“I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or delineating them in the best way I could.”
Only one event, however, which possesses in itself a lesson to
mankind, I will here relate. After our dismal removal from
Henderson to Louisville, one morning, while all of us were sadly
desponding, I took you both, Victor and John, from Shippingport
to Louisville. I had purchased a loaf of bread and some apples;
before we reached Louisville you were all hungry, and by the
river side we sat down and ate our scanty meal. On that day the
world was with me as a blank, and my heart was sorely heavy, for
scarcely had I enough to keep my dear ones alive; and yet
through these dark ways I was being led to the development of
the talents I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to
us _all_, for it is with deep thankfulness that I record that
you, my sons, have passed your lives almost continuously with
your dear mother and myself. But I will here stop with one
remark.
One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse
circumstances was that I never for a day gave up listening to
the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or
delineating them in the best way that I could; nay, during my
deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the
persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble
forests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrush's
melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly
to our God.
This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and
always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often
necessary for me to exert my will, and compel myself to return
to my fellow-beings.
To speak more fully on some of the incidents which Audubon here
relates, I turn to one of the two journals which are all that fire has
spared of the many volumes which were filled with his fine, rather
illegible handwriting previous to 1826. In the earlier of these
journals I read: "I went to France not only to escape Da Costa, but
even more to obtain my father's consent to my marriage with my Lucy,
and this simply because I thought it my moral and religious duty to do
so.
“Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment. Cares I knew not, and cared naught about them.”
I was presented to our
tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took
possession under certain restrictions, which amounted to my not
receiving more than enough money per quarter than was
considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young
gentleman.
[Illustration: MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.]
Miers Fisher left me the next morning, and after him went my
blessings, for I thought his departure a true deliverance; yet
this was only because our tastes and educations were so
different, for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill
Grove was ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought
I perceived the traces left by my father as I looked on the even
fences round the fields, or on the regular manner with which
avenues of trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by
his hand. The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the
cave, which you too remember, where the Pewees were wont to
build, I never failed to find quietude and delight.
Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment;
cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I purchased
excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbors as I
found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy could be. A
few months after my arrival at Mill Grove, I was informed one
day that an English family had purchased the plantation next to
mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell, and moreover that
he had several very handsome and interesting daughters, and
beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but cared not a jot about
them at the time. The place was within sight of Mill Grove, and
Fatland Ford, as it was called, was merely divided from my
estate by a road leading to the Schuylkill River. Mr. William
Bakewell, the father of the family, had called on me one day,
but, finding I was rambling in the woods in search of birds,
left a card and an invitation to go shooting with him. Now this
gentleman was an Englishman, and I such a foolish boy that,
entertaining the greatest prejudices against all of his
nationality, I did not return his visit for many weeks, which
was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite.
“As I grew up I was fervently desirous of becoming acquainted with Nature.”
My valued preceptor would then speak of the departure and
return of birds with the seasons, would describe their haunts, and, more
wonderful than all, their change of livery; thus exciting me to study
them, and to raise my mind toward their great Creator.
A vivid pleasure shone upon those days of my early youth, attended with a
calmness of feeling, that seldom failed to rivet my attention for hours,
whilst I gazed in ecstacy upon the pearly and shining eggs, as they lay
imbedded in the softest down, or among dried leaves and twigs, or were
exposed upon the burning sand or weather-beaten rock of our Atlantic
shores. I was taught to look upon them as flowers yet in the bud. I
watched their opening, to see how Nature had provided each different
species with eyes, either open at birth, or closed for some time after;
to trace the slow progress of the young birds toward perfection, or
admire the celerity with which some of them, while yet unfledged, removed
themselves from danger to security.
I grew up, and my wishes grew with my form. These wishes, kind reader,
were for the entire possession of all that I saw. I was fervently desirous
of becoming acquainted with nature. For many years, however, I was sadly
disappointed, and for ever, doubtless, must I have desires that cannot
be gratified. The moment a bird was dead, however beautiful it had been
when in life, the pleasure arising from the possession of it became
blunted; and although the greatest cares were bestowed on endeavours to
preserve the appearance of nature, I looked upon its vesture as more than
sullied, as requiring constant attention and repeated mendings, while,
after all, it could no longer be said to be fresh from the hands of its
Maker. I wished to possess all the productions of nature, but I wished
life with them. This was impossible. Then what was to be done? I turned
to my father, and made known to him my disappointment and anxiety. He
produced a book of _Illustrations_. A new life ran in my veins. I turned
over the leaves with avidity; and although what I saw was not what I
longed for, it gave me a desire to copy nature. To Nature I went, and
tried to imitate her, as in the days of my childhood I had tried to raise
myself from the ground and stand erect, before nature had imparted the
vigour, necessary for the success of such an undertaking.
“I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot the specimens.”
To
Victor he writes from Camden, N.J., July 10, 1829: "I shall this year
have issued ten numbers, each containing five plates, making in all
fifty.[41] I cannot publish more than five numbers annually, because
it would make too heavy an expense to my subscribers, and indeed
require more workmen than I could find in London. The work when
finished will contain eighty numbers,[42] therefore I have seventy to
issue, which will take fourteen years more. It is a long time to look
forward to, but it cannot be helped. I think I am doing well; I have
now one hundred and forty-four subscribers."
All this summer and early fall, until October 10th, Audubon spent in
the neighborhood of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, working as few can
work, four hours continuing to be his allowance for sleep. Six weeks
in September and October were spent in the Great Pine Swamp, or
Forest,[43] as he called it, his permanent lodgings being at Camden,
N.J. Here he writes, October 11, 1829: "I am at work and have done
much, but I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot
the specimens; still I am delighted at what I have accumulated in
drawings this season. Forty-two drawings in four months, eleven large,
eleven middle size, and twenty-two small, comprising ninety-five
birds, from Eagles downwards, with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty
different kinds of eggs. I live alone, see scarcely any one, besides
those belonging to the house where I lodge. I rise long before day and
work till nightfall, when I take a walk, and to bed.
"I returned yesterday from Mauch Chunk; after all, there is nothing
perfect but _primitiveness_, and my efforts at copying nature, like
all other things attempted by us poor mortals, fall far short of the
originals. Few better than myself can appreciate this with more
despondency than I do."
Very shortly after this date Audubon left for Louisiana, crossed the
Alleghanies to Pittsburg, down the Ohio by boat to Louisville, where
he saw Victor and John. "Dear boys!" he says; "I had not seen Victor
for nearly five years, and so much had he changed I hardly knew him,
but he recognized me at once.
“I must put myself in a train of doing... and thereby keep the machine in motion.”
“A true conservationist is a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children.”
“I feel fully decided that we should all go to Europe together and to work as if an established Partnership for Life consisting of Husband Wife and Children.”
“After all, I long to be in America again, nay, if I can go home to return no more to Europe, it seems to me that I shall ever enjoy more peace of mind, and even Physical comfort than I can meet with in any portion of the world beside.”
“Would it be possible that I should not in any degree succeed? I can scarcely think so. Ah delusive hope, how much further wilt thou lead me?”
“If I can procure three hundred good substantial names of persons, or bodies, or institutions, I cannot fail to do well for my family, although I must abandon my life to its success, and undergo many sad perplexities and perhaps never see again my own beloved America.”
A true conservationist is a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children.
As I grew up I was fervently desirous of becoming acquainted with Nature.
But Hopes are Shy Birds flying at a great distance seldom reached by the best of Guns.
I looked long and carefully at the picture of a stag painted by Landseer - the style was good, and the brush was handled with fine effect; but he fails in copying Nature, without which the best work will be a failure.
During all these years there existed within me a tendency to follow Nature in her walks.
Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment. Cares I knew not, and cared naught about them.
There is but one kind of love; God is love, and all his creatures derive theirs from his; only it is modified by the different degrees of intelligence in different beings and creatures.
Surrounded by all the members of my dear family, enjoying the affection of numerous friends, who have never abandoned me, and possessing a sufficient share of all that contributes to make life agreeable, I lift my grateful eyes towards the Supreme Being and feel that I am happy.
To repay evils with kindness is the religion I was taught to practise, and this will forever be my rule.
All trembling, I reached the Falls of Niagara, and oh, what a scene! My blood shudders still, although I am not a coward, at the grandeur of the Creators power; and I gazed motionless on this new display of the irresistible force of one of His elements.
