversed this mighty highway countless times in after life, and some of
his musings have lost none of their interest with the flight of time,
for he had witnessed the advance of the white man and the retreat of
the red, along with the great herds of deer, elk and buffalo that once
found peaceful pasturage on its banks. Speaking of a later but hardly
less romantic journey,[170] he said:
As night came, sinking into darkness the broader portions of
the river, our minds became affected by strong emotions, and
wandered far beyond the present moments. The tinkling of bells
told us that the cattle which bore them were gently roving
from valley to valley in search of food, or returning to their
distant homes. The hooting of the Great Owl, or the muffled
noise of its wings as it sailed smoothly over the stream, were
matters of interest to us; so was the sound of the boatman's
horn, as it came winding more and more softly from afar. When
daylight returned, many songsters burst forth with echoing
notes, more and more mellow to the listening ear. Here and
there the lonely cabin of a squatter struck the eye, giving
note of commencing civilization. The crossing of the stream by
a deer foretold how soon the hills would be covered by snow.
Many sluggish flatboats we overtook and passed; some laden
with produce from the different head-waters of the small
rivers that pour their tributary streams into the Ohio;
others, of less dimensions, crowded with emigrants from
distant parts, in search of a new home.
The margins of the shores and of the river were at this
season amply supplied with game. A Wild Turkey, a Grouse, or
a Blue-winged Teal, could be procured in a few moments; and
we fared well, for, whenever we pleased, we landed, struck up
a fire and provided, as we were, with the necessary utensils,
procured a good repast.
Louisville at this time was a small trading and agricultural center of
barely a thousand people.[171] Though the early promises of business
there were not fulfilled, Audubon and his wife at once entered upon a
happy period, for they made many friends in a new country settled by
whole-hearted, well-to-do planters; the men were fond of good horses and
of hunting, and the naturalist, who was also a merchant, was welcomed
among them as a kindred spirit. But, said Audubon, "birds were birds
then as now, and my thoughts were ever and anon turning towards 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 that I
really cared not.... I seldom passed a day without drawing a bird, or
noting something respecting its habits, Rozier meantime attending the
counter."
To revert again to the business affairs of the Audubon-Rozier firm at
Louisville, an interesting record has been preserved in a letter[172]
written by Thomas Bakewell, a former fellow-clerk of the naturalist in
the senior Bakewell's counting-house in New York; this was included with
the statement of account, referred to above.
_Thomas Bakewell to Audubon & Rozier_
[At bottom of account sheet] NEW YORK, _Decemr. 13th. 1808_
MESSRS. J. AUDUBON & F. ROZIER
Louisville
GENTN.
I have now the pleasure to hand you your account current with
my Father's Estate according to your desire as expressed in
your letter to Mess Robt. Kinder & Co. under date the 21st.
of Novr. last. I cannot tell what error you allude to of $93.
I suppose it is the amount of commission returned $93.94/100
which you will perceive is duly at your Cr. in the a/c. I am
sorry to say that the tobacco is still unsold & that there is
no prospect of selling it so as to cover the balance of your
a/c. Messrs R. Kinder & Co. request me to say that they
wish the yarn mentioned in their letter of the [word omitted]
to be made of _water rotted Hemp_ & that they will write you
pr next post with their account against you as requested by
you—
I remain Gentn
with Your mo. obt. Servt.
THOS. BAKEWELL
for the assignees of my
Father's estate—
Give my love to Mrs. A. my aunt a recd. hers last night—S.
& is much as usual—she remains very sick yet.
T B
[Superscribed] MESSRS. AUDUBON & ROZIER
Merchants
Louisville
Kentucky
Audubon fraternized with the sporting men of his district, who gladly
sent him every rare bird that fell to their guns. At Shippingport
also, then an independent center below the falls or rapids, he found a
sympathetic spirit in Doctor W. C. Galt, a local botanist, as well as
in Nicholas Berthoud, who had become his wife's brother-in-law, and who
was a friend on whom he could always rely. The spirit of hospitality so
manifest in all these new friends won the heart of Audubon and of his
attractive wife, to whom the door of a neighbor's house was sure to open
whenever business or adventure called her husband away. "We lived," said
Audubon, "two years at Louisville, where we enjoyed many of the best
pleasures which this life can afford; and whenever we have since passed
that way, we have found the kindness of our former friends unimpaired."
It was while they were living at Gnathway's hotel of the "Indian Queen,"
in Louisville, that Victor Gifford Audubon, who was destined to become
his father's right hand in the publication of his most important works,
was born on June 12, 1809.
When Audubon had reached his twenty-fourth year, nature, his fond nurse
from infancy, was calling to him more loudly than ever before, but to
most of his contemporaries his devotion to natural history could have
seemed little else than sheer madness, or, at best, an utter waste of
time. By the year 1810 his portfolios were swelling with upwards of two
hundred pictures of American birds, produced, to be sure, without any
plan, and far inferior to the best of his later work, but still done to
the size of life, in the natural colors, and far excelling in fidelity
and charm anything that had been attempted before. At this time,
however, the young traders needed money for more practical affairs, and
Audubon's father-in-law, William Bakewell of "Fatland Ford," consented
to sell a portion of this estate, amounting to 170 acres, in order
that his daughter, Lucy, might immediately realize her interest in it.
From this sale nearly $8,000 was obtained; the money was deposited with
Messrs. Robert Kinder & Company of New York, a firm with which Audubon
and Rozier had dealt from the opening of their business at Louisville.
This is clearly shown by the following interesting letter:[173]
_William Bakewell to Audubon & Rozier_
FATLAND FORD _10 Apl 1810_
MESSS AUDUBON & ROZIER
GENTN
I have at last settled the whole business with Mr Josh
Williams I have allowed him for the two thirds in cash 3
per cent & have emitted to Messrs Kinder's 7838.50 on your
account.—The quantity was surveyed to 170 acres at 47.5 per
acre 7998.50, from which was deducted 160 dols for discount
As I have had a great deal of trouble & anxiety in this
business & had to find assistants in surveying with several
days attendance, dinners &c for the whole party several
journeys to Norris Town and also to Philada with the
carriage to convey the money—postages &c.—I charge you 1½ per
cent on the purchase money which I hope you will think not
unreasonable as I believe it is under the charge of the land
brokers in Philada & they have no trouble in the business
compared to what I have had—I feel as if a great burthen was
taken off my back now it is all finished. Out of this you will
please to present Lucy with 38 dols which was the price the
mare sold for—I expected one of you Gentn would have come to
the Eastward before now it is I expect Mr Roziers turn this
Spring
I had one forged note returned at the Bank out of the money of
Mr Williams & one dollar a counterfiet, but I had stipulated
that he should take any faulty ones back. He paid about a
third of the money in specie so that I was obliged to take
the carriage with it. I took it to the Pennsylvania Bank & got
an order on the Manhattan Bank in N York & have Mr Kinder's
receipt for the order
They have got a considerable quantity of ore out of the
mine[174] some lead & some copper but I do not hear of any
being yet sold.
Present the kind regards of our family circle to my daughter,
Mr Audubon, & my Grandson[175] who I hope are well
I remain Gentn
Yours truly
Wm BAKEWELL
PS
Mr Kinder is of opinion that there ought to be a
renunciation by Lucy of any claim of dower upon this
estate to make the title good this may be sent on
when you are coming this way
[Addressed] MESSS AUDUBON & ROZIER
Merchs
Louisville
Kentucky—
[Endorsed] Recd. May 5th. 1810
Lucy Green Bakewell, Audubon's wife, was three years younger than
her husband, having been born at Burton-on-Trent, England, in 1788.
Her family were descended from John Bakewell of "Castle Donnington,"
in Leicestershire; Robert Bakewell, the geologist, who came to the
naturalist's defense many years later, and who lived until 1843, was
a nephew of her grandfather, Joseph Bakewell of Derby. Left an orphan
at an early age, Lucy's father, William Bakewell, was brought up by
an uncle, Thomas Woodhouse, a rich bachelor of Crith, Derbyshire, who
eventually left him a fortune.
When William Bakewell succeeded to his uncle's estate and manor, he
lived the life of a country gentleman, devoting himself mainly to
shooting and to the study of chemistry and natural philosophy, while
he enjoyed the friendship of such men as Joseph Priestley and Erasmus
Darwin. His advocacy of Priestley's republican and liberal religious
doctrines is said to have cost him the honorary office of justice of
the peace in his community and to have determined his emigration to
America. His first visit to America was made in the summer of 1798,
when, with his brother Benjamin,[176] he started an establishment for
brewing English ale at New Haven; through his chemical knowledge and
skill he is said to have reproduced to perfection the famous Burton
ales. William Bakewell brought his family to the United States in 1802,
and when a disastrous fire destroyed his business at New Haven, he
took up the large farm of "Fatland Ford" in 1804, as already related
(p. 108). In that retired spot he devoted much time to his library
and laboratory, while living a life of easy independence. If abrupt
in manners and inclined to severity in discipline, he was generous,
kind-hearted and an ardent republican. Mrs. Audubon's mother, who felt
keenly the separation from her own people, died in September, 1804,
a few months after reaching "Fatland Ford," and in the following year
William Bakewell was married to Rebecca Smith. This lady seems to have
taken a strong dislike to Audubon, for when her death was announced in
1821,[177] he referred to her as "my constant enemy ... God forgive her
faults."
At this time Audubon studied nature for the pure love of it, without the
faintest expectation that his labors in natural history would ever be
of any service to the world. But in the year 1810 occurred an event, of
seemingly small moment at the time, which nevertheless left a distinct
mark upon his career, as will be now related.
CHAPTER XIV
A MEETING OF RIVALS, AND A SKETCH OF ANOTHER PIONEER
Alexander Wilson and his _American Ornithology_—His canvassing
tour of 1810—His retort to a Solomon of the Bench—Descriptions
of Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Louisville—Meeting with
Audubon—Journey to New Orleans—Youth in Scotland—Weaver,
itinerant peddler, poet and socialist—Sent to jail for
libel—Emigrates to the United States—Finally settles as a
school teacher near Philadelphia—His friendships with Bartram
and Lawson—Disappointments in love—Early studies of American
birds—His drawings, thrift, talents and genius—Publication of
his _Ornithology_—His travels, discouragements and success—His
premature death—Conflicting accounts of the visit to Audubon
given by the two naturalists—Rivalry between the friends of
Wilson, dead, and those of Audubon, living—The controversy
which followed—An evasive "Flycatcher"—Singular history of
the Mississippi Kite plate.
On January 30, 1810, a man of rather coarse features, with a head of
sandy hair, and possessed of manners that could be winning or aggressive
according to his mood, might have been seen leaving Philadelphia afoot,
for he had planned to keep his expenses down to a dollar a day and
traveling by coach or on horseback suited neither his purse nor the
objects of his mission. His clothing was coarse; his luggage, with the
exception of a fowling-piece and two red-backed volumes of quarto size,
was of the lightest description. But, could we have peered between the
covers of those books, our curiosity would have been whetted, for they
were filled with colored plates of American birds, the first-fruits of
their bearer's untrained eye and hand; the text, moreover, was printed
in a style which would have done honor to any country.
This man was Alexander Wilson, who, like Audubon, was a pioneer in the
study of the birds of his adopted land, but who was twenty years his
predecessor in point of publication. The books which he then carried
were part of the first edition of his now famous _American Ornithology_,
the second volume of which had appeared in Philadelphia at the beginning
of that year. Though not destined to be completed until after his death,
this work was to become one of the scientific and literary treasures of
the nation, but it is not likely that one in ten thousand had then ever
heard of him, whether as poet or as ornithologist, or cared anything
about his work or his mission.
Wilson at that moment was starting on his last long journey through the
West and South, in search of new birds. He also carried in his pocket
a subscription list, and therefore belonged to that class of visitor
which is seldom welcomed with rapture. At Lancaster, Pennsylvania,
Wilson's first important stopping-place, and at that time the capital
of the State, Governor Snyder put down his name for $120, the price of
the completed work. This seemed a good omen, but, at Hanover, in the
same state, an incident occurred which might have discouraged a less
determined man; the interview has become historical, and we shall give
Wilson's own relation of it:[178]
Having a letter from Dr. Muhlenburgh to a Clergyman in
Hanover, I passed on through a well cultivated country,
chiefly inhabited by Germans, to that place, where a certain
Judge _Hustetter_ took upon himself to say, that such a book
as mine ought not to be encouraged; as it was not within the
reach of the commonalty; and therefore inconsistent with our
Republican institutions! By the same mode of reasoning, which
I did not dispute, I undertook to prove him a greater culprit
than myself, in erecting a large elegant three story Brick
house, so much more beyond the reach of the _Commonalty_ as he
called them, and therefore grossly contrary to our Republican
institutions. I harangued this Solomon of the Bench more
seriously afterwards, pointing out to him the great influence
of Science on a young rising Nation like ours, till he began
to show such symptoms of _intellect_, as to seem ashamed of
what he had said.
At Pittsburgh Wilson met Audubon's old employer and relative by
marriage, Benjamin Bakewell. The picture which he then drew[179] of that
growing hive of industry will be read with interest:
On arriving at the town, which stands on a low flat, and
looks like a collection of Blacksmith shops, Glass houses,
Breweries, Forges, and Furnaces, the Monongahela opened to
the view on the left running along the bottom of a range of
hills so high that the sun at this season sets to the town of
Pittsburgh at a little past four. This range continues along
the Ohio as far as the view reaches. The ice had just begun
to give way in Monongahela, and came down in vast bodies for
the three following days. It has now begun in the Alleghany,
and at the moment I write it is one white Mass of rushing ice.
The country beyond the Ohio to the west appears a mountainous
and hilly region. The Monongahela is lined with Arks, usually
called Kentucky Boats, waiting for the rising of the river,
& the absence of ice, to descend. A perspective view of the
town of Pittsburgh at this season, with the numerous arks
and covered keel boats preparing to descend the Ohio, the
grandeur of its hills, and the interesting circumstance of
its three great rivers—the pillars of smoke rising from its
Furnaces Glass works &c. would make a noble picture. I began
a very diligent search, in the place the day after my arrival
for subscribers and continued it for four days. I succeeded
beyond expectation having got 19 names of the most wealthy
and respectable part of the inhabitants. The industry of the
town is remarkable; every body you see is busy; & as a proof
of the prosperity of the place an eminent lawyer told me that
there has not been one suit instituted against a mercht. of
the town these three years! The Glass Houses, of which there
are 3, have more demands for Glass than they are able to
answer. Mr. Bakewell the proprietor of the best, shewed ...
yesterday a Chandelier of his manufacture highly ornamented,
... for which he received 300 dollars. It would ornament the
... in Philada. and is perfectly transparent.
Eight days after he had reached Pittsburgh, Wilson bravely launched
a little skiff, which he christened the _Ornithologist_, and began an
arduous and perilous journey to Cincinnati, Louisville and New Orleans,
a distance of two thousand miles. "In this lonesome manner," he wrote,
"with full leisure for observation and reflection, exposed to hardships
all day, and hard berths all night, I persevered from the 24th of
February to Sunday evening, March 17th, when I moored my skiff safely
in Bear Grass Creek, at the rapids of the Ohio, after a voyage of seven
hundred and twenty miles."
Cincinnati, then a town of five hundred houses, was reached on the
ninth of March; while there Wilson made the acquaintance of Dr. Daniel
Drake, who was later Audubon's friend, and examined a collection of
Indian relics which had been taken from a freshly opened mound. He
left Cincinnati convinced that its well-to-do class must be a very
thoughtful people, so many of them, when approached for a subscription
to his work, having replied that they would "think about it." Upon
nearing Louisville at nightfall he became alarmed lest he should be
drawn into the suction of the Falls, as no lights could be seen on the
banks: cautiously coasting along the shore, where he encountered many
logs and sawyers, at last he entered the Creek and secured his skiff
to a Kentucky boat; then, "loading myself with my baggage," he wrote,
"I groped my way through a swamp up to the town."[180] When Wilson had
seen the Falls by daylight, he felt that his fears of the night before
had been groundless, and declared that he should have no hesitation in
navigating them single-handed.
It will be interesting to follow Wilson's journey a little further,
before returning to the Louisville visit. After passing a few days in
Audubon's town, he struck out into the heart of Kentucky, calling at
Shelbyville, Frankfort and Lexington, and eventually reaching Nashville,
Tennessee. Not far from the latter place he met a landlord of admirable
discrimination, Isaac Walton by name, who showed himself worthy of his
illustrious ancestor by declaring that Wilson was evidently traveling
for the good of the world, and added: "I cannot, and will not charge you
anything. Whenever you come this way, call and stay with me; you shall
be welcome."
At Nashville Wilson wrote to Miss Sarah Miller, the lady to whom he
was engaged but whom he did not live to marry: "Nine hundred miles
distant from you sits Wilson, the hunter of birds' nests and sparrows,
just preparing to enter on a wilderness of 780 miles—most of it in the
territory of Indians—_alone_ but in good spirits, and expecting to
have every pocket crammed with skins of new and extraordinary birds
before he reach the City of New Orleans." Continuing on his course
in search of new birds and subscribers, Wilson arrived at Natchez on
May 18, and, passing through Louisiana, on the sixth day of June he
entered New Orleans, where his spirits were immediately raised by the
accession of sixty new names to his list. After six months of continuous
effort, traveling now in a small boat, now on the back of a horse, but
frequently on foot, drenched by torrents of rain or scorched by the
unaccustomed heat, often compelled to drink the poisonous water of cane
brakes in Mississippi (to which must be attributed an attack of malarial
fever, which he was able with difficulty to throw off, but from which,
in all probability, he never fully recovered), he returned to New York
by sea, and on September 2, 1810, was again in Philadelphia.
On this journey Wilson was a pioneer in much of the territory which
Audubon had hardly begun to explore, but which later became the scene
of his wanderings and adventures for many a year. At Louisville the two
naturalists met, but they did not become good friends; though devoted
to the same objects, differences in temperament might in any event have
kept them apart. Unfortunately, the feelings of jealousy which were then
aroused, or which were stirred up at a later day, were fostered by some
of Wilson's injudicious friends to such an extent that from the moment
Audubon's work became known, and long before he had published a line,
they became as thorns in his path, and they continued to vex him for
thirty years. It is not easy to reach a fair judgment in this matter
now, and it would be impossible to do so without a better understanding
of the man who suddenly appeared upon Audubon's horizon at Louisville in
1810 and then vanished. Because of the peculiar relations which existed
between these two pioneers, we must follow the history of the elder man
a little more closely.
Alexander Wilson was the son of a weaver at Paisley, Scotland, where he
was born in 1766; he was thus Audubon's senior by nineteen years. His
father, who was esteemed for his honesty and intelligence, had tasted
prosperity, but irremediable poverty fell to his lot in later life.
Alexander, the younger son, was motherless at ten, and the stepmother
that soon appeared seems to have shown him scant sympathy, or, at all
events, never won his affection. Alexander Wilson's youth unhappily
coincided with an era of bad feeling in his native land; the times
were hard in bonny Scotland, education was stagnant, and the public
morals were debased. Wilson was a child of his times; like thousands of
other youths, he was bound to suffer from the conditions of his early
environment, but unlike many thousands of his day, he was possessed of
talents and ambition which bitter adversity tended to sharpen and could
never repress.
At thirteen young Wilson was taken from school and apprenticed to a
weaver, William Duncan, his brother-in-law, and for three years he was
no stranger to hard work and the birchen rod. For nearly three years
more, as master weaver, he knew little beyond the grind and grime of
the factory and the society of factory hands. At eighteen, however, his
rebellious spirit struck, and for ten years he appeared in the _rôle_
of itinerant peddler, poet and orator, and as socialist to the extent
of championing the oppressed weaver class. At one time Wilson came into
correspondence with Robert Burns and later made his acquaintance. His
best dialect poem, "Watty and Meg, or The Taming of a Shrew," published
anonymously as a penny chap-book in 1782, was his one popular success in
the character of poet; according to report it was attributed to Burns,
who admitted that he would have been glad to have written the verses,
which sold so freely that a hundred thousand copies were disposed of
in a few weeks.[181] In the disputes between capital and labor which
arose at Paisley, Wilson took an active part. In connection with them
he published a number of lampoons in verse, for which he was convicted
of libel and was compelled to burn his satires at the town cross. In
one instance, which occurred in February, 1793, a petty tyrant whom he
had riddled exacted the fine,[182] and because of his inability to pay
Wilson was sent to jail, where he languished for over three months.
Under the pressure of such persecutions, hard times, and possibly from
disappointment in an affair of the heart, Wilson decided to emigrate.
Practically driven out in rags from the country which one day was to
raise a monument to his memory, at the age of twenty-eight he sailed
from Belfast with his nephew, William Duncan, for the Eldorado of
the New World. Wilson slept on deck throughout the entire voyage of
fifty-three days, and landed at New Castle, Delaware, with the clothes
on his back and an old fowling-piece as his only possessions. This was
on July 14, 1794, nine years before John James Audubon left Nantes.
Taking train "number 11," in the parlance of knights of the road, the
two immigrants first walked to Wilmington in search of employment, and
finding none there, went on twenty-nine miles farther to Philadelphia.
The story is told that while they made their way through the woods of
Delaware, Wilson shot a Red-headed Woodpecker and met with the Cardinal
Grosbeak; as he often referred to the pleasure which the sight of these
beautiful birds had given him, the incident, if it really occurred, may
have played a part in the inspiration, which later came to Wilson, of
becoming the historian of American bird life.
After eight hard years of shifting about, during which Wilson tried
day-labor, weaving, peddling and school teaching, working long hours
at miserable pay, he finally settled as a country school teacher near
New York. On the twelfth of July, 1801, he wrote to a fellow teacher
and friend, Charles Orr, who was then living at Philadelphia: "I live
six miles from Newark and twelve miles from New York, in a settlement
of canting, preaching, praying, and snivelling ignorant Presbyterians.
They pay their minister 250 pounds for preaching twice a week, and their
teacher 40 dollars a quarter for the most spirit-sinking, laborious
work—6, I may say 12 times weekly." To the same friend, in 1802, he
confided: "My disposition is to love those who love me with all the
warmth of enthusiasm, but to feel with the keenest sensibility the
smallest appearance of neglect or contempt from those I regard."
In 1802, at the age of thirty-six, Wilson decided to take up a school
at Gray's Ferry, on the Schuylkill River, in Kingsessing Township, then
a small settlement four miles from Philadelphia. A year later, in 1803,
John James Audubon was sent to America to learn English and enter trade,
and, as chance would have it, settled on the banks of the same river,
not many miles from Wilson's old schoolhouse. In one respect the older
man was the more fortunate, for, as will be seen, he found close by his
door an excellent naturalist who played the part of mentor.
On February 14, 1802, while at Philadelphia, Wilson wrote to Orr:
On the 25th. of this month I remove to the schoolhouse beyond
Gray's Ferry to succeed the present teacher there. I shall
recommence that painful profession once more with the same
gloomy, sullen resignation that a prisoner re-enters his
dungeon or a malefactor mounts the scaffold; fate urges him,
necessity me. The agreement between us is to make the school
equal to 100 dollars per quarter, but not more than 50 are
to be admitted. The present pedagogue is a noisy, outrageous
fat old captain of a ship, who has taught these ten years
in different places. You may hear him bawling 300 yards
off. The boys seem to pay as little regard to him as ducks
to the rumbling of a stream under them. I shall have many
difficulties to overcome in establishing my own rules and
authority.
At Gray's Ferry, where he was then settled, Wilson again wrote in July:
"Leave that cursed town at least one day. It is the most striking emblem
of purgatory, at least to me, that exists. No poor soul is happier to
escape from Bridewell than I am to smell the fresh air and gaze over
the green fields after a day or two's residence in Philadelphia...."
George Ord, Wilson's staunch friend, literary executor, biographer,
and editor of the last two volumes of the _American Ornithology_,
thus characterized him: "He was of the _genus irritabile_, and was
obstinate in opinion." He would acknowledge error when discovered by
himself, "but he could not endure to be told of his mistakes. Hence his
associates had to be sparing of criticism, through fear of forfeiting
his friendship. With almost all his friends he had occasionally, arising
from a collision of opinion, some slight misunderstanding, which was
soon passed over, leaving no disagreeable impression. But an act of
disrespect he could ill brook, and a wilful injury he would seldom
forgive."
In 1801, while teaching and studying German at Milestown, Pennsylvania,
Wilson had another unfortunate love affair, in this instance with a
woman already married. To this he alluded in letters written in the
summer of that year to his friend Orr, with whom he later quarreled.
On August 7, 1801, he wrote: "The world is lost forever to me and I to
the world. No time nor distance can ever banish her image from my mind.
It is forever present with me, and my heart is broken with the most
melancholy reflections."
At Gray's Ferry, however, Wilson soon found in the estimable William
Bartram, then in his sixty-first year, the sympathetic adviser, kind
teacher, and judicious friend that he most needed, for though Wilson
took the initiative in his ornithological plans, it was the kindly
Bartram who eventually extended a helping hand. Both Bartram and Lawson,
the engraver, urged him to devote his leisure to drawing, as a foil to
his melancholic tendencies. Wilson did not hesitate long, for on June
1, 1803, he confided to a friend in Scotland that he had begun to make a
"collection of our finest birds." Early in 1804 his purpose was clearly
fixed, and on March 12 of that year he wrote to Alexander Lawson: "I
am most earnestly bent on pursuing my plan of making a collection of
all the birds in this part of North America.... I have been so long
accustomed to the building of airy castles and brain windmills, that
it has become one of my earthly comforts, a sort of rough bone, that
amuses me when sated with the dull drudgery of life." A little later in
the same month we find him appealing to Bartram for exact names, when
he writes:
I send for your amusement a few attempts at some of our
indigenous birds, hoping that your good nature will excuse
their deficiencies, while you point them out to me.... They
were chiefly coloured by candle-light. I have now got my
collection of native birds considerably enlarged, and shall
endeavor, if possible, to obtain all the smaller ones this
summer. Be pleased to mark on the drawings, with a pencil, the
names of each bird, as, except three or four, I do not know
them.
[Illustration: Alex Wilson
AFTER AN ENGRAVING BY W H. LIZARS, FROM A PAINTING BY JAMES
CRAW.]
[Illustration: Will. Bartram
REPRODUCED FROM "CASSINIA" FOR 1906.]
Wilson, practically self-taught in everything, with no experience or
training in drawing from nature, thus began at the age of thirty-eight
to make his drawings of birds, before he knew the names of his subjects,
and twenty years before Audubon's talents were known to any but members
of his own family and a few intimate friends. The only aid in drawing
which Wilson ever received appears to have come from the hints which
Lawson supplied. Nevertheless, the best of Alexander Wilson's original
drawings represent a degree of excellence and honest workmanship of
which he had no need to be ashamed, and in many instances he owed far
less to his engraver, Alexander Lawson, than did his great rival to
Robert Havell.
In 1880 Dr. Elliott Coues examined a large collection of original Wilson
and Audubon drawings and manuscripts, "owned and kept with the greed
of a genuine bibliomaniac" by Joseph M. Wade, then editor of _Familiar
Science and Fancier's Journal_. If not Wilson's portfolio itself, its
contents, at least, said Dr. Coues, were then in Mr. Wade's possession,
and this series of Wilson's drawings included, he thought, more than
half of the originals of his famous plates. To quote Dr. Coues:[183]
In handling these drawings and paintings, of all degrees
of completeness, one of sensibility could but experience
some emotions he would not care to formulate in words....
I was fairly oppressed with the sad story of poverty, even
destitution, which these wan sheets of coarse paper told.
Some of Wilson's originals are on the fly-leaves of old
books, showing binder's marks along one edge. One of the best
portraits, that of the Duck Hawk, is on two pieces of paper
pasted together. The man was actually too poor to buy paper!
Some of the drawings are on both sides of the paper; some show
a full picture on one side, and part of a mutilated finished
painting on the other. Some show the rubbing process by which
they were transferred. They are in all stages of completeness,
from the rudest outlines to the finished painting.
I know full well that in 1804, when Wilson had fairly begun his work on
birds, he was poor enough, but I hesitate to believe upon such evidence
that he was too poor to buy decent drawing materials. Wilson doubtless
practiced economy in these matters as in everything else, through
his ingrained habit of Scotch thrift, and he was probably quite as
well-to-do then as five years before, when out of his slender earnings
he was able to lay money aside.[184] Later, to be sure, his modest
savings were quite consumed by his _Ornithology_, and then William
Bartram came to his aid, even giving him a home in his own house.
It is also wide of the mark to conclude from his fugitive letters or
from his drawings, as this critic has done, that Wilson was possessed
of genius only, and "had nothing else, not even talent and ability."
Wilson certainly had a talent for writing and cultivated it with marked
success; even his verse was not all of a "despicable mediocrity." In
the art of drawing, however, his natural gifts were of a very modest
sort, and what he achieved was the result of the most painstaking
effort. Of course he was not a finished scholar, as graduates from the
school of adversity seldom are, but he had a passion for knowledge and
the determination to excel. His genius was not fully displayed until a
powerful motive, the ambition to make known the birds of his adopted
land, had possessed his spirit and taxed his powers to their utmost
capacity.
Shortly after he had settled at Gray's Ferry, Wilson's susceptible
nature was touched by another romance, which was again unfortunate for
the poet and dreamer, but was probably the making of the ornithologist.
Bartram's Botanic Gardens, on the outskirts of Philadelphia, had long
been famous for their large and choice collection of native plants,
gathered by the indefatigable zeal of their worthy founder, John
Bartram, Quaker philosopher, traveler, botanist, agriculturalist and
nurseryman; but the fairest flower in the whole collection at that time
is said to have been Miss Anne Bartram, daughter of John the younger,
niece of William, who then superintended the "Kingsess Gardens,"
granddaughter of the founder, and heiress to the estate. To this Quaker
maid Wilson addressed a number of his poems, and he interested her in
the drawing of birds; on March 29, 1804, he wrote to her uncle: "I send
a small scroll of drawing papers for Miss Nancy. She will oblige me
by accepting it." This little incident would show that Wilson was no
stranger to the use of good drawing materials, however frugal his habits
in this respect may have been. The young lady is said to have been not
indifferent to her poet lover, and some of her family were friendly; the
father, however, had no notion of bestowing his daughter's hand upon a
poor schoolmaster, and for the third time Wilson's dreams of domestic
bliss were shattered.
Such experiences no doubt tended to chasten the sensitive spirit of
this real genius, whose whole life seemed to have been a continuous and
losing struggle, while he felt within him an inspiration and a power
that had failed to find adequate expression in labor at the loom, in
verse, or in the hated vocation of teaching rough country schools at
starvation wages. Though depressed by his misadventures in love, Wilson
does not seem to have been embittered, and by way of diversion, he set
out in the autumn of 1804, on a long walking tour from Philadelphia
to Niagara Falls and back; in the following winter the experiences of
this journey were embodied in a descriptive poem of 2,018 lines which
he called "The Foresters," an effort which would have been less prosaic
if frankly expressed in prose. Wilson's friendship for the Bartrams
continued under the changed conditions, and he was invited to make his
home under their hospitable roof. He was now free to devote himself
heart and soul to birds and to birds alone.
Wilson etched the first two plates of his _American Ornithology_ before
he had obtained an engraver or a publisher. In April, 1806, he resigned
his school at Gray's Ferry to accept an editorial position on a _New
American Cyclopædia_,[185] then in course of preparation, at a salary of
$900 a year. Samuel F. Bradford, the publisher of this work, soon became
interested in Wilson's projected _American Ornithology_ and agreed to
publish it. It became the ambition of both author and publisher to
produce the work in a superior style, and to make it as perfect and
complete an American product as possible. Only the pigments used in
coloring some of the plates were imported from Europe.[186]
Wilson issued in April, 1807, an elaborate prospectus of his proposed
_Ornithology_, in which he stated that the completed work would
comprise ten volumes, to cost $120, and that it would be illustrated by
plates, engraved and colored by hand, after the manner of a carefully
prepared sample which was issued with the printed announcement.
In September, 1808, as already intimated, the first volume of the
_American Ornithology_[187] appeared in an edition of 200 copies.
Wilson immediately started on a canvassing tour of New England, in
the course of which he visited the principal towns and colleges,
going east to Portland, Maine, and as far north as Dartmouth College,
in New Hampshire, where President John Wheelock and the professors
received him with marked attention. On this journey Wilson did not
average one subscriber a day, and he was forced to conclude that he
had "been mistaken in publishing a work too good for the country";
"it is a fault," he said, "not likely to be repeated, and will pretty
severely correct itself." Daniel D. Tompkins, Governor of New York,
coolly said to him: "I would not give one hundred dollars for all the
birds you intend to describe," not even if "I had them alive"; but a
future Governor of that State, De Witt Clinton, the friend of science
and scientific men, gave him the substantial encouragement he craved.
When his second volume was ready for issue, Wilson wrote to Bartram:
"This undertaking has involved me in difficulties and expenses which
I never dreamt of, and I have never yet received one cent from it. I
am, therefore, a volunteer in the cause of Natural History impelled by
nobler views than those of money."
In the autumn of 1808 Wilson made a long and arduous tour of the
South, in the course of which he visited every important town along the
southern Atlantic seaboard, and though it cost him dear, he obtained
250 subscribers; it was then that his publishers decided to extend the
original edition of his work to 500 copies. His longer and more perilous
journey of 1810, when his meeting with Audubon occurred, has already
been described. In 1812, after the sixth volume of the _Ornithology_ had
appeared, he again resumed his travels in the East and went as far north
as Burlington, on Lake Champlain; at Haverhill, New Hampshire, he was
summarily arrested and thrown into jail, the people of the town, utterly
unable to comprehend the nature of his pursuits, suspecting that in
his real capacity he was acting as a spy in the employ of the Canadian
Government. The seventh and last volume of the _Ornithology_ which
Wilson lived to complete made its appearance in the spring of 1813. He
had then been obliged to relinquish his work on the _Cyclopædia_, and
was reduced to the pittance derived from the coloring of his own plates.
Alexander Wilson died at Philadelphia, after a brief illness, on
August 23, 1813. A story was current that his end was saddened, if not
hastened, by the dishonesty of his publishers, but I cannot vouch for
it. Audubon may have had this report in mind when he wrote his name in
the hotel register at Niagara Falls[188] on August 24, 1824; and added
that he would never die, like Wilson, "under the lash of a bookseller."
Even as late as 1879 Miss Malvina Lawson, daughter of Wilson's friend
and engraver, left no doubt as to her belief when she wrote: "and to
his other trials was added the fact that killed him,—the dishonesty of
his publisher."[189]
When we consider that Wilson's entire working period on the
_Ornithology_ was not over ten years, and that at the age of forty-seven
he was called to lay down his pen and brush forever; that he produced
in this brief space a work of great originality and charm, which did
inestimable service in promoting the cause of natural history in both
America and England, and which is likely to be read and prized for
centuries to come, the achievement of this man is little short of
marvelous. Knowing also the disabilities under which he labored, we are
more than ready to temper our judgment with sympathy, and to overlook
any faults which his character may have displayed. These indeed, we
believe, were for the most part of a very trifling nature; those who
knew Wilson best have all testified to his kindness of heart, his
liberality, and his high sense of honor.
We must now return to the meeting of our two pioneers, which has been
the bone of so much acrimonious contention. On his long journey to the
Middle West and South, Wilson reached Louisville on a Saturday evening,
the seventh of March, 1810, and put up at the tavern of the "Indian
Queen," where, as it happened, Audubon was then living with his family;
after spending five days in and about the town, he again set out on
foot for Frankfort, on the morning of Friday, the twenty-third. Audubon
has given the following account in the "Episode" of "Louisville in
Kentucky":[190]
One fair morning, I was surprised by the sudden entrance into
our counting-room [at Louisville] of Mr. Alexander Wilson,
the celebrated author of the "American Ornithology," of
whose existence I had never until that moment been apprised.
This happened in March, 1810. How well do I remember him, as
he then walked up to me! His long, rather hooked nose, the
keenness of his eyes, and his prominent cheek-bones, stamped
his countenance with a peculiar character. His dress, too,
was of a kind not usually seen in that part of the country;
a short coat, trousers, and a waistcoat of grey cloth. His
stature was not above the middle size. He had two volumes
under his arm, and as he approached the table at which I was
working, I thought I discovered something like astonishment
in his countenance. He, however, immediately proceeded
to disclose the object of his visit, which was to procure
subscriptions for his work. He opened his books, explained
the nature of his occupations, and requested my patronage.
I felt surprised and gratified at the sight of the volumes,
turned over a few of the plates, and had already taken a
pen to write my name in his favour when my partner rather
abruptly said to me in French, "My dear Audubon, what induces
you to subscribe to this work? Your drawings are certainly
far better, and again you must know as much of the habits
of American birds as this gentleman." Whether Mr. Wilson
understood French or not, or if the suddenness with which
I paused, disappointed him, I cannot tell; but I clearly
perceived that he was not pleased. Vanity and the encomiums
of my friend prevented me from subscribing. Mr. Wilson asked
me if I had many drawings of birds. I rose, took down a
large portfolio, laid it on the table, and shewed him, as I
would show you, kind reader, or any other person fond of such
subjects, the whole of the contents, with the same patience
with which he had shewn me his own engravings.
His surprise appeared great, as he told me he never had the
most distant idea that any other individual than himself had
been engaged in forming such a collection. He asked me if
it was my intention to publish, and when I answered in the
negative, his surprise seemed to increase. And, truly, such
was not my intention; for, until long after, when I met the
Prince of Musignano in Philadelphia, I had not the least
idea of presenting the fruits of my labours to the world. Mr.
Wilson now examined my drawings with care, asked if I should
have any objections to lending him a few during his stay, to
which I replied that I had none: he then bade me good morning,
not, however, until I had made an arrangement to explore the
woods in the vicinity along with him, and had promised to
procure for him some birds, of which I had drawings in my
collection, but which he had never seen.
It happened that he lodged in the same house with us, but his
retired habits, I thought, exhibited either a strong feeling
of discontent, or a decided melancholy. The Scotch airs which
he played sweetly on his flute made me melancholy too, and
I felt for him. I presented him to my wife and friends, and
seeing that he was all enthusiasm, exerted myself as much as
was in my power, to procure for him the specimens which he
wanted. We hunted together, and obtained birds which he had
never before seen; but, reader, I did not subscribe to his
work, for, even at that time, my collection was greater than
his. Thinking that perhaps he might be pleased to publish the
results of my researches, I offered them to him, merely on
condition that what I had drawn, or might afterwards draw and
send to him, should be mentioned in his work, as coming from
my pencil. I at the same time offered to open a correspondence
with him, which I thought might prove beneficial to us both.
He made no reply to either proposal, and before many days had
elapsed left Louisville, on his way to New Orleans, little
knowing how much his talents were appreciated in our little
town, at least by myself and my friends.
Some time elapsed, during which I never heard of him, or of
his work. At length, having occasion to go to Philadelphia,
I, immediately after my arrival there, inquired for him and
paid him a visit. He was then drawing a White-headed Eagle.
He received me with civility, and took me to the Exhibition
Rooms of Rembrandt Peale, the artist, who had then portrayed
Napoleon crossing the Alps. Mr. Wilson spoke not of birds
or drawings. Feeling, as I was forced to do, that my company
was not agreeable, I parted from him; and after that I never
saw him again. But judge of my astonishment some time after,
when on reading the thirty-ninth page of the ninth volume of
American Ornithology, I found in it the following paragraph:—
"March 23, 1810.—I bade adieu to Louisville, to which place I
had four letters of recommendation, and was taught to expect
much of everything there; but neither received one act of
civility from those to whom I was recommended, one subscriber,
nor one new bird; though I delivered my letters, ransacked
the woods repeatedly, and visited all the characters likely
to subscribe. Science or literature has not one friend in this
place."
What actually happened at this meeting of the two naturalists will never
be certainly known, beyond what can be gathered from their rather widely
divergent accounts. It should be noticed, however, that the paragraph
which Audubon quoted was extracted from Wilson's private diary; it was
no doubt written on the spur of the moment, possibly to humor his own
mood, and certainly with no thought of its later publication. It was
inserted by George Ord in the biographical sketch of his friend appended
to the ninth volume of the _American Ornithology_, which appeared in
1814, the year after Wilson's death. Audubon was not concerned, either
directly or by implication, except in the last sentence, for it is
evident that he was not one of those to whom Wilson had carried letters
of introduction. Thus the matter stood until 1828, when Audubon's
_Birds of America_ were being engraved in England. In all probability
the incident would never have been noticed by Audubon, had not Ord seen
fit to revive it when his life of Wilson[191] was issued as a separate
volume in that year. In this edition of the biography Ord inserted
fuller extracts from Wilson's journal, with the evident purpose of
placing the rival of his friend in an unenviable light.
Wilson's diary, which apparently was never seen by any of Audubon's
friends, is now known to us only through such extracts as Ord and
Waterton, his bitter enemies, have seen fit to make public; the original
has probably been destroyed, for it cannot be traced later than 1840,
when it was still in the hands of George Ord.[192] Charles Waterton
gave similar extracts from this famous journal in one of his philippics
against Audubon in 1834, when he said that it was the testimony of
this record that defeated Audubon's friends in their initial attempt to
bring him into the Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia. Wilson's
narrative of his adventures at Louisville in 1810, as given by Ord and
Waterton, is as follows:[193]
_March 17._ Take my baggage and grope my way to Louisville—put
up at the Indian Queen tavern, and gladly sit down to rest
myself.
_March 18._ Rise quite refreshed. Find a number of
land-speculators here.[194]
_March 19._ Rambling round the town with my gun. Examined
Mr.——'s drawings in crayons—very good. Saw two new birds he
had, both Motacillæ.
_March 20._ Set out this afternoon with the gun—killed
nothing new. [People in taverns here devour their meals. Many
shopkeepers board in taverns—also boatmen, land-speculaters,
merchants &c.] _No naturalist to keep me company._
_March 21._ Went out shooting this afternoon with Mr. A. Saw
a number of Sandhill Cranes. Pigeons numerous.
_March 22._
_March 23._ Packed up my things which I left in the care of a
merchant here, to be sent on to Lexington; and having parted
with great regret, with my paroquet, to the gentleman of the
tavern, I bade adieu to Louisville, to which place I had four
letters of recommendation, and was taught to expect much of
everything there, but neither received one act of civility
from those to whom I was recommended, one subscriber, _nor
one new bird_; though I delivered my letters, ransacked the
woods repeatedly, and visited all the characters likely to
subscribe. _Science or literature_ has _not one friend in this
place_. [Everyone is so intent on making money, that they can
talk of nothing else; and they absolutely devour their meals,
that they may return sooner to their business. Their manners
correspond with their features.]
In this fuller record we learn that Wilson spent five days in
Louisville; he examined Audubon's drawings on Monday, March 19, hunted
alone on the 20th, went out shooting with Audubon on the 21st, and
finally left Louisville on the morning of the 23d; no record was
admitted by Ord for Sunday, the 18th, or for the 22d, a Thursday. Wilson
noticed the drawings of two new _Motacillæ_, or Warblers, in Audubon's
collection, and it would have been only natural that he should have
felt a strong desire to copy them, yet not a word was said about the
loan of drawings to which Audubon refers; Wilson merely stated that
from those to whom he was recommended he had received not "one act of
civility,—one subscriber, nor one new bird." Audubon was evidently
regarded as one of the "many shopkeepers" who boarded "in taverns,"
and not as a "naturalist," for Wilson said that he had none to keep him
company, and it is rather significant that Audubon's name is not once
mentioned in his _Ornithology_.
Twenty-nine years after Wilson's visit to Louisville, when Audubon came
to publish the fifth and last volume of his _Ornithological Biography_,
he maintained that Wilson had copied his drawing of a certain bird,
called the Small-headed Flycatcher,[195] without any acknowledgment. To
quote Audubon's words:
When Alexander Wilson visited me at Louisville, he found
in my already large collection of drawings, a figure of the
present species, which being at that time unknown to him he
copied and afterwards published in his great work, but without
acknowledging the privilege that had thus been granted to
him. I have more than once regretted this, not by any means
so much on my own account as for the sake of one to whom we
are so deeply indebted for the elucidation of our ornithology.
This troublesome bird was first described by Wilson in 1812, when he
rightly pronounced it "very rare," and said that the specimen from
which his drawing was made had been shot in an orchard, presumably
near Philadelphia, on the twenty-fourth day of April, and that several
had been obtained also in New Jersey. His friend Ord, who came to his
defense in 1840, confirmed this statement by declaring to the American
Philosophical Society of Philadelphia that he had been with Wilson on
the day in question and had examined the specimen. Lawson also affirmed
that in engraving the plate he had worked directly from the bird which
Wilson had given him.
What has become of this mysterious phantom that has been a wandering
and disturbing voice among ornithologists for over a century? It has
given rise to no end of conflicting and sharp discussions between the
partisans of the two naturalists chiefly concerned, the only thing
certain being that if this supposititious species ever existed, it
has forsaken its old haunts, if not the earth itself, and has never
returned. No doubt it was simply a case of mistaken identity, and both
Wilson and Audubon were wrong, each having had in hand and mind an
immature representative of one of our numerous Warblers, which are now
so much better known.[196] If Wilson copied Audubon's drawing of the
bird, he must have replaced it with one of his own, for the figures of
the two naturalists are very unlike. Certainly Audubon should not have
made so serious a charge without offering more substantial evidence
in proof; perhaps what he had intended to convey was that Wilson had
obtained from him his first knowledge of the bird, and he was nettled
to find that he had been studiously ignored.[197]
Among the originals of Audubon's _Birds of America_ in possession of
the Historical Society of New York, there is an early drawing of a
Warbler which bears in pencil, in the naturalist's hand, the following
note: "This bird was copied by Mr. Willson at Louisville."[198] The
misspelling of Wilson's name, which was common with Audubon as late as
1820, would indicate that the note was not added after that time, but
if Wilson copied this drawing, there is no evidence that he ever used
it.
Ord made another charge in which Audubon does not appear to such good
advantage; though it refers to a later day, it is best to consider it
now. This critic thought that a complaint of misappropriation came with
ill grace from one who had been guilty of it himself, and maintained
that Audubon had copied Wilson's figures of the female Red-wing
Blackbird (_The Birds of America_, Plate LXVII), and had also stolen his
drawing of the Mississippi Kite (Plate CXVII). Ord was probably mistaken
in regard to the blackbird, but without a doubt the lower bird in the
Kite plate was taken from Wilson (_American Ornithology_, Plate 25),
though the copyist has reversed the outlines, left out one of the toes,
added minor details, and misnamed the sex, which in the Wilson original
represents a male. Without a doubt also the odium in this case must
fall upon Audubon, but we are not at all certain that he was directly
responsible for the theft. Audubon's plate of this species, which is
finished in elaborate detail, was probably published towards the close
of 1831, when he was in America. He furnished his engraver, we believe,
with the drawing of the upper bird only, which he designated as a male,
and the original still exists, with clearly written notes showing that
it was executed in Louisiana in 1821.[199]
[Illustration: THE "TWIN" MISSISSIPPI KITES OF WILSON (LEFT)
AND AUDUBON (RIGHT), THE SIMILARITY OF WHICH INSPIRED ORD'S
CHARGES OF MISAPPROPRIATION AGAINST AUDUBON.]
Audubon usually made up his drawings for the engraver with great
care, but when pressed for time, Havell's skill was such that he
often depended upon him to complete or change his figures, to fill in
backgrounds, or even to combine several distinct figures into one plate,
specific directions for all such changes being usually written on the
drawing itself.[200] Inasmuch as no penciled directions whatever occur
on this particular drawing, is it possible that Havell, in piecing it
out to improve the composition, followed his own initiative, not fully
appreciating the stigma that is rightly attached to such methods? The
bird in the lower half of the plate, which was appropriated from Wilson,
is misrepresented as a female, so that the composite, as it stands, is a
remarkable product, supposedly depicting a pair but in reality showing
two males. Although the apparent difference in sex in this bird was
admittedly slight, it is improbable that so gross an error could have
escaped the naturalist's eye had he been directly concerned with the
result.
When Audubon was descending the Mississippi in December, 1820, he saw
the kites busily engaged "in catching small lizards off the bark of dead
cypress trees," but "having at that time no crayons or paper," he "did
not draw one, and determined," as he then wrote in his journal, "never
to draw from a stuffed bird." "I first saw the Mississippi Kite," he
added, when "ascending in the steamboat Paragon, in June, 1819." Wilson,
on the other hand, in his knowledge of this interesting bird was far
in advance of his later rival, for his first observations were made in
1810, "in the Mississippi territory, a few miles below Natchez, on the
plantation of William Dunbar, esquire, when the bird represented in
the plate was obtained, after being slightly wounded; and the drawing
made with great care from the living bird." "For several miles, as I
passed near Bayo Manchak," Wilson continues, "the trees were swarming
with a kind of cicada, or locust, that made a deafening noise; and here
I observed numbers of the Hawk now before us sweeping about among the
trees like Swallows, evidently in pursuit of these locusts; so that
insects, it would appear, are the principal food of this species."[201]
Wilson never succeeded in procuring the female of this graceful hawk,
and his editor, George Ord, evidently continued the quest, for we find
his correspondent, John Abbot, writing him from "Scriven County Georgia
Mar. 1814": "Are you acquainted with the female yet of the Louisiana
Kite?"[202]
We have entered into the detailed history of this plate because of
the unfavorable comment which it has provoked, but it is easier to be
critical than to be either just or correct, and without more definite
knowledge than we possess, it would be unfair to censure Audubon too
much or to shift the blame too completely upon the shoulders of another.
To return again to the story of Wilson's diary, it is evident that
Wilson would never have published his sentiments in the form in which
they later appeared. They were perfectly characterized by a just critic
of an early day,[203] who said that Wilson's words were without doubt
written in a moment of keen depression and disappointment and were an
exact description of his feelings, though, as we should also add, not
of the facts. "A man who has given his heart to the accomplishment of
an object, believing that he has no rival, must be somewhat more than
human, if he be delighted to find that another is engaged in the same
purpose, with equal energy and advantages far greater than his own."
Barring his usual inaccuracies, it must be admitted that Audubon's
account bears the thumbmarks of truth. He could not have known the
bitter struggles of the proud spirit whose history we have briefly told;
he saw only a stranger, an ardent devotee of nature, it is true, but a
man of unbending disposition, who with a little more suavity of address
could probably have won his friendship, if not his subscription. Of the
literary quality of Wilson's work, now so well appreciated, he could
have known nothing at all; after turning its pages in his Louisville
store for the first time in 1810, he probably did not see it again for
over ten years.
That Wilson was jealous of Audubon as a future rival is probable, but
the real "rivalry" between these two pioneers was of later growth.
It was fostered in this country chiefly by George Ord and some of
his friends, together with others who were interested in the sale of
Wilson's work. Ord, who seems to have felt that the mantle of this
naturalist had fallen on his own shoulders, strove continually, and
after 1826 with the aid of Charles Waterton in England, to hamper
Audubon's progress, to discredit him as a man of integrity, and to break
down his growing reputation as a naturalist. Though Ord was justified to
some extent in his attacks upon Audubon which were made over Wilson's
shoulders long after that estimable man was laid in the grave, the
matter was carried too far. Neither of the rivals was wholly without
fault, and a century is far too long to continue any quarrel, especially
when one of those whose reputation was concerned was never a party to
it.
Audubon, as we have seen, frankly attributed to personal vanity his
failure to patronize Wilson's work, and added that "even at that time
my collections were greater than his." But it should be noticed that
money was far from plentiful with him at that moment. He was, in short,
at the point of failure in the Louisville enterprise, and with Rozier
was obliged to move down the river not long after the date of Wilson's
visit. Audubon has been represented as at this time a well-to-do man
of leisure, of fastidious tastes. Nothing could have been wider of
the mark. He was still more of a sportsman than a naturalist, and when
not occupied with drawing, he spent most of his time in the forest, to
the neglect of his trade. We may be sure that he was quite as used to
roughing it as any man on the frontier.
CHAPTER XV
EXPERIMENTS IN TRADE ON THE FRONTIER
The Ohio a hundred years ago—Hardships of the pioneer
trader—Audubon's long journeys by overland trail or river
to buy goods—The "ark" and keelboat—Chief pleasures of
the naturalist at Louisville—The partners move their
goods by flatboat to Henderson, Kentucky, and then to Ste.
Geneviève, (Missouri)—Held up by the ice—Adventures with the
Indians—Mississippi in flood—Camp at the Great Bend—Abundance
of game—Breaking up of the ice—Settle at Ste. Geneviève—The
partnership dissolved—Audubon's return to Henderson—Rozier's
successful career—His old store at Ste. Geneviève.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century the banks of the Ohio River
were but thinly settled, and over vast areas the virgin forest still
reigned in undisturbed vigor and beauty. Yet traders were eagerly
pushing westward in ever growing numbers, and by 1810 Audubon and Rozier
found that competition at Louisville was already keen. This city, wrote
Alexander Wilson in describing his experiences in the spring of that
year, was as large as Frankfort, and possessed a number of good brick
buildings and valuable shops; it would have been salubrious, he thought,
"but for the numerous swamps and ponds that intersect the woods in its
neighborhood," and the indifference of the people, whom he found too
intent upon making money to give any heed to the drainage and sanitation
of their town.
The prosperity of the partners, as already intimated, was shortlived.
Audubon was doubtless right in admitting that his business abandoned
him because he could not bear to give it the necessary attention. The
conditions of life for the merchant-trader at that early day were at
best far from easy, and an honest success, as then understood, required
not only plenty of rough work but careful planning as well. His goods,
purchased in the East, were laboriously transported across the State
of Pennsylvania, and if they came from Philadelphia they must needs
traverse the rough wagon roads that led through Bedford to Pittsburgh.
There was an overland trail from Pittsburgh to Kentucky, but merchants
with heavy loads would naturally take the easier river route. In going
east to renew his stock in trade, it was a common practice to travel on
horseback from as far west as St. Louis, but on returning the merchant
would often sell his mount at Baltimore, Philadelphia or Pittsburgh,
where a boat could be taken for the remainder of the journey.
The "ark" or flatboat was considered most convenient for the
transportation of either passengers or merchandise down the Ohio, for
any well-to-do traveler, while floating leisurely with the current,
could make himself comfortable by fitting up snug sleeping quarters and
a kitchen on deck, and could go ashore at will, with the certainty of
satisfying his appetite for wild turkey, venison and other game in the
season. Wilson, who descended the river in April, 1810, boarded and
passed many of these "arks," which he described as built in the form
of a parallelogram, from twelve to fourteen feet wide and from forty
to seventy feet long, with a canopy to protect them from the weather;
they were casually helped along by means of two oars in the bow, and
steered by another and more powerful one in the stern. "Several of these
floating caravans," said Wilson, "were loaded with store goods for the
supply of the settlements through which they passed, having a counter
erected, shawls, muslins," and the like, "displayed, and everything
ready for transacting business. On approaching a settlement they blew
a tin trumpet, which announced to the inhabitants their arrival." These
"arks," he added, descended from all parts of the Ohio and its tributary
streams, but in greatest numbers in the spring months. Although they
cost originally about $1.50 per foot of length, when arrived at their
destination they would seldom bring more than one-sixth of that amount.
From forty to fifty days were commonly required to cover the entire
distance of two thousand miles from Pittsburgh to New Orleans.
Another means of conveyance on the river, frequently used by Audubon,
was the keel boat or barge, which, in some cases, was also roofed and
would hold about two hundred barrels of flour.[204] When assisted by
oars in the bow, it could reduce the time of a journey to New Orleans
by ten or fifteen days. These barges were pushed up stream with the aid
of setting poles at an average rate of about twenty miles a day, or, if
loaded, they were laboriously "cordelled," or drawn by the hands of men
who trudged along the banks pulling at the cordelle.
The chief pleasures which Audubon's business ventures in the West
seem to have afforded him were his leisurely journey by river and long
horseback rides to Philadelphia to buy goods, when he could roam through
his "beautiful and darling forests of Kentucky, Ohio, and Pennsylvania,"
which gave him grand opportunities to make observations upon birds and
animal life of every sort. He would seldom hesitate to swerve from his
course to study his favorites, and has related how on one occasion,
when driving before him several horses laden with merchandise and
dollars, he quite lost sight of the pack saddles and the cash they bore,
in watching the motions of a warbler. But few coaches, said Audubon,
were available in those days, and the post roads were often unfit for
lighter carriages. To cover the distance from Louisville to Philadelphia
on horseback required about twenty days, and only a capable animal
and rider could make forty miles a day; when steamer traffic on the
Ohio[205] was well in hand this time was reduced to six or seven days,
in performing a journey which the modern railroad has shortened to not
far from as many hours.
Discouraged by the gloomy prospects which their business at Louisville
presented, Audubon and Rozier determined in the spring of 1810 to move
125 miles down the river to Henderson.[206] Loading the residue of their
stock on a flatboat, they resolutely set out for the new field, but
great was their surprise to find, in place of the thriving settlement
which their imaginations had pictured, only a cluster of log houses on
the river bank, with a population of less than 200 people and a demand
for little else than whisky, gunpowder and coarse woolen goods. When
the partners arrived, the little town was eighteen years old, as the
first log cabins were built there in 1792, but the whole country above
and below them was, and for a considerable time remained, one vast
canebrake. All the commodities known to the pioneer store were scarce,
but the people of Henderson were friendly, and the new settlers had
been provident in bringing with them a goodly supply of flour and "bacon
hams." Moreover, the Ohio, which was half a mile wide at that point, was
well stocked with fish, and the woods and canebrakes were alive with
birds, not to speak of larger and more important game. Not many years
before, wild turkeys had been so plentiful that they were not sold but
were given away, while a large buck deer could be bought in the season
for fifty cents.
During their stay at Henderson, Rozier was in his habitual place
behind the counter and attended to what little business was done, while
Audubon with a Kentucky lad named John Pope, who was nominally a clerk,
roamed the country in eager pursuit of rare birds, and with rod and gun
bountifully supplied the table. Audubon's first abode in the town was,
as he said, "a log-_cabin_, not a _log-house_," in which the richest
piece of furniture was their child's cradle. He soon began to cultivate
a garden, but his experience in horticulture must have been limited,
for he naïvely remarks that the rankness of the soil kept the seeds they
planted "far beneath the tall weeds which sprang up the first year."
Financial distress and hard times were already being felt in the Blue
Grass State, and these conditions were not destined soon to improve.
After experimenting for six months, or more, at Henderson, our two
"rolling stones" determined to push still farther west and try their
luck at a more promising point. They had hoped to reach St. Louis but
finally went instead to Ste. Geneviève, then a small French settlement
in Upper Louisiana, on the right bank of the Mississippi, a hundred
miles north of the mouth of the Ohio.
This new venture promised to be both hazardous and uncertain, and as
Mrs. Audubon and Rozier were not on the friendliest terms, Audubon
decided to leave his family at Henderson, where a home for his wife and
infant son could always be had under the hospitable roof of Dr. Adam
Rankin, who became one of the naturalist's staunchest friends. If their
stock in trade at this time actually consisted of "three hundred barrels
of whisky, sundry dry-goods and powder," as Audubon affirmed, the keel
boat which they then engaged was certainly calculated to bear a goodly
load.[207] At all events the partners, with young Pope, their clerk, set
out bravely, in a snow storm, in December, 1810. They floated with the
current at a rate of about five miles an hour, while they helped their
craft along by means of four oars in her bow and steered it with the aid
of a slender tree trunk, "shaped at its outer extremity like the fin of
a dolphin."
This journey of upwards of 165 miles lasted altogether more than nine
weeks. It proved adventurous enough, but it was of no use to Audubon
except in furnishing him with drawings of new birds and the raw
materials for many "Episodes." The journal of his experiences on the
great rivers during that eventful winter of 1810 and 1811 is interesting
for the sidelights which it throws both upon his character and upon the
state of the country at an elder day. Held up by the ice for several
weeks at Cash Creek, near the mouth of the Ohio, to his own delight but
to Rozier's sorrow, Audubon tramped the country and hunted wild swans
and larger game with the friendly Shawnee Indians. "When one day's sport
was over," he said, "we counted more than fifty of these beautiful
birds whose skins were intended for the ladies of Europe. There were
plenty of geese and ducks, but no one condescended to give them a shot."
This was Audubon in 1810, when such "sport" was regarded as legitimate
enough, and the feather-hunting of such Indians was not considered the
nefarious trade that it proved to be. If we shift the scene to twenty
years later, when William MacGillivray needed thousands of specimens
of American birds for his studies upon their anatomy and variability,
we find Audubon supplying him liberally, but he could not then bear
to see them killed wantonly or for mere sport; more than once, out of
compassion for individual birds that he chanced to be studying, whether
in Florida or in Labrador, he would not permit them to be shot even when
needed for his collections.
At the Shawnee Indian camp, to relate a characteristic anecdote, Audubon
noticed that a squaw who "had been delivered of beautiful twins during
the night" was busied on the next day at her usual task of tanning deer
skins. "She cut two vines," his record reads, "at the roots of opposite
trees and made a cradle of the bark, in which the new born ones were
wafted to and fro with a push of her hand, while from time to time she
gave them the breast, and was apparently as unconcerned as if the event
had not taken place."
When at last our adventurers gained the Mississippi, the mighty volume
of which was running three miles an hour, the patron ordered all hands
ashore to pull at the bow rope. This characteristic remark of the
naturalist is delightful, as showing the "single eye" which it has
been declared of old shall be "full of light": "we made," said Audubon,
"seven miles a day up the famous river; but while I was tugging with my
back at the cordella, I kept my eyes fixed on the forests or the ground,
looking for birds or curious shells."
Warping against the current was both difficult and dangerous, and
though they rose two hours before the sun, they could make but one mile
an hour or ten miles in the day. At night they would go ashore, light
a good fire and cook their supper; then, after posting a sentinel to
guard against unfriendly surprises, they would roll in their buffalo
skins and sleep without further concern. Notwithstanding all their
efforts, when they reached the Great Bend at Tawapatee Bottom, they were
obliged to unship their cargo, protect their boat as best they could
from being crushed in the growing pack, and await the final breaking up
of the ice. "The sorrows of Rozier," at this dismal announcement, said
Audubon, "were too great to be described; wrapped in a blanket, like a
squirrel in winter quarters with his tail about his nose, he slept and
dreamed his time away, being seldom seen except at meals." There was
not a white man's cabin within twenty miles, but a new field opened to
the naturalist, who tramped through the deep forests, and soon became
acquainted with all the Indian trails and lakes in the neighborhood.
The six weeks spent at this camp passed pleasantly for Audubon, who
devoted much of the time in studying the Osage Indians, whom he thought
superior to the Shawnees, as well as in watching for wolves, bears,
deer, cougars, racoons and wild turkeys, some of which were attracted
by the bones and scraps of food thrown out for them: "I drew," said he,
"more or less, by the side of our great camp-fire, every day." While
detained at this point, they used for bread the breasts of turkeys,
buttered with bear's grease, and opossum and bear's meat, until their
stomachs revolted and they longed for a little Indian meal, which was
procured only with the greatest difficulty.
When at last the ice broke up, splitting with reports like the thunder
of heavy artillery, their prospects were dismal indeed, for their boat
was immediately jammed by the rushing ice, and they were powerless to
move her. "While we were gazing on the scene," to continue Audubon's
record, "a tremendous crash was heard, which seemed to have taken place
about a mile below, when suddenly the great dam gave way. The current
of the Mississippi had forced its way against that of the Ohio, and in
less than four hours we witnessed the complete breaking up of the ice."
Having reloaded their goods, they were ready to start at a favorable
moment, and taking leave of the friendly Indians, "as when brothers
part," they pushed on through the floating ice, past Cape Girardeau, to
Sainte Geneviève, a town which Audubon characterized as "not so large as
dirty," declaring that the time spent there did not yield him half the
pleasure he had felt at Tawapatee Bottom. It was near a granite tower
which rose from a dangerous rock in the river below Ste. Geneviève that
Audubon caught sight of what he afterwards described as "Washington's
Eagle," a bird now believed to have been the true "bird of freedom,"
the "Bald-" or White-headed Eagle, but in an immature state.
[Illustration: SIGNATURE TO THE RELEASE GIVEN BY AUDUBON TO
FERDINAND ROZIER ON THE DISSOLUTION OF THEIR PARTNERSHIP AT
STE. GENEVIÈVE, APRIL 6, 1811.
From the Tom J. Rozier MSS.]
Though their whisky was welcomed at Ste. Geneviève and what had cost the
traders twenty-five cents, brought them two dollars, a gallon, Audubon
heartily disliked the place and its people. Rozier, on the contrary, who
had found plenty of Frenchmen with whom he could freely converse, was
resolved to stay. Audubon accordingly proposed to sell out his share
in the business, and the partnership was dissolved on April 6, 1811,
Rozier paying part of the price in cash and the remainder in notes.
In referring to the incident in his journal of 1820, Audubon wrote:
"I parted with Mr. Rozier, and walked to Henderson in four days—165
miles"; but this does not agree with a later account, in which he spoke
of having "purchased a beauty of a horse," and, happy in the prospect
of again seeing his family, set out for Dr. Rankin's house in Kentucky.
In the earlier record he also wrote that he once had a friend in trade,
referring to Ferdinand Rozier, "with whom he did not agree, and so they
parted forever"; but Audubon visited Ste. Geneviève in the autumn of
1811 and in the winter of 1812, probably for the purpose of collecting
his money and settling his affairs, while the following letters of
this period show that friendly relations with his old partner were not
seriously impaired:[208]
_John James Audubon to Ferdinand Rozier_
LOUISVILLE, _2d November 1811_.
MR. F. ROZIER
St. Geneviève.
MY DEAR ROZIER;
I reached here on the 31st of last month a little fatigued,
as you can well imagine. Yesterday I wrote to T. W. Bakewell
at New Orleans, and doubt not he is sending you regularly
the prices current of the market there. I have found here a
letter addressed to my brother-in-law from Benj. Bakewell,
who complains of us, and says that we ought to settle with
him in one way or another; write to him at Pittsburgh; I will
be with him, possibly at the same time, and will speak with
him; by the bill which he inclosed you will see that we are
his debtor for 55$. I am leaving here in 2 or 3 days. I wish
you health and prosperity, and with the respects of my wife,
I am always your friend &
Servant
J. AUDUBON.
[Addressed] MR. FD. ROZIER
Merchant
St _Genevieve_
u.L.
_John James Audubon to Ferdinand Rozier_
SHIPPINGPORT. _10th Augst. 1812_
MY DEAR ROZIER;—
As it is quite likely that the present opportunity is safe,
I take pleasure in writing you a few words.
Your letter sent to Philadelphia was duly received, and
answered promptly; since I have heard news of you only by
the most indirect means, I would be happy if you can give
a few moments to your friends, if you would count me in
their number, and would write me from time to time; I left
Philadelphia last month with my wife and son; most of this
time was spent in descending the Ohio, which is at present
very low; we had the barge and crew of G[en]l. Clark, with
the company of Mr. R. A. Maupin, and of Mrs. Galt, who had
spent several months at New York & at Phila. I shall probably
descend [the river] to New Orleans this autumn with N.
Berthoud; [all kinds of] merchandise are extremely scarce and
very dear, everywhere, but even more is this true of coarse
woolens, which one does not find at all.
I have no doubt your lead is selling very well, this article
having increased considerably [in value] since the war. In the
latter part of my stay in the East I received a letter from my
father, and one from your brother; all your family were then
well, that is, four months ago; your brother is very anxious
to hear from you; if peace should come at a day not far remote
(and may it please God that this be so), I hope to get into
communication with him.
I have written to him and I urge you to do the same; your
letters can be delivered, if sent to New York, and from thence
on the Cartel.[209] My wife is well and [so is] my son; may
you be the same, and count among the number of your friends
him who would esteem you always.
Adieu
J. AUDUBON.
[Addressed] MRS F. ROZIERS
Mercht
St _Genevieve_
u.L.
Friendly relations with his former partner in trade were occasionally
renewed by the naturalist in after life. At one of their last meetings,
in 1842, Rozier, who had then returned from France, visited Audubon at
his home on the Hudson, and both were entertained in New York by their
mutual friend, Nicholas Berthoud.
Ferdinand Rozier, with whom we now part company, lived to enjoy abundant
prosperity as a trader and merchant at Ste. Geneviève. Born in Nantes on
November 9, 1777,[210] at the age of twenty-five he entered the French
navy, at a time when Napoleon was contesting with England the supremacy
of the sea. He made numerous voyages, and we hear of him at the Cape of
Good Hope, the Island of France or Mauritius, at Cadiz, Teneriffe, and
at the Island of Bartholomew. Eventually, on April 8, 1804, he embarked
on the cutter _Experiment_, with Captain Upton in charge, bound for the
United States, where he visited a number of American ports, including
Philadelphia and Norfolk. In the following year he returned to France in
the frigate _President_, Captain Gallic Lebrosse, and entered the harbor
of Nantes on March 1, 1805.[211] In the spring of that year John James
Audubon, as we have seen, had also returned to that city, and plans were
eventually laid for their commercial aggrandizement in the New World
which both had so lately visited. To what extent Audubon's dreams failed
of realization may be gathered from the following chapters.
Having settled finally at Ste. Geneviève, Rozier, at thirty-six, married
Constance Roy, a girl of eighteen, who bore him ten children, four of
whom, all octogenarians, were living in 1905. Ferdinand Rozier's thrift
and industry soon brought him substantial rewards. In his earlier days
he is said to have made six journeys to Philadelphia on horseback to
purchase merchandise, and these trading expeditions were uniformly
successful. His trade extended over the whole of Upper Louisiana, and
he lived to see the great growth of Missouri as a sovereign state,
along with the development of the fabulous mineral wealth of the
district.[212]
Rozier's old store at Ste. Geneviève, for long a landmark in that
community and considered a pretentious building in its day, was
undoubtedly built after the date of Audubon's visit. The front was
devoted to the service of customers and a large shed or stock room was
placed at the rear, while the family lived in the main section, which
was entered by a door not shown in our illustration.[213] When this
building was demolished to make way for modern changes, the wooden pins
used in joining the frame were treasured by many as souvenirs of pioneer
times.
Ferdinand Rozier, who outlived Audubon by thirteen years, died at Ste.
Geneviève on January 1, 1864, at the age of eighty-seven years. If he
were one of those who thought that Audubon was wasting his time in
his ardent zeal for natural history, it should not surprise us, for
their ideals were in conflict, and the naturalist's way of working was
certainly not conducive to success in trade.
[Illustration: FERDINAND ROZIER IN HIS EIGHTY-FIFTH YEAR (1862)]
[Illustration: FERDINAND ROZIER'S OLD STORE AT STE. GENEVIÈVE,
MISSOURI.
This and the above published by courtesy of Mr. Ruthven
Deane.]
CHAPTER XVI
AUDUBON'S MILL, AND FINAL REVERSES IN BUSINESS
Dr. Rankin's "Meadow Brook Farm"—Birth of John Woodhouse
Audubon—The Audubon-Bakewell partnership—Meeting with
Nolte—Failure of the commission business—Visit to
Rozier—Storekeeping at Henderson—Purchases of land—Habits
of frontier tradesmen—Steamboats on the Ohio—Popular
pastimes—Audubon-Bakewell-Pears partnership—Their famous
steam mill—Mechanical and financial troubles—Business
reorganization—Bankruptcy general—Failure of the mill—Personal
encounter—Audubon goes to jail for debt.
The seven years which followed the outbreak of war with England in 1812
were the most disastrous in the naturalist's career. In many respects
they were critical for the entire country, since hundreds who were
not affected directly by the war were ruined by the financial troubles
which followed in its wake. To Audubon reverses came at this time in
rapid succession. Bereft of one and then another of his children,[214]
with his family in straitened circumstances in France, and reduced to
bankruptcy himself, he finally resolved to throw up trade, for which he
was never fitted, and to make his avocation the real business of life.
We shall see how, by the unstinted use of such talents as he possessed,
through unremitting effort, and with the aid of his energetic and
capable wife, he was able, at the age of forty-five, to turn failure
into success.
After his return to Henderson in the spring of 1811, Audubon began to
look for another opening in trade, living meanwhile with his family at
the home of Dr. Adam Rankin, called "Meadow Brook Farm." Dr. Rankin was
the first educated physician in his district, and was for many years an
officer of the court. A doctor of the older school and a genuine lover
of his kind, with a large heart and an open hand, he made his home
a hostelry where anyone in need could find refuge without money and
without price. No doubt he was attracted to the naturalist by kindred
tastes, and it is known that they became life-long friends. The old
house, to which Audubon refers in one of his "Episodes,"[215] was built
of logs, and stood at some distance from the pike, about two miles
from the village in a southeasterly direction. There were experienced
in greatest frequency, in the winter of 1811 and 1812, the terrific
earthquakes that repeatedly shocked the country at that time; there also
Audubon's younger son, John Woodhouse, was born on November 30, 1812.
The Rankin farm became at a much later day the site of the village of
Audubon, which still later was to be incorporated in the growing city
of Henderson, when most of the old landmarks had been obliterated.
Dr. Rankin built a more commodious and pretentious brick house in the
village itself, and was neighbor to the naturalist for many years, their
houses being on the same or adjoining lots. He was thrice married and
had many children, the eldest of whom, William Rankin, became Audubon's
favorite companion in the field; together they ransacked the country
for birds and animals of every sort.
Audubon's unfortunate business relations with his brother-in-law, Thomas
W. Bakewell, began in the autumn or winter of 1811, when the naturalist
was in the East and Bakewell was about to return to New Orleans in the
employ of a firm of Liverpool merchants who dealt in cotton. Bakewell,
who had seen much of the South since the failure of his uncle in New
York, induced Audubon to join him in an independent commission business,
with the assurance that his French nationality would help their
undertakings. According to Vincent Nolte, when they were descending the
Ohio in December, 1811, Audubon displayed a business card, showing the
firm name of "Audubon and Bakewell," and indicating that they were to
deal in such homely products as pork, lard and flour. Thomas Bakewell,
we are told, taking with him all the disposable funds of Audubon,
who continued to send him "almost all the money" that he could raise,
opened their business at New Orleans in the winter or spring of 1812,
just in time for the war, which broke out in June, to destroy it. When
he returned north, in August of that year, Thomas Bakewell, said the
naturalist, suddenly appeared one day at "Meadow Brook Farm," while he
was making a drawing of an otter, and after bewailing their misfortune
in trade, departed.
At the approach of spring in 1812 Audubon was hard pressed for funds,
and Rozier's notes to him being then overdue he set out on foot for Ste.
Geneviève to collect his money in person. He went out with a party of
friendly Osage Indians, but returned, still afoot and unpaid, with his
faithful dog as his only companion.[216] The prairies were then flooded
and converted into vast lakes, but Audubon, anxious to reach his home,
pressed on, walking, as he said, "one hundred and sixty-five miles in
a little over three days, much of the time nearly ankle-deep in mud and
water." It was probably on this journey, though it may have been in the
previous year, that an incident occurred which he has related in "The
Prairie,"[217] when, as he declared, for the first time in the course
of his wanderings for upwards of a quarter of a century, his life was
in actual danger from his fellow man.
When at last he had obtained some ready money, Audubon rode to
Louisville, where he purchased on the half-cash, half-credit basis a
small stock of goods, and again set up a retail shop at Henderson. This
modest venture promised so well that he bought land with the intention
of making that town his permanent home. "I purchased," said he, "a
ground-lot of four acres, and a meadow of four more at the back of the
first." On the latter, to follow this account, were several buildings
and an excellent orchard, "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": other land, he added,
adjacent to the first, was later secured.
[Illustration: LETTER OF AUDUBON TO FERDINAND ROZIER, SIGNED
"AUDUBON & BAKEWELL," AND DATED OCTOBER 19, 1813, DURING THE
FIRST PARTNERSHIP UNDER THIS STYLE.
From the Tom J. Rozier MSS.]
These curiously embroidered statements regarding land transactions at
Henderson in 1813 are not in harmony with the existing records of that
frontier town. Henderson, as its historian[218] tells us, was laid
out originally in 1797 into 264 one-acre lots, of which comparatively
few had been sold at the time of which we speak, though nominal prices
were asked and a few had been given away to encourage settlement.[219]
Audubon is recorded as having purchased four one-acre lots from the
town, two in 1813 and two in the following year, while a long lease
was taken upon land adjacent to the river where later rose his famous
mill.[220]
The old Audubon store for general merchandise, built of hewn logs, in a
single story, stood at the corner of Main and Mill Streets (now Second
Street), fronting the latter, at a point where a modern departmental
establishment has since risen. Adjoining this primitive store, on the
main street, was his log dwelling,[221] of one and a half stories, with
a square porch at the entrance. Immediately opposite, on the two-acre
strip of land purchased in 1814, lay a small pond which Audubon is said
to have stocked with turtles in order to gratify his special fondness
for this delicacy.
Audubon's winning manners made him a popular figure among the early
settlers of this region, and for the space of three years he enjoyed
life as never before; "the pleasures," he said, "which I have felt at
Henderson, and under the roof of that log-cabin, can never be effaced
from my heart until after death." But in a community of exacting
business men he could never have made a permanent success; he was too
good a target not to be riddled by many who were ready to take advantage
of his liberality and easygoing ways. Traveling from Frankfort to
Lexington in 1810, Wilson complained that the people were all traders
but no readers, even of the newspaper; every man, he said, had "either
some land to buy or sell, some law-suit, some coarse hemp or corn to
dispose of; and if the conversation does not to lead to any of these,
he will force it."
Many stories, and no doubt much idle gossip, concerning Audubon's life
and habits, were current at Henderson long after he left the village. It
was said that he would often go into the woods in his pursuit of birds
and remain from home for weeks at a time; that he was once known to
have followed a hawk for three days in succession and in practically a
straight course, swimming creeks when necessary, until it finally fell
to his gun. When steamboats made their first appearance on the Ohio,
they naturally excited the greatest interest, and a favorite pastime
of many of the men and boys was diving from the side of a boat into
the river. On one of these occasions Audubon is said to have made his
appearance in the crowd of sightseers and to have astonished everyone
by plunging from the bow and emerging from beneath the stern of the
vessel after swimming under her entire length. According to traditional
accounts, Mrs. Audubon, who was also an expert swimmer, would enter
the river clad in a regular bathing costume and cross with ease to the
Indiana shore.
In spite of the hard times Audubon managed to keep out of serious
business troubles until he entered into another partnership with Thomas
Bakewell, his brother-in-law. Their project in this second association
was to erect a steam lumber and grist mill at Henderson, which of all
mortal follies the naturalist considered in the retrospect to have been
one of the worst. It is recorded that on the sixteenth day of March,
1817, John James Audubon and Thomas W. Bakewell, under the designation
of "Audubon and Bakewell," applied to the trustees of the village for a
ninety-nine year lease of a section of land on the river front. Their
petition was granted, upon a consideration of $20 per annum, and the
partners began to build their mill on the property and completed it
within that year. Thomas W. Pears,[222] a former fellow-clerk of both
Audubon and Bakewell in New York, early joined the enterprise, which
was regarded at the time as one of considerable magnitude. Their mill,
which stood for ninety-five years, became famous in the annals of the
Ohio Valley.[223] Said the historian of Henderson County, writing in
1879:
The weather boarding, whip-sawed out of yellow poplar, is
still intact on three sides. The joists are of unhewn logs,
many of them over a foot in diameter, and raggedly rough.
The foundation walls are built of flat, broken rock and are
four and a half feet thick. Mr. Audubon operated the mill on
a large scale for those times. His grist-mill was a great
convenience, and furnished a ready market for all of the
surplus wheat raised in the surrounding country. His saw-mill
also was a wonderful convenience, doing the sawing for the
entire county.
[Illustration: AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KENTUCKY, SINCE
DESTROYED, AS SEEN FROM THE BANK OF THE OHIO RIVER.
After a photograph of 1894, published by courtesy of Dr. R.
W. Shufeldt.]
Mr. and Mrs. Pears, who had no liking for Henderson, early withdrew
and sold their interest in the mill[224] to Audubon and Bakewell,
thus adding to their financial embarrassment. The engines, which seem
to have given no end of trouble, were constructed by David Prentice,
an intelligent Scotch mechanic; since his first work after coming to
this country was to erect a steam threshing mill at "Fatland Ford,"
his services were probably secured by William Bakewell, who afterwards
helped to establish him at Philadelphia. While at Henderson he is said
to have fitted a small engine and paddlewheels to a keel boat, which was
christened the _Pike_, and to have taken it up the river to Pittsburgh.
Prentice seems to have entered the partnership and to have retired with
Bakewell.
In order to extend the sphere of their operations, Audubon is said
to have purchased at this time a tract of 1,200 acres of government
land,[225] and to have engaged a band of stalwart Yankees to fell and
deliver the timber. According to one account, they were a party of
emigrants who had come to Henderson with their families and encamped
on the river bank. For a time all went well, but one day when they
failed to deliver their usual supply of logs, it was found that they
had decamped and fled down the river towards the Mississippi, taking
on their flatboat Audubon's draft oxen and in fact all the plunder
that they could lift. Nothing was ever recovered and but one of the
fugitives was ever seen again; this man boarded a river boat on which
the naturalist happened to be traveling, and it is said that upon
being recognized he jumped into the river and swam to the shore like a
frightened deer.
When Bakewell finally withdrew, Audubon appears to have been left
stranded, and the business was taken over by a new set of men,
including another brother-in-law, Nicholas Berthoud, and Benjamin
Page of Pittsburgh, who continued it under the name of J. J. Audubon &
Company.[226] Agents were also secured at various points on the Ohio and
Mississippi rivers. Excepting, as we must assuredly do, his ever staunch
friend, Nicholas Berthoud, Audubon believed that he was "gulled by all
of these men."
In 1818 a new era of building and general prosperity seemed to dawn in
the valley of the Ohio. A new bank was chartered at Henderson, and the
woodwork of its brick structure was furnished by Audubon's mill.[227]
This bank, however, failed in the course of two years, and forty others
scattered throughout that section broke in rapid succession, after
having done little more than add to the flood of worthless paper notes
that was demoralizing business and sending hundreds into bankruptcy.
The mill was in operation barely two years. The machinery, of which a
wooden bolting shaft and wooden cog wheels remained as a curiosity to
recent times, seems to have worked badly from the start. But aside from
the inexperience of the builders and the financial troubles of the day,
the enterprise was foredoomed to failure in a district which raised but
little wheat, and in which the demand for lumber was then comparatively
slight. "How I labored," said Audubon, "at that infernal mill! But it
is over now; I am old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the
different trials of those sad days."
In the course of the Audubon and Bakewell partnership[228] the
naturalist became involved in a personal quarrel with a man whose
initials are given as "S—— B——." It seems that in 1817 Audubon's
mechanic, David Prentice, had built for him a small steamboat, though
for what purpose is not known. When their interests were severed, we
are told, Mr. B—— purchased this steamer, but paid for it in worthless
paper. The captain of the craft ran her down to the Mississippi and
thence to New Orleans, and Audubon, who was determined to arrest this
man if necessary, started in pursuit in a skiff. He failed, however,
to overhaul the fugitive, and reached New Orleans only to find that
his vessel had been surrendered to another claimant. This was probably
in May, 1819, for in his journal of the following year, under date
of November 23, when he was again moving down the rivers but in more
leisurely fashion, he speaks of two large eagle's nests, one of which
he remembered having seen as he "went to New Orleans eighteen months"
before.
Through the researches of a later historian I am now able to give a
more exact account of this affair. The purchasers of the steamboat
were William R. Bowen, Samuel Adams Bowen, Robert Speed, Edmund Townes,
Obediah Smith, George Brent and Bennett Marshall, who immediately sued
Audubon in the sum of $10,000, on the plea that he had maliciously taken
out an attachment upon the vessel in New Orleans, where it had been
detained. They represented to the judge of the circuit court, Henry P.
Broadnax, that Audubon was about to leave Kentucky, and a warrant was
issued to arrest him; he was taken into custody, said the narrator whom
I am following, "but executed a bail bond in the sum of $10,000 with
Fayette Posey as surety, and was released." Convinced that a trial at
Henderson would lead only to a defeat of justice, Audubon now served
notice that he would apply for a change of venue to another county.
"That notice together with the other papers in the action, is among
the records of the Daviess circuit court, at Owensboro, Kentucky. It
was written and signed by Audubon. Application for a change of venue
was made at Hardinsburg and the case was transferred to the Daviess
circuit court." When the case was called, the plaintiffs asked for a
continuance, and it was granted them, but when the case was called again
at the next term of court, the plaintiffs failed to appear, and the
action was finally dismissed.
Returning home, Audubon was obliged to walk from the mouth of the
Ohio River to Shawnee Town. Upon reaching Henderson he found that Mr.
Bowen had anticipated him. Acting upon advice, he was prepared for an
encounter with this man, who as his neighbors declared, had sworn to
kill him, and "whose violent and ungovernable temper was only too well
known." The anticipated encounter ensued. Audubon, who was then carrying
his right hand in a sling from a recent injury received in his mill,
waited, as he said, until he had received twelve severe blows from
his assailant's bludgeon; then with his left hand he drew a dagger and
struck in his own defense. His assailant was felled to the ground, but
happily the wound inflicted was not mortal. Mr. Bowen was carried away
on a plank, and when the affair was settled in the judiciary court,
according to a Henderson tradition, Judge Broadnax gravely left the
bench, approached the man who had been under charge of assault, and
said: "Mr. Audubon, you committed a serious offense—an exceedingly
serious offense Sir—in failing to kill the d—— rascal."[229] "Thomas
Bakewell," added the naturalist, "who possessed more brains than I,
sold his town lots and removed to Cincinnati, where he has made a large
fortune, and I am glad of it.[230]
When the mill was finally closed and the company dissolved in 1819,
Audubon as usual was the heaviest loser. Arrested and sent to the
Louisville jail for debt, he was able to obtain release only by
declaring himself a bankrupt in court. "I paid all I could,"[231] he
said in his journal of the following year, "and left Henderson poor and
miserable in thought. My intention to go to France and see my mother
and sister was frustrated, and at last I resorted to my poor talents to
maintain you and your dear mother, who fortunately became easy at her
change of condition, and gave me a spirit such as I really needed, to
meet the surly looks and cold reception of those who so shortly before
were pleased to call me their friend." "I parted," to revert to his
later account, "with every particle of property I held, to my creditors,
keeping only the clothes I wore on that day, my original drawings, and
my gun." Without a dollar in his pocket he left Henderson and walked
to Louisville alone; "this," he said on reflection, "was the saddest of
all my journies, the only time in my life when the Wild Turkeys that so
often crossed my path, and the thousands of lesser birds that enlivened
the woods and the prairies, all looked like enemies, and I turned my
eyes from them, as if I could have wished that they never existed."
Passing down the Ohio in the following year Audubon made these entries
in his diary:
_November 2nd, 1820._ Floated down slowly within two miles of
Henderson. I can scarcely conceive that I stayed there eight
years, and passed therein comfortably, for it is undoubtedly
on the poorest spot in the country, according to my present
opinion.
_Nov. 3rd, 1820._ We left our harbor at daybreak, and passed
Henderson about sunrise. I looked on the mill perhaps for the
last time, and with thoughts that made my blood almost run
cold bid it an eternal farewell.
CHAPTER XVII
THE ENIGMA OF AUDUBON'S LIFE AND THE HISTORY OF HIS FAMILY IN FRANCE
Death of Lieutenant Audubon—Contest over his will—Disposition
of his estate—The fictitious $17,000—Unsettled claims of
Formon and Ross—Illusions of biographers—Gabriel Loyen
du Puigaudeau—Audubon's relations with the family in
France broken—Death of the naturalist's stepmother—The du
Puigaudeaus—Sources of "enigma."
Lieutenant Jean Audubon, as already recorded, died at Nantes in 1818, at
a time when his son's financial troubles in America were culminating,
and left an estate, then none too large, for the sole enjoyment of his
widow during her lifetime. The naturalist, so far as is known, never
received a penny in payment of bequests made by either his father or
stepmother, but the reasons for this fact were far different from those
which his biographers have assigned.
We have referred to the curious wording which appears in the six
different wills that were executed by Lieutenant Jean Audubon and Anne
Moynet, his wife, between the years 1812 and 1821.[232] The first four
of these documents[233] were of a mutual nature, and were so drawn that
the survivor should enjoy the entire property of the other during his or
her lifetime, but this eventually was to be divided between their two
children, or heirs of the latter should any exist. In Jean Audubon's
last will, made at Couëron on the 15th of March, 1816, he added the
provision that in case his "dispositions in favor of Jean Rabain and
Rose Bouffard, wife of Loyen du Puigaudeau, should be attacked and
annulled," he bequeathed his entire estate, without exception, to his
wife, Anne Moynet, for her sole use. His fears, as already intimated,
were well grounded, and his will was immediately contested by four
nieces, Mme. Lejeune de Vaugeon of Nantes, Mme. Jean Louis Lissabé,
whose husband was a pilot, and Anne and Domenica Audubon, seamstresses
at Bayonne.[234] This trial dragged on in the courts for a long time,
and served further to impoverish Madame Audubon, who was obliged to
dispose of most of her valuable effects, but it was finally settled
by a compromise in 1820. In that year, at the age of eighty-five, she
left "La Gerbetière" to live with her daughter and son-in-law at "Les
Tourterelles" close by, where she remained until her death on October
18, 1821.
It seems incredible that Audubon should not have heard of the death of
his foster mother, since he had been devotedly attached to her in his
youth and was moreover a beneficiary under her will. Yet on August 6,
1826, he wrote in his journal: "My plans now are to go to Manchester,
to Derbyshire to visit Lord Stanley, Birmingham, London for three weeks,
Edinburgh, back to London, and then to France, Paris, Nantes, to see my
venerable stepmother, Brussels, and return to England." On September 30
of the same year he wrote from Liverpool: "I long to enter my old garden
on the Loire and with rapid steps reach my mother,—yes, my mother! the
only one I truly remember; and no son ever had a better, nor more loving
one."[235] Again in 1828 he spoke of this estimable woman as if she were
then alive, although she had been dead seven years.
In Madame Audubon's last will, which was made in the July preceding
her death, she left her property to be equally divided between her
two adopted children, "Mr. Jean Audubon, called Jean Rabin, husband of
Lucy Bakewell, and who I believe is at present in the United States of
America, and to Rose Bouffard, wife of M. Gabriel Loyen du Puigaudeau,
my son-in-law, who is living at Couëron"; she also took care to guard
against the pretensions of any spurious heirs, and to make provision for
her grandchildren in case of the death of either or both of her heirs
direct.
Having given the precise, if somewhat prosaic, recorded facts of the
case, we will quote the story narrated by the naturalist's biographers,
who never could have seen the legal documents and who thus had only
hearsay and conjecture on which to build: