Chapter M: R. a (1)

AUDUBON

The village of Mandeville in the parish of St. Tammany, Louisiana, is about twenty miles from New Orleans on the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Here, on the plantation of the same name, owned by the Marquis de Mandeville de Marigny, John James Laforest Audubon[1] was born, the Marquis having lent his home, in the generous southern fashion, to his friend Admiral Jean Audubon, who, with his Spanish Creole wife, lived here some months. In the same house, towards the close of the last century, Louis Philippe found refuge for a time with the ever hospitable Marigny family, and he named the beautiful plantation home "Fontainebleau." Since then changes innumerable have come, the estate has other owners, the house has gone, those who once dwelt there are long dead, their descendants scattered, the old landmarks obliterated.

Audubon has given a sketch of his father in his own words in "Myself," which appears in the pages following; but of his mother little indeed is known. Only within the year, have papers come into the hands of her great-grandchildren, which prove her surname to have been _Rabin_. Audubon himself tells of her tragic death, which was not, however, in the St. Domingo insurrection of 1793, but in one of the local uprisings of the slaves which were of frequent occurrence in that beautiful island, whose history is too dark to dwell upon. Beyond this nothing can be found relating to the mother, whom Audubon lost before he was old enough to remember her, except that in 1822 one of the family Marigny told my father, John Woodhouse Audubon, then a boy of ten, who with his parents was living in New Orleans, that she was "une dame d'une beaute incomparable et avec beaucoup de fierte." It may seem strange that nothing more can be found regarding this lady, but it is to be remembered these were troublous days, when stormy changes were the rule; and the roving and adventurous sailor did not, I presume, encumber himself with papers. To these circumstances also it is probably due that the date of Audubon's birth is not known, and must always remain an open question. In his journals and letters various allusions are made to his age, and many passages bearing on the matter are found, but with one exception no two agree; he may have been born anywhere between 1772 and 1783, and in the face of this uncertainty the date usually given, May 5, 1780, may be accepted, though the true one is no doubt earlier.

The attachment between Audubon and his father was of the strongest description, as the long and affectionate, if somewhat infrequent letters, still in the possession of the family, fully demonstrate. When the Admiral was retired from active service, he lived at La Gerbetiere in France with his second wife, Anne Moynette, until his death, on February 19, 1818, at the great age of ninety-five.

In this home near the Loire, Audubon spent his happy boyhood and youth, dearly beloved and loving, and receiving the best education time and place afforded. As the boy grew older and more advantages were desired for him, came absences when he was at school in La Rochelle and Paris; but La Gerbetiere was his home till in early manhood he returned to America, the land he loved above all others, as his journals show repeatedly. The impress of the years in France was never lost; he always had a strong French accent, he possessed in a marked degree the adaptability to circumstances which is a trait of that nation, and his disposition inherited from both parents was elated or depressed by a trifle. He was quick-tempered, enthusiastic, and romantic, yet affectionate, forgiving, and with unlimited industry and perseverance; he was generous to every one with time, money, and possessions; nothing was too good for others, but his own personal requirements were of the simplest character. His life shows all this and more, better than words of mine can tell; and as the only account of his years till he left Henderson, Ky., in 1819, is in his own journal, it is given here in full.[2]

MYSELF.[3]

The precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I can
only say what I have often heard my father repeat to me on this
subject, which is as follows: It seems that my father had large
properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting
frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and known
by the name of, Louisiana, then owned by the French Government.

During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish
extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful
as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my
father three sons and a daughter,--I being the youngest of the
sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother,
soon after my birth, accompanied my father to the estate of Aux
Cayes, on the island of Santo Domingo, and she was one of the
victims during the ever-to-be-lamented period of the negro
insurrection of that island.

My father, through the intervention of some faithful servants,
escaped from Aux Cayes with a good portion of his plate and
money, and with me and these humble friends reached New Orleans
in safety. From this place he took me to France, where, having
married the only mother I have ever known, he left me under her
charge and returned to the United States in the employ of the
French Government, acting as an officer under Admiral
Rochambeau. Shortly afterward, however, he landed in the United
States and became attached to the army under La Fayette.

The first of my recollective powers placed me in the central
portion of the city of Nantes, on the Loire River, in France,
where I still recollect particularly that I was much cherished
by my dear stepmother, who had no children of her own, and that
I was constantly attended by one or two black servants, who had
followed my father from Santo Domingo to New Orleans and
afterward to Nantes.

One incident which is as perfect in my memory as if it had
occurred this very day, I have thought of thousands of times
since, and will now put on paper as one of the curious things
which perhaps did lead me in after times to love birds, and to
finally study them with pleasure infinite. My mother had several
beautiful parrots and some monkeys; one of the latter was a
full-grown male of a very large species. One morning, while the
servants were engaged in arranging the room I was in, "Pretty
Polly" asking for her breakfast as usual, "_Du pain au lait pour
le perroquet Mignonne_," the man of the woods probably thought
the bird presuming upon his rights in the scale of nature; be
this as it may, he certainly showed his supremacy in strength
over the denizen of the air, for, walking deliberately and
uprightly toward the poor bird, he at once killed it, with
unnatural composure. The sensations of my infant heart at this
cruel sight were agony to me. I prayed the servant to beat the
monkey, but he, who for some reason preferred the monkey to the
parrot, refused. I uttered long and piercing cries, my mother
rushed into the room, I was tranquillized, the monkey was
forever afterward chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp
of a cherished lost one.

This made, as I have said, a very deep impression on my youthful
mind. But now, my dear children, I must tell you somewhat of
_my_ father, and of his parentage.

John Audubon, my grandfather, was born and lived at the small
village of Sable d'Olhonne, and was by trade a very humble
fisherman. He appears to have made up for the want of wealth by
the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he actually
raised to man and womanhood. All were sons, with one exception;
my aunt, one uncle, and my father, who was the twentieth son,
being the only members of that extraordinary numerous family who
lived to old age. In subsequent years, when I visited Sable
d'Olhonne, the old residents assured me that they had seen the
whole family, including both parents, at church many times.

When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father
presented him with a shirt, a dress of coarse material, a stick,
and his blessing, and urged him to go and seek means for his
future support and sustenance.

Some _kind_ whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a
"Boy." Of his life during his early voyages it would be useless
to trouble you; let it suffice for me to say that they were of
the usual most uncomfortable nature. How many trips he made I
cannot say, but he told me that by the time he was seventeen he
had become an able seaman before the mast; when twenty-one he
commanded a fishing-smack, and went to the great Newfoundland
Banks; at twenty-five he owned several small crafts, all
fishermen, and at twenty-eight sailed for Santo Domingo with his
little flotilla heavily loaded with the produce of the deep.
"Fortune," said he to me one day, "now began to smile upon me. I
did well in this enterprise, and after a few more voyages of the
same sort gave up the sea, and purchased a small estate on the
Isle a Vaches;[4] the prosperity of Santo Domingo was at its
zenith, and in the course of ten years I had realized something
very considerable. The then Governor gave me an appointment
which called me to France, and having received some favors
there, I became once more a seafaring man, the government having
granted me the command of a small vessel of war."[5]

How long my father remained in the service, it is impossible for
me to say. The different changes occurring at the time of the
American Revolution, and afterward during that in France, seem
to have sent him from one place to another as if a foot-ball;
his property in Santo Domingo augmenting, however, the while,
and indeed till the liberation of the black slaves there.

During a visit he paid to Pennsylvania when suffering from the
effects of a sunstroke, he purchased the beautiful farm of Mill
Grove, on the Schuylkill and Perkiomen streams. At this place,
and a few days only before the memorable battle (_sic_) of
Valley Forge, General Washington presented him with his
portrait, now in my possession; and highly do I value it as a
memento of that noble man and the glories of those days.[6] At
the conclusion of the war between England and her child of the
West, my father returned to France and continued in the employ
of the naval department of that country, being at one time sent
to Plymouth, England, in a seventy-five-gun ship to exchange
prisoners. This was, I think, in the short peace that took place
between England and France in 1801. He returned to Rochefort,
where he lived for several years, still in the employ of
government. He finally sent in his resignation and returned to
Nantes and La Gerbetiere. He had many severe trials and
afflictions before his death, having lost my two older brothers
early in the French Revolution; both were officers in the army.
His only sister was killed by the Chouans of La Vendee,[7] and
the only brother he had was not on good terms with him. This
brother resided at Bayonne, and, I believe, had a large family,
none of whom I have ever seen or known.[8]

In personal appearance my father and I were of the same height
and stature, say about five feet ten inches, erect, and with
muscles of steel; his manners were those of a most polished
gentleman, for those and his natural understanding had been
carefully improved both by observation and by self-education. In
temper we much resembled each other also, being warm, irascible,
and at times violent; but it was like the blast of a hurricane,
dreadful for a time, when calm almost instantly returned. He
greatly approved of the change in France during the time of
Napoleon, whom he almost idolized. My father died in 1818,
regretted most deservedly on account of his simplicity, truth,
and perfect sense of honesty. Now I must return to myself.

My stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me, far too much so
for my good, was desirous that I should be brought up to live
and die "like a gentleman," thinking that fine clothes and
filled pockets were the only requisites needful to attain this
end. She therefore completely spoiled me, hid my faults, boasted
to every one of my youthful merits, and, worse than all, said
frequently in my presence that I was the handsomest boy in
France. All my wishes and idle notions were at once gratified;
she went so far as actually to grant me _carte blanche_ at all
the confectionery shops in the town, and also of the village of
Coueron, where during the summer we lived, as it were, in the
country.

My father was quite of another, and much more valuable
description of mind as regarded my future welfare; he believed
not in the power of gold coins as efficient means to render a
man happy. He spoke of the stores of the mind, and having
suffered much himself through the want of education, he ordered
that I should be put to school, and have teachers at home.
"Revolutions," he was wont to say, "too often take place in the
lives of individuals, and they are apt to lose in one day the
fortune they before possessed; but talents and knowledge, added
to sound mental training, assisted by honest industry, can never
fail, nor be taken from any one once the possessor of such
valuable means." Therefore, notwithstanding all my mother's
entreaties and her tears, off to a school I was sent. Excepting
only, perhaps, military schools, none were good in France at
this period; the thunders of the Revolution still roared over
the land, the Revolutionists covered the earth with the blood of
man, woman, and child. But let me forever drop the curtain over
the frightful aspect of this dire picture. To think of these
dreadful days is too terrible, and would be too horrible and
painful for me to relate to you, my dear sons.

The school I went to was none of the best; my private teachers
were the only means through which I acquired the least benefit.
My father, who had been for so long a seaman, and who was then
in the French navy, wished me to follow in his steps, or else to
become an engineer. For this reason I studied drawing,
geography, mathematics, fencing, etc., as well as music, for
which I had considerable talent. I had a good fencing-master,
and a first-rate teacher of the violin; mathematics was hard,
dull work, I thought; geography pleased me more. For my other
studies, as well as for dancing, I was quite enthusiastic; and I
well recollect how anxious I was then to become the commander of
a corps of dragoons.

My father being mostly absent on duty, my mother suffered me to
do much as I pleased; it was therefore not to be wondered at
that, instead of applying closely to my studies, I preferred
associating with boys of my own age and disposition, who were
more fond of going in search of birds' nests, fishing, or
shooting, than of better studies. Thus almost every day, instead
of going to school when I ought to have gone, I usually made for
the fields, where I spent the day; my little basket went with
me, filled with good eatables, and when I returned home, during
either winter or summer, it was replenished with what I called
curiosities, such as birds' nests, birds' eggs, curious lichens,
flowers of all sorts, and even pebbles gathered along the shore
of some rivulet.

The first time my father returned from sea after this my room
exhibited quite a show, and on entering it he was so pleased to
see my various collections that he complimented me on my taste
for such things: but when he inquired what else I had done, and
I, like a culprit, hung my head, he left me without saying
another word. Dinner over he asked my sister for some music,
and, on her playing for him, he was so pleased with her
improvement that he presented her with a beautiful book. I was
next asked to play on my violin, but alas! for nearly a month I
had not touched it, it was stringless; not a word was said on
that subject. "Had I any drawings to show?" Only a few, and
those not good. My good father looked at his wife, kissed my
sister, and humming a tune left the room. The next morning at
dawn of day my father and I were under way in a private
carriage; my trunk, etc., were fastened to it, my violin-case
was under my feet, the postilion was ordered to proceed, my
father took a book from his pocket, and while he silently read I
was left entirely to my own thoughts.

After some days' travelling we entered the gates of Rochefort.
My father had scarcely spoken to me, yet there was no anger
exhibited in his countenance; nay, as we reached the house where
we alighted, and approached the door, near which a sentinel
stopped his walk and presented arms, I saw him smile as he
raised his hat and said a few words to the man, but so low that
not a syllable reached my ears.

The house was furnished with servants, and everything seemed to
go on as if the owner had not left it. My father bade me sit by
his side, and taking one of my hands calmly said to me: "My
beloved boy, thou art now safe. I have brought thee here that I
may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies; thou shalt
have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder _must_ be
employed with industry and care. This day is entirely thine own,
and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the
docks, the fine ships-of-war, and walk round the wall, thou
may'st accompany me." I accepted, and off together we went; I
was presented to every officer we met, and they noticing me more
or less, I saw much that day, yet still I perceived that I was
like a prisoner-of-war on parole in the city of Rochefort.

My best and most amiable companion was the son of Admiral, or
Vice-Admiral (I do not precisely recollect his rank) Vivien,
who lived nearly opposite to the house where my father and I
then resided; his company I much enjoyed, and with him all my
leisure hours were spent. About this time my father was sent to
England in a corvette with a view to exchange prisoners, and he
sailed on board the man-of-war "L'Institution" for Plymouth.
Previous to his sailing he placed me under the charge of his
secretary, Gabriel Loyen Dupuy Gaudeau, the son of a fallen
nobleman. Now this gentleman was of no pleasing nature to me; he
was, in fact, more than too strict and severe in all his
prescriptions to me, and well do I recollect that one morning,
after having been set to a very arduous task in mathematical
problems, I gave him the slip, jumped from the window, and ran
off through the gardens attached to the Marine Secretariat. The
unfledged bird may stand for a while on the border of its nest,
and perhaps open its winglets and attempt to soar away, but his
youthful imprudence may, and indeed often does, prove inimical
to his prowess, as some more wary and older bird, that has kept
an eye toward him, pounces relentlessly upon the young
adventurer and secures him within the grasp of his more powerful
talons. This was the case with me in this instance. I had leaped
from the door of my cage and thought myself quite safe, while I
rambled thoughtlessly beneath the shadow of the trees in the
garden and grounds in which I found myself; but the secretary,
with a side glance, had watched my escape, and, ere many minutes
had elapsed, I saw coming toward me a corporal with whom, in
fact, I was well acquainted. On nearing me, and I did not
attempt to escape, our past familiarity was, I found, quite
evaporated; he bid me, in a severe voice, to follow him, and on
my being presented to my father's secretary I was at once
ordered on board the pontoon in port. All remonstrances proved
fruitless, and on board the pontoon I was conducted, and there
left amid such a medley of culprits as I cannot describe, and of
whom, indeed, I have but little recollection, save that I felt
vile myself in their vile company. My father returned in due
course, and released me from these floating and most
disagreeable lodgings, but not without a rather severe
reprimand.

Shortly after this we returned to Nantes, and later to La
Gerbetiere. My stay here was short, and I went to Nantes to
study mathematics anew, and there spent about one year, the
remembrance of which has flown from my memory, with the
exception of one incident, of which, when I happen to pass my
hand over the left side of my head, I am ever and anon reminded.
'Tis this: one morning, while playing with boys of my own age, a
quarrel arose among us, a battle ensued, in the course of which
I was knocked down by a round stone, that brought the blood from
that part of my skull, and for a time I lay on the ground
unconscious, but soon rallying, experienced no lasting effects
but the scar.

During all these years there existed within me a tendency to
follow Nature in her walks. Perhaps not an hour of leisure was
spent elsewhere than in woods and fields, and to examine either
the eggs, nest, young, or parents of any species of birds
constituted my delight. It was about this period that I
commenced a series of drawings of the birds of France, which I
continued until I had upward of two hundred drawings, all bad
enough, my dear sons, yet they were representations of birds,
and I felt pleased with them. Hundreds of anecdotes respecting
my life at this time might prove interesting to you, but as they
are not in my mind at this moment I will leave them, though you
may find some of them in the course of the following pages.

I was within a few months of being seventeen years old, when my
stepmother, who was an earnest Catholic, took into her head that
I should be confirmed; my father agreed. I was surprised and
indifferent, but yet as I loved her as if she had been my own
mother,--and well did she merit my deepest affection,--I took to
the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the
ceremony, and all was performed to her liking. Not long after
this, my father, anxious as he was that I should be enrolled in
Napoleon's army as a Frenchman, found it necessary to send me
back to my own beloved country, the United States of America,
and I came with intense and indescribable pleasure.

On landing at New York I caught the yellow fever by walking to
the bank at Greenwich to get the money to which my father's
letter of credit entitled me. The kind man who commanded the
ship that brought me from France, whose name was a common one,
John Smith, took particular charge of me, removed me to
Morristown, N.J., and placed me under the care of two Quaker
ladies who kept a boarding-house. To their skilful and untiring
ministrations I may safely say I owe the prolongation of my
life. Letters were forwarded by them to my father's agent, Miers
Fisher of Philadelphia, of whom I have more to say hereafter. He
came for me in his carriage and removed me to his villa, at a
short distance from Philadelphia and on the road toward Trenton.
There I would have found myself quite comfortable had not
incidents taken place which are so connected with the change in
my life as to call immediate attention to them.

Miers Fisher had been my father's trusted agent for about
eighteen years, and the old gentlemen entertained great mutual
friendship; indeed it would seem that Mr. Fisher was actually
desirous that I should become a member of his family, and this
was evinced within a few days by the manner in which the good
Quaker presented me to a daughter of no mean appearance, but
toward whom I happened to take an unconquerable dislike. Then he
was opposed to music of all descriptions, as well as to dancing,
could not bear me to carry a gun, or fishing-rod, and, indeed,
condemned most of my amusements. All these things were
difficulties toward accomplishing a plan which, for aught I know
to the contrary, had been premeditated between him and my
father, and rankled the heart of the kindly, if somewhat strict
Quaker. They troubled me much also; at times I wished myself
anywhere but under the roof of Mr. Fisher, and at last I
reminded him that it was his duty to install me on the estate to
which my father had sent me.

One morning, therefore, I was told that the carriage was ready
to carry me there, and toward my future home he and I went. You
are too well acquainted with the position of Mill Grove for me
to allude to that now; suffice it to say that we reached the
former abode of my father about sunset. I was presented to our
tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took
possession under certain restrictions, which amounted to my not
receiving more than enough money per quarter than was
considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young
gentleman.

Miers Fisher left me the next morning, and after him went my
blessings, for I thought his departure a true deliverance; yet
this was only because our tastes and educations were so
different, for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill
Grove was ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought
I perceived the traces left by my father as I looked on the even
fences round the fields, or on the regular manner with which
avenues of trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by
his hand. The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the
cave, which you too remember, where the Pewees were wont to
build, I never failed to find quietude and delight.

Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment;
cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I purchased
excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbors as I
found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy could be. A
few months after my arrival at Mill Grove, I was informed one
day that an English family had purchased the plantation next to
mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell, and moreover that
he had several very handsome and interesting daughters, and
beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but cared not a jot about
them at the time. The place was within sight of Mill Grove, and
Fatland Ford, as it was called, was merely divided from my
estate by a road leading to the Schuylkill River. Mr. William
Bakewell, the father of the family, had called on me one day,
but, finding I was rambling in the woods in search of birds,
left a card and an invitation to go shooting with him. Now this
gentleman was an Englishman, and I such a foolish boy that,
entertaining the greatest prejudices against all of his
nationality, I did not return his visit for many weeks, which
was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite.

Mrs. Thomas, good soul, more than once spoke to me on the
subject, as well as her worthy husband, but all to no import;
English was English with me, my poor childish mind was settled
on that, and as I wished to know none of the race the call
remained unacknowledged.

Frosty weather, however, came, and anon was the ground covered
with the deep snow. Grouse were abundant along the fir-covered
ground near the creek, and as I was in pursuit of game one
frosty morning I chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell in the woods. I
was struck with the kind politeness of his manner, and found him
an expert marksman. Entering into conversation, I admired the
beauty of his well-trained dogs, and, apologizing for my
discourtesy, finally promised to call upon him and his family.

Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please God that I
may never forget it, when for the first time I entered Mr.
Bakewell's dwelling. It happened that he was absent from home,
and I was shown into a parlor where only one young lady was
snugly seated at her work by the fire. She rose on my entrance,
offered me a seat, and assured me of the gratification her
father would feel on his return, which, she added, would be in a
few moments, as she would despatch a servant for him. Other
ruddy cheeks and bright eyes made their transient appearance,
but, like spirits gay, soon vanished from my sight; and there I
sat, my gaze riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me,
who, half working, half talking, essayed to make the time
pleasant to me. Oh! may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons,
who afterward became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr.
Bakewell soon made his appearance, and received me with the
manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other
members of the family were soon introduced to me, and "Lucy" was
told to have luncheon produced. She now arose from her seat a
second time, and her form, to which I had previously paid but
partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my heart
followed every one of her steps. The repast over, guns and dogs
were made ready.

Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some favor,
and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I felt that
certain "_je ne sais quoi_" which intimated that, at least, she
was not indifferent to me.

To speak of the many shooting parties that took place with Mr.
Bakewell would be quite useless, and I shall merely say that he
was a most excellent man, a great shot, and possessed of
extraordinary learning--aye, far beyond my comprehension. A few
days after this first interview with the family the Perkiomen
chanced to be bound with ice, and many a one from the
neighborhood was playing pranks on the glassy surface of that
lovely stream. Being somewhat of a skater myself, I sent a note
to the inhabitants of Fatland Ford, inviting them to come and
partake of the simple hospitality of Mill Grove farm, and the
invitation was kindly received and accepted. My own landlady
bestirred herself to the utmost in the procuring of as many
pheasants and partridges as her group of sons could entrap, and
now under my own roof was seen the whole of the Bakewell family,
seated round the table which has never ceased to be one of
simplicity and hospitality.

After dinner we all repaired to the ice on the creek, and there
in comfortable sledges, each fair one was propelled by an ardent
skater. Tales of love may be extremely stupid to the majority,
so that I will not expatiate on these days, but to me, my dear
sons, and under such circumstances as then, and, thank God, now
exist, every moment was to me one of delight.

But let me interrupt my tale to tell you somewhat of other
companions whom I have heretofore neglected to mention. These
are two Frenchmen, by name Da Costa and Colmesnil. A lead mine
had been discovered by my tenant, William Thomas, to which,
besides the raising of fowls, I paid considerable attention; but
I knew nothing of mineralogy or mining, and my father, to whom I
communicated the discovery of the mine, sent Mr. Da Costa as a
partner and partial guardian from France. This fellow was
intended to teach me mineralogy and mining engineering, but, in
fact, knew nothing of either; besides which he was a covetous
wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father, and indeed
swindled both of us to a large amount. I had to go to France and
expose him to my father to get rid of him, which I fortunately
accomplished at first sight of my kind parent. A greater
scoundrel than Da Costa never probably existed, but peace be
with his soul.

The other, Colmesnil, was a very interesting young Frenchman
with whom I became acquainted. He was very poor, and I invited
him to come and reside under my roof. This he did, remaining for
many months, much to my delight. His appearance was typical of
what he was, a perfect gentleman; he was handsome in form, and
possessed of talents far above my own. When introduced to your
mother's family he was much thought of, and at one time he
thought himself welcome to my Lucy; but it was only a dream, and
when once undeceived by her whom I too loved, he told me he must
part with me. This we did with mutual regret, and he returned to
France, where, though I have lost sight of him, I believe he is
still living.

During the winter connected with this event your uncle Thomas
Bakewell, now residing in Cincinnati, was one morning skating
with me on the Perkiomen, when he challenged me to shoot at his
hat as he tossed it in the air, which challenge I accepted with
great pleasure. I was to pass by at full speed, within about
twenty-five feet of where he stood, and to shoot only when he
gave the word. Off I went like lightning, up and down, as if
anxious to boast of my own prowess while on the glittering
surface beneath my feet; coming, however, within the agreed
distance the signal was given, the trigger pulled, off went the
load, and down on the ice came the hat of my future
brother-in-law, as completely perforated as if a sieve. He
repented, alas! too late, and was afterward severely reprimanded
by Mr. Bakewell.

Another anecdote I must relate to you on paper, which I have
probably too often repeated in words, concerning my skating in
those early days of happiness; but, as the world knows nothing
of it, I shall give it to you at some length. It was arranged
one morning between your young uncle, myself, and several other
friends of the same age, that we should proceed on a
duck-shooting excursion up the creek, and, accordingly, off we
went after an early breakfast. The ice was in capital order
wherever no air-holes existed, but of these a great number
interrupted our course, all of which were, however, avoided as
we proceeded upward along the glittering, frozen bosom of the
stream. The day was spent in much pleasure, and the game
collected was not inconsiderable.

On our return, in the early dusk of the evening, I was bid to
lead the way; I fastened a white handkerchief to a stick, held
it up, and we all proceeded toward home as a flock of wild ducks
to their roosting-grounds. Many a mile had already been passed,
and, as gayly as ever, we were skating swiftly along when
darkness came on, and now our speed was increased. Unconsciously
I happened to draw so very near a large air-hole that to check
my headway became quite impossible, and down it I went, and soon
felt the power of a most chilling bath. My senses must, for
aught I know, have left me for a while; be this as it may, I
must have glided with the stream some thirty or forty yards,
when, as God would have it, up I popped at another air-hole, and
here I did, in some way or another, manage to crawl out. My
companions, who in the gloom had seen my form so suddenly
disappear, escaped the danger, and were around me when I emerged
from the greatest peril I have ever encountered, not excepting
my escape from being murdered on the prairie, or by the hands of
that wretch S---- B----, of Henderson. I was helped to a shirt
from one, a pair of dry breeches from another, and completely
dressed anew in a few minutes, if in motley and ill-fitting
garments; our line of march was continued, with, however, much
more circumspection. Let the reader, whoever he may be, think as
he may like on this singular and, in truth, most extraordinary
escape from death; it is the truth, and as such I have written
it down as a wonderful act of Providence.

Mr. Da Costa, my tutor, took it into his head that my affection
for your mother was rash and inconsiderate. He spoke triflingly
of her and of her parents, and one day said to me that for a man
of my rank and expectations to marry Lucy Bakewell was out of
the question. If I laughed at him or not I cannot tell you, but
of this I am certain, that my answers to his talks on this
subject so exasperated him that he immediately afterward
curtailed my usual income, made some arrangements to send me to
India, and wrote to my father accordingly. Understanding from
many of my friends that his plans were fixed, and finally
hearing from Philadelphia, whither Da Costa had gone, that he
had taken my passage from Philadelphia to Canton, I walked to
Philadelphia, entered his room quite unexpectedly, and asked
him for such an amount of money as would enable me at once to
sail for France and there see my father.

The cunning wretch, for I cannot call him by any other name,
smiled, and said: "Certainly, my dear sir," and afterward gave
me a letter of credit on a Mr. Kauman, a half-agent,
half-banker, then residing at New York. I returned to Mill
Grove, made all preparatory plans for my departure, bid a sad
adieu to my Lucy and her family, and walked to New York. But
never mind the journey; it was winter, the country lay under a
covering of snow, but withal I reached New York on the third
day, late in the evening.

Once there, I made for the house of a Mrs. Palmer, a lady of
excellent qualities, who received me with the utmost kindness,
and later on the same evening I went to the house of your
grand-uncle, Benjamin Bakewell, then a rich merchant of New
York, managing the concerns of the house of Guelt, bankers, of
London. I was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Bakewell, of
Fatland Ford, to this brother of his, and there I was again most
kindly received and housed.

The next day I called on Mr. Kauman; he read Da Costa's letter,
smiled, and after a while told me he had nothing to give me, and
in plain terms said that instead of a letter of credit, Da
Costa--that rascal!--had written and advised him to have me
arrested and shipped to Canton. The blood rose to my temples,
and well it was that I had no weapon about me, for I feel even
now quite assured that his heart must have received the result
of my wrath. I left him half bewildered, half mad, and went to
Mrs. Palmer, and spoke to her of my purpose of returning at once
to Philadelphia and there certainly murdering Da Costa. Women
have great power over me at any time, and perhaps under all
circumstances. Mrs. Palmer quieted me, spoke religiously of the
cruel sin I thought of committing, and, at last, persuaded me to
relinquish the direful plan. I returned to Mr. Bakewell's
low-spirited and mournful, but said not a word about all that
had passed. The next morning my sad visage showed something was
wrong, and I at last gave vent to my outraged feelings.

Benjamin Bakewell was a _friend_ of his brother (may you ever be
so toward each other). He comforted me much, went with me to the
docks to seek a vessel bound to France, and offered me any sum
of money I might require to convey me to my father's house. My
passage was taken on board the brig "Hope," of New Bedford, and
I sailed in her, leaving Da Costa and Kauman in a most
exasperated state of mind. The fact is, these rascals intended
to cheat both me and my father. The brig was bound direct for
Nantes. We left the Hook under a very fair breeze, and proceeded
at a good rate till we reached the latitude of New Bedford, in
Massachusetts, when my captain came to me as if in despair, and
said he must run into port, as the vessel was so leaky as to
force him to have her unloaded and repaired before he proceeded
across the Atlantic. Now this was only a trick; my captain was
newly married, and was merely anxious to land at New Bedford to
spend a few days with his bride, and had actually caused several
holes to be bored below water-mark, which leaked enough to keep
the men at the pumps. We came to anchor close to the town of New
Bedford; the captain went on shore, entered a protest, the
vessel was unloaded, the apertures bunged up, and after a week,
which I spent in being rowed about the beautiful harbor, we
sailed for La Belle France. A few days after having lost sight
of land we were overtaken by a violent gale, coming fairly on
our quarter, and before it we scudded at an extraordinary rate,
and during the dark night had the misfortune to lose a fine
young sailor overboard. At one part of the sea we passed through
an immensity of dead fish floating on the surface of the water,
and, after nineteen days from New Bedford, we had entered the
Loire, and anchored off Painboeuf, the lower harbor of Nantes.

On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs, he
came on board, and afterward sent me to my father's villa, La
Gerbetiere, in his barge, and with his own men, and late that
evening I was in the arms of my beloved parents. Although I had
written to them previous to leaving America, the rapidity of my
voyage had prevented them hearing of my intentions, and to them
my appearance was sudden and unexpected. Most welcome, however,
I was; I found my father hale and hearty, and _chere maman_ as
fair and good as ever. Adored _maman_, peace be with thee!

I cannot trouble you with minute accounts of my life in France
for the following two years, but will merely tell you that my
first object being that of having Da Costa disposed of, this was
first effected; the next was my father's consent to my marriage,
and this was acceded to as soon as my good father had received
answers to letters written to your grandfather, William
Bakewell. In the very lap of comfort my time was happily spent;
I went out shooting and hunting, drew every bird I procured, as
well as many other objects of natural history and zoology,
though these were not the subjects I had studied under the
instruction of the celebrated David.

It was during this visit that my sister Rosa was married to
Gabriel Dupuy Gaudeau, and I now also became acquainted with
Ferdinand Rozier, whom you well know. Between Rozier and myself
my father formed a partnership to stand good for nine years in
America.

France was at that time in a great state of convulsion; the
republic had, as it were, dwindled into a half monarchical, half
democratic era. Bonaparte was at the height of success,
overflowing the country as the mountain torrent overflows the
plains in its course. Levies, or conscriptions, were the order
of the day, and my name being French my father felt uneasy lest
I should be forced to take part in the political strife of those
days.

I underwent a mockery of an examination, and was received as
midshipman in the navy, went to Rochefort, was placed on board a
man-of-war, and ran a short cruise. On my return, my father had,
in some way, obtained passports for Rozier and me, and we sailed
for New York. Never can I forget the day when, at St. Nazaire,
an officer came on board to examine the papers of the many
passengers. On looking at mine he said: "My dear Mr. Audubon, I
wish you joy; would to God that I had such papers; how thankful
I should be to leave unhappy France under the same passport."

About a fortnight after leaving France a vessel gave us chase.
We were running before the wind under all sail, but the unknown
gained on us at a great rate, and after a while stood to the
windward of our ship, about half a mile off. She fired a gun,
the ball passed within a few yards of our bows; our captain
heeded not, but kept on his course, with the United States flag
displayed and floating in the breeze. Another and another shot
was fired at us; the enemy closed upon us; all the passengers
expected to receive her broadside. Our commander hove to: a boat
was almost instantaneously lowered and alongside our vessel;[9]
two officers leaped on board, with about a dozen mariners; the
first asked for the captain's papers, while the latter with his
men kept guard over the whole.

The vessel which had pursued us was the "Rattlesnake" and was
what I believe is generally called a privateer, which means
nothing but a pirate; every one of the papers proved to be in
perfect accordance with the laws existing between England and
America, therefore we were not touched nor molested, but the
English officers who had come on board robbed the ship of almost
everything that was nice in the way of provisions, took our pigs
and sheep, coffee and wines, and carried off our two best
sailors despite all the remonstrances made by one of our members
of Congress, I think from Virginia, who was accompanied by a
charming young daughter. The "Rattlesnake" kept us under her
lee, and almost within pistol-shot, for a whole day and night,
ransacking the ship for money, of which we had a good deal in
the run beneath a ballast of stone. Although this was partially
removed they did not find the treasure. I may here tell you that
I placed the gold belonging to Rozier and myself, wrapped in
some clothing, under a cable in the bow of the ship, and there
it remained snug till the "Rattlesnake" had given us leave to
depart, which you may be sure we did without thanks to her
commander or crew; we were afterward told the former had his
wife with him.

After this rencontre we sailed on till we came to within about
thirty miles of the entrance to the bay of New York,[10] when
we passed a fishing-boat, from which we were hailed and told
that two British frigates lay off the entrance of the Hook, had
fired an American ship, shot a man, and impressed so many of our
seamen that to attempt reaching New York might prove to be both
unsafe and unsuccessful. Our captain, on hearing this, put about
immediately, and sailed for the east end of Long Island Sound,
which we entered uninterrupted by any other enemy than a
dreadful gale, which drove us on a sand-bar in the Sound, but
from which we made off unhurt during the height of the tide and
finally reached New York.

I at once called on your uncle Benjamin Bakewell, stayed with
him a day, and proceeded at as swift a rate as possible to
Fatland Ford, accompanied by Ferdinand Rozier. Mr. Da Costa was
at once dismissed from his charge. I saw my dear Lucy, and was
again my own master.

Perhaps it would be well for me to give you some slight
information respecting my mode of life in those days of my
youth, and I shall do so without gloves. I was what in plain
terms may be called extremely extravagant. I had no vices, it is
true, neither had I any high aims. I was ever fond of shooting,
fishing, and riding on horseback; the raising of fowls of every
sort was one of my hobbies, and to reach the maximum of my
desires in those different things filled every one of my
thoughts. I was ridiculously fond of dress. To have seen me
going shooting in black satin smallclothes, or breeches, with
silk stockings, and the finest ruffled shirt Philadelphia could
afford, was, as I now realize, an absurd spectacle, but it was
one of my many foibles, and I shall not conceal it. I purchased
the best horses in the country, and rode well, and felt proud of
it; my guns and fishing-tackle were equally good, always
expensive and richly ornamented, often with silver. Indeed,
though in America, I cut as many foolish pranks as a young dandy
in Bond Street or Piccadilly.

I was extremely fond of music, dancing, and drawing; in all I
had been well instructed, and not an opportunity was lost to
confirm my propensities in those accomplishments. I was, like
most young men, filled with the love of amusement, and not a
ball, a skating-match, a house or riding party took place
without me. Withal, and fortunately for me, I was not addicted
to gambling; cards I disliked, and I had no other evil
practices. I was, besides, temperate to an _intemperate_ degree.
I lived, until the day of my union with your mother, on milk,
fruits, and vegetables, with the addition of game and fish at
times, but never had I swallowed a single glass of wine or
spirits until the day of my wedding. The result has been my
uncommon, indeed iron, constitution. This was my constant mode
of life ever since my earliest recollection, and while in France
it was extremely annoying to all those round me. Indeed, so much
did it influence me that I never went to dinners, merely because
when so situated my peculiarities in my choice of food
occasioned comment, and also because often not a single dish was
to my taste or fancy, and I could eat nothing from the sumptuous
tables before me. Pies, puddings, eggs, milk, or cream was all I
cared for in the way of food, and many a time have I robbed my
tenant's wife, Mrs. Thomas, of the cream intended to make butter
for the Philadelphia market. All this time I was as fair and as
rosy as a girl, though as strong, indeed stronger than most
young men, and as active as a buck. And why, have I thought a
thousand times, should I not have kept to that delicious mode of
living? and why should not mankind in general be more abstemious
than mankind is?

Before I sailed for France I had begun a series of drawings of
the birds of America, and had also begun a study of their
habits. I at first drew my subjects dead, by which I mean to say
that, after procuring a specimen, I hung it up either by the
head, wing, or foot, and copied it as closely as I possibly
could.

In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He
always commended my efforts, nay he even went farther, for one
morning, while I was drawing a figure of the _Ardea
herodias_,[11] he assured me the time might come when I should
be a great American naturalist. However curious it may seem to
the scientific world that these sayings from the lips of such a
man should affect me, I assure you they had great weight with
me, and I felt a certain degree of pride in these words even
then.

Too young and too useless to be married, your grandfather
William Bakewell advised me to study the mercantile business; my
father approved, and to insure this training under the best
auspices I went to New York, where I entered as a clerk for your
great-uncle Benjamin Bakewell, while Rozier went to a French
house at Philadelphia.

The mercantile business did not suit me. The very first venture
which I undertook was in indigo; it cost me several hundred
pounds, the whole of which was lost. Rozier was no more
fortunate than I, for he shipped a cargo of hams to the West
Indies, and not more than one-fifth of the cost was returned.
Yet I suppose we both obtained a smattering of business.