Famous Men of Science Part 12

His father had hoped that he would become a soldier under Napoleon, but a lad who could lie on his back under a tree for three weeks, and watch with a telescope the habits of some little gray birds of the color of the bark of the tree, would not care much for the smoke and din of battle. He was therefore sent to America, to look after his father's property.

With a heavy heart the youth said good-by to France, where he had already sketched two hundred varieties of birds from life. Arriving in New York, he became ill of yellow fever, and was carried to the home of two Quaker ladies in Morristown, whose kindness doubtless saved his life.

When he had recovered, he went to his father's farm at Mill Grove, near the Schuylkill Falls, Pennsylvania, and found, as he said, "a blessed spot." He was free, now, to study natural history; no more mathematics; no more urging to become a soldier. He was delighted with the mill attached to the property, and with the pewees who built their nests near by. "Hunting, fis.h.i.+ng, and drawing occupied my every moment," he says; "cares I knew not, and cared nothing for them."

An English gentleman, William Bakewell, descended from the Peverils of Derbys.h.i.+re, rendered historical by Scott's novel "Peveril of the Peak,"

owned the adjoining property. Audubon, being French, did not court the acquaintance of the Englishman, indeed avoided him, till one day, as he was following some grouse down the creek in winter, he met Mr. Bakewell.

"I was struck with the kind politeness of his manners," says Audubon, "and found him a most expert marksman, and entered into conversation. I admired the beauty of his well trained dogs, and finally promised to call upon him and his family. Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please G.o.d may I never forget it, when for the first time I entered the Bakewell household. It happened that Mr. Bakewell was from home. I was shown into a parlor, where only one young lady was snugly seated at work, with her back turned towards the fire. She rose on my entrance, offered me a seat, and a.s.sured me of the gratification her father would feel on his return; which, she added with a smile, would be in a few minutes, as she would send a servant after him. Other ruddy cheeks made their appearance, but, like spirits gay, vanished from my sight. Talking and working, the young lady who remained made the time pa.s.s pleasantly enough, and to me especially so. It was she, my dear Lucy Bakewell, who afterwards became my wife, and the mother of my children."

Mr. Bakewell soon returned, and lunch was provided before leaving on a shooting expedition. "Lucy rose from her seat a second time, and her form, to which I had before paid little attention, seemed radiant with beauty, and my heart and eyes followed her every step. The repast being over, guns and dogs were provided, and as we left I was pleased to believe that Lucy looked upon me as a not very strange animal. Bowing to her, I felt, I knew not why, that I was at least not indifferent to her."

Thus was begun a beautiful affection that ran like a thread of gold through the darkness and light of two struggling lives. The friends.h.i.+p increased as the months went by, for the youth, alone in a strange country, devoted to his foster-mother, needed a woman's love and tenderness to cheer him. Lucy Bakewell taught Audubon English, and he in return gave her drawing lessons.

At Mill Grove the weeks pa.s.sed pleasantly,--is not the world always beautiful when we love somebody? Audubon says in his journal: "I had no vices; but was thoughtless, pensive, loving, fond of shooting, fis.h.i.+ng, and riding, and had a pa.s.sion for raising all sorts of fowls, which sources of interest and amus.e.m.e.nt fully occupied my time.... I ate no butcher's meat, lived chiefly on fruits, vegetables, and fish, and never drank a gla.s.s of spirits or wine until my wedding day. To this I attribute my continual good health, endurance, and an iron const.i.tution."

Here at Mill Grove, while yet a boy, he planned his great work, the "Birds of America," their habits, and a description of them. This one idea dominated Audubon's life. Through poverty and suffering, this one desire was ever before him. It is well to plan early in life what we wish to do, and then _do it_.

One writer has well said of Audubon: "For sixty years or more he followed, with more than religious devotion, a beautiful and devoted pursuit, enlarging its boundaries by his discoveries, and ill.u.s.trating its objects by his art. In all climates and in all weathers; scorched by burning suns, drenched by piercing rains, frozen by the fiercest colds: now diving fearlessly into the densest forest, now wandering alone over the most savage regions; in perils, in difficulties, and in doubts; with no companion to cheer his way, far from the smiles and applause of society; listening only to the sweet music of birds, or to the sweeter music of his own thoughts, he faithfully kept his path.

"The records of man's life contain few n.o.bler examples of strength of purpose and indefatigable energy. Led on solely by his pure, lofty, kindling enthusiasm, no thirst for wealth, no desire of distinction, no restless ambition of eccentric character, could have induced him to undergo as many sacrifices, or sustained him under so many trials.

Higher principles and worthier motives alone enabled him to meet such discouragements and accomplish such miracles of achievement. He has enlarged and enriched the domains of a pleasing and useful science; he has revealed to us the existence of many species of birds before unknown; he has given us more accurate information of the forms and habits of those that were known; he has corrected the blunders of his predecessors; and he has imparted to the study of natural history the grace and fascination of romance."

At Mill Grove he came near losing his life, on a duck-shooting expedition, by falling through an air hole in the ice. It was three months before he recovered.

At this time "a partner, tutor, and monitor," Da Costa, whom Audubon's father had sent over to superintend a lead-mine enterprise at Mill Grove, refused to give money to the son and objected to his marrying Lucy Bakewell. Resenting the dictation of Da Costa, young Audubon determined to go to France and lay the matter before his father. Da Costa would give him no money, but a letter of credit upon an agent in New York. The youth, nothing daunted, walked all the way to New York, was refused the money by the agent, who hinted that the lad should be seized and s.h.i.+pped to China, borrowed his pa.s.sage money, went to France, caused the removal of Da Costa, and obtained his father's consent to his marriage. For a year he resided at Nantes, shooting, stuffing birds, and drawing for his beloved book. Then all Frenchmen being liable to conscription under Napoleon, the Commodore obtained leave for his son to return to America.

Once again he was at his dear Mill Grove. In his room "the walls were festooned with all sorts of birds' eggs, carefully blown out and strung on a thread. The chimney piece was covered with stuffed squirrels, racc.o.o.ns, and opossums, and the shelves around were likewise crowded with specimens, among which were fishes, frogs, snakes, lizards and other reptiles."

Lucy's father, concluding that the study of natural history might not bring pecuniary support for his daughter, suggested to Audubon that he obtain some knowledge of commercial pursuits. Love seldom asks about ways and means; too seldom, in fact, for subsequent happiness. Audubon entered the counting-house of Mr. Benjamin Bakewell of New York, and soon lost some hundreds of pounds by a bad speculation in indigo. The drying of bird's skins in his rooms was so disagreeable to his neighbors that a message was sent him, through a constable, insisting on his abating the _nuisance_!

Finance did not seem the specialty of the young man, and he returned to Mill Grove.

Dear as the place was to him, he sold it, invested the capital in goods, married Lucy Bakewell, April 8, 1808, when he was twenty-eight years old, and started for the West. They were twelve days in sailing down the Ohio River in a flat-bottomed float, called an ark. He engaged in trade at Louisville, and the young couple were extremely happy. Fortunate it was that they had these few months of comfort, for hards.h.i.+p was soon to test their affection.

The war of 1812 so crippled business that he and his partner decided to go to Hendersonville, while Lucy and her infant son went home to her father for a year. If Mr. Bakewell ever regretted the choice which his daughter had made, she did not, and never failed, when days were darkest, to encourage him to write and win renown. When all others bemoaned his lack of business success, and his devotion to a non-paying pursuit, she alone was his comforter, and was willing to suffer poverty if thus his great work might be done.

There was no success at Hendersonville, and the goods were taken to St.

Genevieve. Here the partner married, and Audubon sold his interest to him, purchased a horse, and started across the country to see his wife, who had meantime come back from Pennsylvania to Hendersonville, Ky. In this trip he came near losing his life. He says: "I found myself obliged to cross one of the wild prairies which, in that portion of the United States, vary the appearance of the country. The weather was fine, all around me was as fresh and blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of nature. My knapsack, my gun, and my dog were all I had for baggage and company. But although well moccasined, I moved slowly along, attracted by the brilliancy of the flowers, and the gambols of the fawns around their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless of danger as I felt myself."

After travelling all day, he reached a log cabin. "Presenting myself at the door, I asked the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take shelter under her roof for the night. Her voice was gruff, and her dress negligently thrown about her. She answered in the affirmative. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and quietly seated myself by the fire. The next object that attracted my notice was a finely formed young Indian, resting his head between his hands, with his elbows on his knees. A long bow rested against the log wall near him, while a quant.i.ty of arrows and two or three racc.o.o.n skins lay at his feet. He moved not; he apparently breathed not. Accustomed to the habits of the Indians, and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of civilized strangers, I addressed him in French,--a language not unfrequently partially known to the people of that neighborhood. He raised his head, pointed to one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a significant glance with the other; his face was covered with blood.

"The fact was, that an hour before this, as he was in the act of discharging an arrow at a racc.o.o.n in the top of a tree, the arrow had split upon the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his right eye as to destroy it forever.

"Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect. Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen; but many large, untanned buffalo hides lay piled in a corner. I drew a time-piece from my pocket, and told the woman that it was late, and that I was fatigued. She espied my watch, the richness of which seemed to operate on her feelings with electric quickness. She told me there was plenty of venison and jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I should find a cake. But my watch had struck her fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. I took off the gold chain which secured it around my neck, and presented it to her. She was all ecstasy, spoke of its beauty, asked me its value, and put the chain round her brawny neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch would make her.

Thoughtless, and, as I fancied myself, in so retired a spot, secure, I paid little attention to her talk or her movements. I helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands of my own appet.i.te.

"The Indian rose from his seat as if in extreme suffering. He pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed me several times, and once pinched me on the side so violently, that the pain nearly brought forth an exclamation of anger. I looked at him; his eye met mine, but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into the more nervous part of my system. He again seated himself, drew his butcher-knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge, as I would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and, again taking his tomahawk from his back filled the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me expressive glances whenever our hostess chanced to have her back towards us."

Audubon now perceived his danger. "I asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and, under the pretence of wis.h.i.+ng to see how the weather might probably be on the morrow, took up my gun, and walked out of the cabin.

I slipped a ball into each barrel, sc.r.a.ped the edges of my flints, renewed the primings, and, returning to the hut, gave a favorable account of my observations. I took a few bear-skins, made a pallet of them, and, calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down, with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was, to all appearance, fast asleep."

Soon two young, stalwart Indians arrived at the cabin, bearing a dead stag on a pole. These were the Indian woman's sons. She and they drank whiskey, and then took a large carving-knife to a grindstone, and sharpened it. "I saw her pour the water on the turning machine," says Audubon, "and watched her working away with the dangerous instrument, until the cold sweat covered every part of my body, in despite of my determination to defend myself to the last. Her task finished, she walked to her reeling sons, and said, 'There, that'll soon settle him!

Boys, kill you--and then for the watch!'"

Just at this moment the door suddenly opened, and two travellers entered. The mother and her sons were bound, and Audubon's life was saved.

He arrived at last at Hendersonville, and soon went into business with a brother-in-law at New Orleans. He embarked all the fortune at his disposal, and lost it all.

His father had already died, leaving Audubon an estate in France, and seventeen thousand dollars deposited with a merchant in Richmond, Va.

The merchant died insolvent, and Audubon never received a dollar. He made no effort to possess the property in France, and years afterwards it was transferred to his sister Rosa. He now began to feel anxious about the future. A second son, John, had been born to him, and he must try once more to earn in business. Gathering a few hundred dollars, he purchased some goods in Louisville, and returned to Hendersonville. A former partner joined him, advised erecting a steam mill, which was done. Several men invested capital in the enterprise, and a complete failure resulted. Audubon gave up all the property he possessed to his creditors, and left Hendersonville with his sick wife, his gun, his dog, and his drawings.

They reached Louisville, and were kindly received by a relative. How could he support his family? The outlook was not hopeful. He would try making crayon portraits. He succeeded so well that a farmer came in the middle of the night to request a picture of his mother before she died, and the work was done by candle-light.

Invited to Cincinnati to become curator of the museum, Audubon accepted, and opened a drawing-school in that city. But very little money resulted, and he resolved to seek a new field of labor. Getting letters of recommendation from General, afterwards President, Harrison, and from Henry Clay, he started, October 12, 1820, for New Orleans. Stopping for a time at Natchez, he and a companion found themselves dest.i.tute of shoes. Going to a shoemaker, he asked to sketch a crayon portrait of himself and his wife in return for two pairs of boots. The offer was accepted, and Audubon and his friend found themselves again in suitable condition for travelling. How different all this from the former easy life at Mill Grove!

Arriving at New Orleans, what little money he possessed was stolen, he could find no work, and he was obliged to live on the boat in which he had come thither. He writes in his journal: "Time pa.s.sed sadly in seeking ineffectually for employment. I was fortunate in making a hit with the portrait of a well known citizen of New Orleans. I showed it to the public; it made a favorable impression, and I obtained several patrons. A few orders for portraits relieved my necessities, and, continuing my work of painting birds, the time pa.s.sed more pleasantly."

He was always planning for wider opportunities to study birds for his book. In the midst of his dire poverty, he did not forget this. Now he hoped to join the expedition which surveyed the boundary line of the territory ceded to the United States by Spain, and he says, "Saw nothing but hundreds of new birds in imagination within range of my gun." But this, like other plans, came to naught, for poverty binds with strong cords, and it requires almost superhuman strength to break them.

At last, in the family of Mrs. Perrie, who owned a plantation at Bayou Sara, in Louisiana, he obtained a situation. He was to teach drawing to her daughter for sixty dollars a month, having his afternoons for his work. Her desire was, under the guise of employment, to help the poor naturalist.

After fourteen months since leaving Cincinnati, during which time, he says, "I have finished sixty-two drawing of birds and plants, three quadrupeds, two snakes, fifty portraits of all sorts, and have subsisted by my humble talents, not having had a dollar when I started," he sent for his family to come to him. A house was rented on Dauphine Street, at seventeen dollars a month. Now if they starved, they would starve together. Being asked to join in painting a panorama of the city, he said, "My birds, my beloved birds of America, occupy all my time, and nearly all my thoughts, and I do not wish to see any other perspective than the last specimen of these drawings." He was now forty-two, and life was none too long, at the best. No wonder he was anxious about his book.

During the first months of 1822, after his family came, there are no records of his life. He was too poor to buy a journal. Mrs. Audubon had found a situation as governess in a family. Audubon was depressed in spirits, and poor health was the result. If some person with wealth had only been wise enough to have helped the man of talent! We build colleges and churches, and this is well; but often neglect the brilliant man or woman near our own door, who might bless the world. Brains do not always win pecuniary success. We sometimes go to extremes in America by advocating self-dependence, and let a refined and sensitive soul break because it cannot breast the world. We forget that on earth we are to be our brother's keeper. Perchance we shall remember it beyond!

Finally Audubon left New Orleans, procuring pa.s.sage on a boat to Natchez, by a crayon portrait of the captain and his wife. In the family of a Portuguese gentleman in that city, he taught drawing, music, and French, and also drawing in a college nine miles from Natchez, but he was still depressed. "While work flowed in upon me," he says, "the hope of my completing my book upon the birds of America became less clear; and, full of despair, I feared my hopes of becoming known to Europe as a naturalist were destined to be blasted."

To feel within one's breast the aspiration which is G.o.d-given, and know that one has genius, and yet be bound hand and foot by circ.u.mstances,--what is harder?

Poor Audubon! with his lessening hope of "becoming known to Europe." His wife had come to Natchez and obtained a position as teacher, similar to the one she had held in New Orleans. Poverty had tested their love, but it had stood the test. Audubon had made a copy of the "Death of Montgomery;" and for this friends raffled, and gave him the proceeds, three hundred dollars, and the picture also.

Mrs. Audubon now made an engagement with a lady at Bayou Sara, to teach her children with her own, and a limited number of pupils. Seeing that his family would now be provided for, "I determined," he says, "to break through all bonds, and pursue my ornithological pursuits. My best friends solemnly regarded me as a madman, and my wife and family alone gave me encouragement. My wife determined that my genius should prevail, and that my final success as an ornithologist should be triumphant."

Blessed faith of woman! Giving a love that knows only self-sacrifice; that braves all, bears all, and finally wins all for its beloved object.

The oldest son, Victor, was placed in the counting-house of a friend at Louisville, and Audubon sought Philadelphia, "as a desperate venture,"

he says, to see if means could not be obtained to further his work. He took a room, and began to give lessons in drawing. He said plaintively in his journal, "I have now been twenty-five years pursuing my ornithological studies," and yet the book was not written. Fortunately he obtained a letter of introduction to the portrait-painter Sully, "a man after my own heart, and who showed me great kindnesses." He gave Audubon instruction in oil, and would take no pay for it, and the naturalist was "overwhelmed with his goodness." Audubon found another warm-hearted friend,--Edward Harris,--a young ornithologist, who, as he was bidding Audubon good-by, squeezed a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, saying, "Mr. Audubon, accept this from me; men like you ought not to want for money." "I could only express my grat.i.tude," says Audubon, "by insisting on his receiving the drawings of all my French birds, which he did, and I was relieved."

A friend now took him to visit Mill Grove. "As we entered the avenue leading to Mill Grove," he says, "every step brought to my mind the memory of past years, and I was bewildered by the recollections until we reached the door of the house, which had once been the residence of my father as well as myself.... After resting a few moments, I abruptly took my hat, and ran wildly towards the woods, to the grotto where I first heard from my wife the acknowledgment that she was not indifferent to me. It had been torn down, and some stones carted away; but, raising my eyes toward heaven, I repeated the promise we had mutually made. We dined at Mill Grove, and as I entered the parlor I stood motionless, for a moment, on the spot where my wife and myself were forever joined."

He then went to New York, and a friend took him to the Lyceum. "My portfolio was examined by the members of the Inst.i.tute," he says, "among whom I felt awkward and uncomfortable. After living among such people, I feel clouded and depressed; remember that I have done nothing, and fear I may die unknown, I feel I am strange to all but the birds of America.

In a few days I shall be in the woods, and quite forgotten." The next day, he writes in his journal: "My spirits low, and I long for the woods again; but the prospect of becoming known prompts me to remain another day."

From this city he journeyed West. "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 Creator's power; and I gazed motionless on this new display of the irresistible force of one of his elements."

At Buffalo, he took a deck-pa.s.sage on board a schooner bound for Erie, using his buffalo-robe and blanket to sleep on. At Pittsburg, he spent a month scouring the country for birds, and continued his drawings.

Arriving at Cincinnati, he says, "I was beset by claims for the payment of articles which years before had been ordered for the Museum, but from which I got no benefit. Without money, or the means of making it, I applied to Messrs. Keating and Bell for the loan of fifteen dollars; but had not the courage to do so until I had walked past their house several times, unable to make up my mind how to ask the favor. I got the loan cheerfully, and took a deck-pa.s.sage to Louisville. I was allowed to take my meals in the cabin, and at night slept among some shavings I managed to sc.r.a.pe together. The spirit of contentment which I now feel is strange; it borders on the sublime; and, enthusiast or lunatic, as some of my relatives will have me, I am glad to possess such a spirit."